Free Never a Gentleman by Eileen Dreyer Page A

ghostly gray eyes. “It’s you who’ve been insulted
     beyond bearing. And I can’t even stay to mitigate the insult.”
    Grace couldn’t believe it. He was sincere. That alone could have made her fall in love with him. “Thank you,” she said, lifting
     up on her toes to brush a kiss against the temple he had been rubbing. “But we have to go.” Pulling on her gloves, she smiled.
     “Besides, there is a sizable pile of coin on the floor waiting for those soldiers to return. Let us give them a chance to
     finish the game.”
    She turned so she couldn’t see the expression on his face and swept out the door. And that, she thought, would be that.
    She couldn’t have been more wrong. Whether it was to counter the insult Diccan felt had been dealt her, or to dissipate the
     gossip, he left the parlor with a far different expression than when he’d entered. Once again laying her hand on his arm,
     he smiled at her, as if the two of them had a secret. Grace smiled back, hoping he couldn’t tell how much that simple gesture
     meant to her.
    No matter how quickly he had to leave, he strolled through the room as if he wanted to do nothing more than spend time with
     his wife. He even laughed when he caught sight of the gamblers, who paced in agitation outside the door. “Not a ha’penny is
     lost, gentlemen,” he assured them.
    The soldiers promptly slipped back into the parlor and their game.
    “I’ve arranged a post-chaise,” Diccan was saying, his head bent to Grace’s. “I hope it will be comfortable enough.”
    She found it even easier to smile. “My dear Mr. Hilliard,” she said. “I am accustomed to traveling by bad horses and worse
     feet. I can bear anything as along as I am sheltered from the weather.”
    He shook his head, evidently amused. “I must accustom myself to having an intrepid wife. And you must accustom yourself to
     using my given name. It would look passing strange if you addressed me with the same familiarity as the postman.”
    She nodded. “That is just what Kate said.” She couldn’t help but grin. “Although she had a few rather more colorful suggestions
     as to what else I could call you.”
    Diccan chuckled. “I’m sure she did.”
    They had made their good-byes to the crowd and had just reached the door, when Diccan brought her to a halt. She looked up
     to see a smile in his eyes.
    “Well, kiss her, you clunch,” he murmured, echoing the command they’d heard in church.
    Grace felt as mesmerized as a rabbit sighting a hawk. His touch froze her and his eyes warmed her. She thought her heart would
     tumble right out of her chest. Lord, what would happen when he touched all of her?
    “Yes… ahem, um, thank you.”
    This kiss was different than the last. Longer, deeper, slower. Grace felt Diccan’s fingers against her face and caught the
     faint scent of tobacco and sandlewood soap. She tasted champagne on his lips and thought, distractedly, how soft they were.
     How clever, nipping and seducing and testing her own lips, as if staking claim. There was a spark, a glow, a delicious fire
     that seemed to live in his lips, and it swept through her, winding through her chest and belly. She felt as if her feet were
     melting to the floor. He must have felt it too, she thought, her heart tumbling in her chest. How could he not, when it flared
     so hot?
    And then, Diccan stepped back. Grace opened her eyes to see him straightening, his expression perfectly composed. She was
     still caught in a web of pleasure, humbled by the gift of his kiss, and he’d felt nothing. A lesson she should take to heart,
     she imagined, the glow abruptly dying into ashes.
    It was only then she heard the cheer go up around them. Diccan blinked, as if pulled abruptly back from somewhere, and delivered
     a smile of surprised delight to the crowd. “Well, now I know that I have something over most of His Majesty’s soldiers,” he
     said, sounding triumphant.“None of you lot were smart enough to