Free Rules for Reforming a Rake by Meara Platt

imbibed too much—which explained why he’d tried to kiss her tonight. Tom Quigley had tried the same, calling her magnificent and chasing her around the conservatory when she’d realized her necklace was missing and returned alone to search for it the first time.
    Then there had been the gentleman who’d pinched her by the punch bowl in the ballroom. Obviously, no gentleman.
    Only Gabriel had acted with chivalry, which was quite ironic since he had the worst reputation of all. If he was so wicked, why hadn’t he tried to steal a kiss from her?
    Not that she wanted his kiss.
    Still, it was quite insulting that he hadn’t tried.
    She shook her head and silently chided herself for the direction of her thoughts. Hadn’t she learned the dangers of kissing a man? Even though she’d never actually been kissed, just allowed herself to take the blame.
    And endured stiff punishment for it.
    “I think it’s safe to say that the Farthingale heirloom is not among the lungworts,” Gabriel remarked, looking down among the plant beds. “Shall we search by the Cupid’s dart? Perhaps you dropped the pearls there.”
    “No, I never went near them.” He could use a good shot of Cupid’s dart, right in the... no, he was being kind and helpful. It wasn’t his fault that he had a terrible reputation. Well, it was. But even rakehells could be nice at times. Which explained why he hadn’t tried to kiss her yet, assuming he wanted to at all.
    Goodness! She had to stop thinking of Gabriel and kisses.
    He ran a hand distractedly through the golden waves of his hair. “The orange trees?”
    She squelched the urge to reach out and run her fingers through his glorious mane. Instead, she shook her head. “No.”
    “The eucacias?”
    She gave another shake of her head. “No.”
    “The wild hoarhound?”
    She sighed. “Quigley chased me by the orchids. Perhaps we’ll find them there.”
    He quirked an eyebrow. “You mean young Hornby chased you.”
    “No, he tried to kiss me by the cucumbers—”
    Gabriel’s expression immediately darkened. “So, he did try something!”
    She groaned, wishing she had not let that slip. “It was nothing, really. He left when I slapped him... well, perhaps it was more than a slap. I’d curled my fingers into a fist. You see, I accidently bloodied his nose and he was already in ill humor over the gherkin incident.”
    Now, both of his golden eyebrows were sternly arched. “You ought to have told me earlier.”
    She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. But as I said, his amorous attempt failed and there was no harm done except to him. He was more irritated than hurt, though he let out an alarming howl when I struck him. He claimed to have very weak nasal cavities.”
    Gabriel smothered a cough, although she might have detected a chuckle mixed in as well. But his manner quickly turned serious. “Tell me about Quigley.”
    “Must I?”
    Gabriel took a step forward so that he was now standing quite close. “Yes, Daisy,” he said, sounding quite protective. “You must.”
    Crumpets! She liked that man-seeking-to-defend-his-woman look about him. Clearly, he was not amused by Quigley and meant to do something about it. She wouldn’t allow him, of course. Men brawling over her? Whatever was left of her reputation would be in tatters. “I’ll tell you, but only if you promise not to do anything about him.”
    His scowl warned that he was about to leave right now and pound the truth out of Quigley. She placed a hand on his arm to hold him back, not that he’d made a move toward the door yet, but she was already distressed and could not afford to have him cause a scene. “Quigley was here when I returned and offered to help me, or so I thought, but what he really wanted to do was pull me down behind those eucacias and... is that all men have on their minds?”
    “Some men,” he replied, glancing at her hand, which was still on his forearm. She quickly removed it.
    “Of course,” she continued with