“Shit,” he said with an ominous growl.
Jane froze, just yards from him.
“This,” the earl ground out, “is highly inappropriate.”
She blinked.
He spurred his hunter to her, and before she could move, he reached down and hauled her up in front of him, as if she were no more than a sack of potatoes.
She wiggled. “Sir! I protest! You can’t manhandle me—”
“No?” he said in her ear. Already he was aware of his mistake. Her perfect little behind was wedged between his thighs, not an auspicious place for it to be. Soonhewould be tugging at his crotch. “Sirstill!”
“I am not a child,” she quavered. “To be treated like this!”
He clamped his arm around her waist, steadying her. “Then why,” he muttered in her ear, “do you persist in acting like one?”
15
Jane was humiliated.
The earl had hauled her down from the horse with Thomas watching from the front steps, and then he’d hauled her inside and down the hall and into the library. He kicked the door closed behind them, and its reverberations boomed loudly through the manor.
The Earl of Dragmore was furious.
“I was only fishing.” Jane gasped. The sound was strangled. He was actually red in the face.
“Fishing.” He said the word as if she’d told him she’d been on her back, skirts up, the way Amelia had been. Jane skittered away from him as he took a step toward her, then his hands caught her, hauling heragainto him, and turning her so her back was to his chest. He propelled her forward, and Jane found herself facing a huge mirror over a Louis XIV table. “What do you see?” he demanded.
Jane saw the earl’s face above her, with its rigid angry lines. Their gazes met.
“Not me,” he said through gritted teeth. He shook her once. “Look at yourself, Jane.”
She obeyed, afraid not to.
Her face was white. Her eyes were wild-looking. Her hair was a wind-whipped mass, a third of it having escaped her braid. Then she noticed her blouse, and two pink spots bloomed on her cheeks.
Mostly she noticed her breasts.
They stood out like plump melons in the wet, clinging shirt. Her nipples were hard little points. She looked into the earl’s reflection and saw that he had been remarking what she’d been remarking. His grip on her arms was so very tight. Her blush deepened. He released her and spun away.
“Have you no sense of propriety?” he grated.
She opened her mouth to reply—and shut it.
“Do you think you’re twelve? Did you see the way that redhead was looking at you? Were you encouraging him? Another few minutes and he’d have had you flat on your back—your skirt to your ears!” the earl roared, grabbing her again.
“Propriety?” Jane gasped as he hauled her one more time up against him. Indignation rose full steam. “You berate me about propriety?”
“Did you hear me?” the earl cried, shaking her.
“Did you hear me!” she cried back. “Of course I wasn’t encouraging him, we were only fishing!”
They glared. “Your behavior is in question here, not mine.”
“But yours should be,” Jane cried recklessly. “You’re the one who tracks mud everywhere, you’re the one who keeps a mistress publicly, you’re the one—” She stopped, knowing she had gone too far.
The earl’s hands shook. “What? Pray continue, Jane.” His voice was soft and dangerous.
