Page 55 of The General's Gift
“See for yourself,” she whispered.
Opening her lips, she guided his index finger across her mouth. The pad brushed her lower lip, rough where her skin was tender. She shivered as his taste spiced her tongue. Heat rolled through her in waves, centering low in her belly, coiling tighter with every heartbeat. She sucked in a shaky breath and dared to close her mouth, lips molding around him.
Hawk went rigid, and she felt the thunder of his pulse in his fingertip.
“See?” she murmured, voice barely above a breath. “My lips are cool. Moist. No fever. Please—take me to my father’s castle tomorrow.”
His gaze flicked to the Shakespeare folio lying atop the desk—precisely where she had planted it to hide the scandalous volume beneath. What if he noticed the corner of the lewd tome peeking out?
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certain it’s Shakespeare making you…flush?”
She nodded fervently. “Oh yes! Shakespeare is very evocative.”
His mouth pressed into a firm line. “In that case. You should consider more soothing reading material.”
She snapped her hand up in a crisp military salute. “Yes, Alexander,” she said brightly, stepping back before she lost the will to do so. “In fact, I already have the perfect reading in mind.”
“That woman is a menace, sir,” Graves grumbled.
Hawk stopped testing the team’s bridles, exhaling sharply. His fingertips still tingled—a ghost of sensation from where he’d traced Celeste’s lips. She was indeed a menace. But she was his menace.
“I won’t tolerate complaints, Graves. Lady Cecilia is not—”
“I’m not talking about Lady Cecilia, sir. It’s that chaperone—”
Hawk gave him a flat look. “It’s a morning outing, Captain, not a bivouac assignment. You are not being sent behind enemy lines. What precisely is the threat?”
Graves jabbed a finger at the red welt on his forehead. “She launched an apple at my skull. Unprovoked.”
Hawk inspected the injury with all the concern of a general surveying a dented canteen. “Took a hit from a widow, did you? God help us all if the French ever send their matrons into battle.”
“Sir, that woman is waging her own personal campaign. She has a secret design. For all we know, she might be a spy.”
If Hawk was not much mistaken, she had designs on Graves. “Then adapt. Follow the mission parameters. Engagein conversation. Keep Lady Cecilia at ease. That is your only objective.”
This outing marked the first maneuver in his campaign to help Celeste overcome her fear. If this proved successful, he would choose more advanced subjects to court her.
Graves looked mutinous. “Sir, I am not trained for this kind of warfare.”
“Then consider it an exercise in diplomacy. Or survival. Either way—hold the line.”
Graves sighed, adjusting his cuffs like a man preparing for execution. “Aye, sir. But if she comes at me with another apple, I’m taking cover.”
Hawk straightened. “Here they come. Keep formation.”
Graves muttered something about cannon fire being more merciful, but Hawk could no longer hear him. Celeste bubbled out of the house, Othello in her arms. He had never used that word, he realized with a start—bubble. But there was really no other explanation for the sight of the sparkling girl, all smiles and mischief, gliding towards him.
The breeze ruffled her hair, painting the air with red ribbons. The tulle of her skirts billowed around her legs. For his sanity, when would the dressmaker deliver her new wardrobe?
She had eyes for him alone, and his heart gave a traitorous lurch. Othello showed his tiny teeth as if aware of the descent of his thoughts. He almost showed his own teeth back.
“How gorgeous your conveyance, my lord.” She passed a gloved hand over the lacquered surface. “I’ve only seen these high-perched phaetons in Hyde Park from afar.”
Hawk stood taller than a grenadier, presenting arms to his sovereign. “I forbid you to ride in a phaeton unless I give my consent. They are dangerous.”
She placed her hand in his so he could help her alight. “I have no intention of letting any other gentleman drive me but you, My Lord.”
He must be the most lecherous of guardians. Because her words, coupled with her fluttering eyelashes, had him harder than a bayonet. As she settled in the rear seat, Hawk nearly climbed in beside her and took off without the others. Remember the plan! Girding himself, he helped the chaperone climb next to Celeste and watched Graves adjust like a sore thumb.
