He set one elbow on the back of the sofa and rested his mouth on his knuckles. He looked at her consideringly. "You don't believe in mincing words, do you?" he said. "The world is not full of Diana Ingrams, though."
"Perhaps that is as well for you," she said. "Perhaps if it were, life would not seem so easy to you.Or such a joke."
The storm must have been directly overhead. The lightning and thunder happened simultaneously, and the pavilion shook. Lord Kenwood was off me sofa and across to Diana's chair before either of them could think. His hands came down to cover hers, which had a death grip on the arms.
"Oh, Diana," he said when the sound of the thunder had faded, ''I have tried not to do this, believe me.'' He leaned down and kissed her on the lips.And lifted his head almost immediately, though he did not fully straighten up."So, shall I continue? Or do you wish to pull one hand from beneath mine and slap my face?"
There was no mockery in his blue eyes, only a sort of wariness. Diana could neither remove her eyes from his nor answer his questions.
"We were in the middle of a waltz," he said. "I like waltzing, and you do it well. Complete it with me now." He straightened up and held out a hand for hers.
"Here? But there is no room." Diana laughed a little shakily."And no music."
"There is plenty of room for one couple to dance around the sofa," he said. "And I will provide the music if you will not. Come, Diana."
She put her hand in his and got to her feet. She rested one hand on his shoulder when his came behind her waist, and felt herself flushing as he grinned down at her. When a crash of thunder had passed, he began to hum the very tune they had been dancing to when the Countess of Rotherham had interrupted them. They circled the small room.
But it somehow became easier in the cramped space if instead of holding her hand out to the side, he spread it flat against his heart, his own covering it, and if instead of keeping the obligatory space between them, he drew her against him. And her elbow was less likely to catch against something if she moved her arm right up about his neck. And his cheek had nowhere else to rest except against hers.
The music failed after a few minutes.
"Well, Diana," he said into her ear, "you must slap me very hard and right now if you do not want what seems about to happen."
She did not move. She had her eyes closed. "I don't care," she said after a few moments of silence, "about tomorrow or about propriety or about anything except tonight and this place. And you."
"You should care," he said, beginning to feather kisses along her temple and down one cheek. "I am not at all the sort of man for you, Diana."
"Jack," she said. "Jack, don't reason with me. Make love to me."
He lowered his head until his lips met hers. "You should stop me," he murmured before opening his mouth over hers. "You should stop me, Diana."
She should stop him. He could not stop himself. She was soft and warm and yielding. And she was there with him inside the warm lantern-lit pavilion with a storm crashing around them. And her mouth invited him, and her body was shapely and feminine against his. And her breasts were firm and womanly beneath his hands. And her thighs were pressed intimately to his. Her fingers were in his hair. She was making low sounds of appreciation in her throat.
And she had asked him to make love to her.
She could not stop him. She did not want to stop him. She knew there would be only that night. She knew to whom she had surrendered herself and she held no illusions about the future. But it was a night for love. And she did love him. For despite everything, he was Jack. He was more than just a rake who seemed to feel it necessary to conquer any presentable female who came within his line of vision. He was witty and amusing, and he hid a very real person behind the mask of his wit. She had grown to like that person even if she did not know him well.
She did not want to stop him. And she lost the power to do so after his mouth had claimed hers and his hands moved over her and held her to him. She wanted him to make love to her. She wanted him.More than anything else in life.
She should stop him. He could not do it alone. She was so warm.So desirable.So very eager.Diana.
"Diana. Diana."
"Yes." Her head was thrown back to feel his lips at her throat. "Oh, yes."
And then she was standing alone, disoriented and bewildered. Lord Kenwood had taken several strides to the door and thrown it open. The wind had died down so that the rain poured straight down in a heavy sheet. A draft of cool air came into the pavilion.
He set one shoulder against the doorframe, and stood looking out into the storm, drawing deep steadying breaths. There was silence for a full minute until Diana swallowed painfully and sat down rather heavily on the sofa.
"Do you have no sense at all?" the marquess asked eventually without turning around. His voice was harsh. "What do you think you are about, Diana, surrendering your virtue to a man like me?"
She sat straight on the sofa, not touching the back of it, her hands clasped very tightly in her lap. "How am I supposed to answer that?" she asked.
"How?"He continued to stare out into the darkness. "You are supposed to tell me that I misunderstood you. You are supposed to be angry. You are supposed to tell me to stay exactly where I am until this storm stops, or even to go out into the rain."
"You did not misunderstand me," she said quietly. "And I am not angry.Only very shaken.Why do you hate yourself so much?"
He laughed harshly. "You ask me that?" he said. "You know what I am, Diana. You know that I have nothing of any goodness or worth to offer you. And you don't even know me worst about me."
