The urge to toss Beatrice into the leaves covering the forest floor and take her roughly, savagely, had Ellis struggling for breath. Beatrice was the only woman to make Ellis feel so bloody...primal. As if his control might snap at any instant.
“You never bothered to listen,” Ellis bit out. “You were too busy sharpening your knives on the likes of Miss Elkins.”
Beatrice took a halting breath. Regret flitted across her flawless features, so brief it could have been a trick of the light. She touched the ribbon holding her hair once more. “I believe you named me the vilest creature you’d ever met at Granby’s house party. I was listening then.”
“I never called you vile.”
Honestly, hemighthave. Ellis spent a great deal of Granby’s house party slightly foxed, irritated, and out of sorts. Annoyed by the presence of Beatrice Howard.
“I believe I called you shallow and vapid. Your pursuit of Granby, with whom you had little in common and didn’t even care for—”
“Was none of your affair. Even so, your dislike of me, my lord, was well entrenched before Granby.” An ugly smile floated across her lips. “Is it because, unlike every other ridiculous woman in England, I never found you special? Poor Blythe.” She pouted in false pity. “Is your ego so fragile to be wounded by me?”
Anger rippled over him in a wave, followed by an indecent amount of humming around his cock.
“You offered me condolences for the dearly departed Castlemare. But what you really wish to do is offer me comfort, I think.” She took a step closer. “As a widow, you wonder if I’ve lowered my expectations enough to permit you to seduce me.”
Ellis took a shaky breath. “Alas, not seduction. Only curiosity. The mating season grows near in London, does it not? There’s a duke and a marquess available. I can’t fathom why you haven’t set your snares for either one.”
“I have had enough dukes for a lifetime.” Beatrice lifted her chin. “Nor do I care for earls.You, in particular, not at all.” Her delectable mouth, lips plump and full, parted with scorn.
Damn.“Harridan.”
“Pathetic rogue.”
As they glared at one another, Ellis’s hand snaked forward with a jerk, taking Beatrice firmly around the waist and bending her smaller form to his. “Conceited chit,” he snarled.
“Arrogant peacock,” she snapped, not pulling away.
A painful sound, a growl, came from his chest only seconds before his mouth crashed and claimed hers.
8
Beatrice had considered many times what it would be like to kiss the Earl of Blythe. She’d pictured something...romantic. Gallant, perhaps. Not Angry. Near violent. Hostile.
Magnificent.
Blythe was a man who knew how to capture a woman’s mouth. Torture it. Draw sensation from what had formerly only been a pair of lips used for talking and sipping tea.
Oh, this is quite marvelous.
He tasted of ale, probably from The Pickled Duck. The warm, clean scent of him fell over Beatrice in a wave, pulling her closer. Heat seared her mouth, the consequence of so much restrained aggression. Without truly thinking, she reached forward and grabbed at his coat with her fingers.
Blythe kissed her with suchferocity,he bent Beatrice nearly in half with his efforts to devour her. Licking and biting, he demanded Beatrice surrender to him.
And shedidsurrender.
She and Blythe tore into each other with passion she hadn’t thought either had ever possessed. Her breath held, stolen by his attention to every inch of her mouth. The beat of Beatrice’s heart, at first wild, now slowed, catching the rhythm of Blythe’s until both organs beat together. It was akin to the sweet intoxication of exactly two brandies enjoyed before the fire. Or the languid feel of staying in a warm bed on a chilly morning.
Her breasts, trapped beneath the fabric of her dress, chafed with longing against Blythe’s muscled chest. A swell of—
Fire. A flame. Something heated. Molten.
—spilled down the length of her body, sinking deep between her thighs. Blythe was drinking Beatrice in, swallowing up every last bit of her. And shewantedhim to.
His free hand snaked up the back of her neck, toying with the high neck of her gown and the ribbon restraining her carefully tied and pinned hair. He was mere inches from the ear missing a lobe, from the scars along the edge of her cheek. A scream sounded inside Beatrice. A warning. Terror seeped over her skin, washing away all the desire rippling over her in waves. She placed both hands on his chest and shoved. Hard. Pushing him away.
He musn’t see. He can’t.The panicked words circled her mind in a litany.
