“Some of us more than others,” she murmured, becoming annoyed by his sharp attitude, which seemed unjustified. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself in check.
He watched her for a long, silent moment. She held her eyes on the window for as long as she could. But the uneven roads jostled her against him. Her shoulder or arm touched his. Or their thighs were pressed together briefly. Each contact sent a shiver through her.
She wanted the carriage ride to end because she could not bear the icy silences. But at the same time, she didn’t because it brought her such close proximity to Aaron.
I remember him being more innocent and quiet than I when we were children. Now, how this cold, rude, arrogant man toys with my senses… and I do not even think he knows it!
His blue eyes were pale and hard as steel. They were a snare from which she couldn’t escape—didn’t wish to escape. She wanted to keep gazing into them, growing closer to him, swayed by the rocking of the carriage until…
A sudden jolt brought her daydreams into startling reality. The carriage lurched to one side, and Aaron was thrown against her. His book flew across the carriage. Catherine was pressed back into her seat, her hands protectively in front of her. Aaron’s body landed atop her, his weight landing on his hands, but his chest pressed against hers.
She felt the rigid muscle that slabbed that chest, the bulge of pectorals trained to steely rigidity. There was power there, held in check. Immense strength. It frightened her and tantalized her all the same.
Her hands slipped around his chest, running over the silk brocade of his waistcoat, under his overcoat. She moved purely by instinct, arms going around him to clutch his body against hers under the guise of fear.
All the while, her breath came in panting gasps. Her heart hammered against her chest, and she fancied she could feel the reciprocal frenzy of his own heartbeat. His eyes filled her vision, filling her head. His lips were so close, and the memory of their kiss so fresh. Shewantedthat kiss again, wanted to feel something that was not fear or apprehension. Wanted pure pleasure.
He lowered his head to hers first, and their lips met. It was not tender or gentle, not an overture of love. It was tense with barely constrained passion.
She gasped as he pressed her down into the cushioned seat of the carriage. His loins pinned her there, his desire evident. She held him tight against her, fingers digging into his back and wishing she could tear through the material of the waistcoat and shirt that separated his flesh from hers.
The taste of him was intoxicating.
There had never been a more male sensation than the thrusting intrusion of his tongue into her mouth. She breathed in, and her head was filled with an exotic musk of spice and wood. It mingled with the hard sensations of his body, thrusting and urgent. Demanding and unyielding. She bit his lip, hearing him gasp and feeling a surge of triumph that almost made her cry aloud—so potent was the pleasure that it spilled down every nerve.
His callused fingers slid along her thigh, catching behind her knee and drawing her leg up. Before she could even fathom how his hand had come to be in such a state, her skirts whispered higher—past her stockings, past the ribbon garters, past everything.
She felt the cool air on bare skin, felt his hand pause at the edge of silk, hovering at the threshold.
His hips pressed against her, insistent, urgent,hardenough that she felt him through every layer of fabric between them. Thewantthat flooded through her was almost frightening in its intensity. She wanted him to tear through silk and linen, wanted to watch that iron mask of control finally shatter.
Wanted him wild and savage, as desperate as she felt, as lost to this aching need…
“Your Grace! Are you well?” shouted the driver, “We just missed a runaway ox. I’m sorry for the sudden jolt!”
It shattered the moment. Aaron looked back, anger on his face.
“Well, be more bloody careful in the future! We are not hurt, no thanks to you!” he roared.
Then, those icy orbs transfixed down on Catherine. She felt the heat flood her face, knew her bosoms were heaving. His gaze caressed over them briefly before shooting back to her eyes.
“This must not happen again,” he hissed, “you will restrain yourself in the future.”
Me?!
CHAPTER 7
“Aaron, you have chosen a bride who will surely elevate your house. I have had a chat with her, and she is quite lovely!” said Thomas Richmond, Earl of Thanet.
Gideon glowered at his acquaintance, who had clearly been toasting the marriage a little too assiduously over the morning.
“Thank you, Thanet. For your kind words and helping to make my cellars more spacious,” he smiled with all the warmth of a drawn blade.
“I note that you are your usual sour self while your bride is bright as a star.”
“You sound as though you would like to trade wives, Tom,” said Jeremy Bexley, clapping a hand onto Thomas’ shoulder, “not bored of yours already, are you?”
“Immensely, old man,” he whispered. “How did you snare such a lovely creature so quickly, Aaron?”
