“Indeed?”
Exasperated, Denzell echoed, “Indeed, indeed, indeed, Miss Chaceley! Is that all you can ever say? Of course it is. A crumbling façade before me must put you in grave danger, must it not?”
Verena could not reply. A tremor passed across her features. Why did he taunt her thus? If indeed he knew how hard it was for her to maintain her front, then what devil possessed him to prick at her?
He was glaring at her! All at once the expression in his face was too distressing to be borne. Why, she could not tell. She knew only that she could no longer maintain the façade. That it was indeed crumbling before him. A piercing, inexplicable pain threw her hand up to her breast.
“Why must you be so cruel?”
Her voice cracked. Next moment, she found her hands clasped together between two strong ones, held fast against the male chest before her.
“I’m not! I’m not cruel, Verena. Only I cannot bear it when you shield yourself against me. I know you are deeply troubled. I only want to help you, if I can. I ask nothing more than to be allowed to serve you. You have nothing to fear from me, I promise you. Only don’t, I beg of you, Verena, keep me at a distance.”
“Imust,” she said, anguished. For everything in her yearned to yield to him. To allow him close, to give him access to her deepest thoughts, her deepest feelings.
“But why? Tell me, Verena, why?”
“I cannot — there is nothing —” she faltered, trying vainly to recover herself, half struggling to free her hands.
“Yes, there is something. Tell me.”
“No, no — you are mistaken.”
“I am not mistaken,” he said with vehemence. “Verena, I could not be mistaken where you are concerned. Deuce take it, I have fallen in love with you!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Aghast, Verena gazed at him. “Oh no,” she uttered faintly.
Denzell stared back, quite as shocked himself by his own words. An odd laugh escaped him.
“My God, Ihavefallen in love with you. Oh, Verena.”
Without any warning at all he released her hands, but only so that he might take her in his arms, gently, and in wonderment, oblivious to the stunned expression on her face. Next instant he was kissing her.
Verena’s knees gave way. Had Denzell not been holding her she would have fallen. Sensation crowded out thought as the pressure at her mouth sent waves dizzying across her brain. Then a wash of heat engulfed her and she groaned, unaware that her lips were answering his, moving in a hunger that had nothing to do with sense or fear, or even consciousness. Her arms, her hands, all moved seemingly without any volition on her part, snaking up to enfold the hard warmth of his chest closer still.
The pressure on her mouth intensified, and her lips parted at the implicit command, leaving her vulnerable to a searing belt of flame that raced through her at the velvet touch that followed.
It was too much! She was burning, suffused with intolerable sensations that threatened to deprive her of her senses. Struggling, she fought free and staggered back, panting with effort and hysterical with frantic protest.
“How could you? Howcouldyou? Never — never — dare to do such a thing again!”
Denzell, as charged as she, as much affected, yet realised how wrong, how inconsiderate he had been.
“Verena, forgive me! I did not mean to do it, I swear. I couldn’t help it. I promise you, I had no such intention when I brought you here. I had no notion that I had fallen in love with you.”
“Don’t say that,” uttered Verena, trembling. “It isn’t possible … you must not…” She drew a ragged breath against the uneven pounding of her pulse. “You must not — cannot — love me.”
“It’s too late, Verena. I do love you. Nothing can change that.”
She drew back. “No. Please, no.”
Denzell reached out and caught her hand. “Why are you so afraid? What is it that you fear?”
Verena tried to pull her hand away, but his fingers tightened. She was conscious that she was trembling, and could not doubt but that he felt it. He drew her mittened hand up to his mouth, kissed the bare fingertips, and then let it go. The tenderness of the gesture left her helpless, warmed inside, despite the denial she was trying to hold to. He must not love her, because she could not — must not — love him. She did not love him!
“Never speak to me of such m-matters again,” she said shakily. “I could not love you, Mr Hawkeridge — or anyone.”
