“Yes.”
Their gazes locked. Jane smiled, aware of the feel of him beneath her hand. “Do you want to kiss me?” It was a question, said more out of curiosity than anything else.
He inhaled, then took her hand in his, removing it from his belly but not releasing it. “Do you want him to kill me?”
“I’ve never been kissed,” Jane said simply. “Not by a man.”
Lindley stared.
Jane didn’t realize it, but she swayed closer, fractionally, face upturned.
Lindley groaned. His hold on her hand tightened, and then he bent and kissed her once, briefly, on her parted lips. It happened so fast it was over before it had begun. Jane was disappointed.
“That’s enough, Jane,” the earl said tersely from behind them.
18
“It’s not what you think,” Lindley said.
Jane could see the earl clearly in the moonlight, clearly enough to know that he was enraged. Reflexively she stepped back from him, suddenly afraid for what she had done.
“If you were not my friend,” the earl said through tight lips, “I would kill you.”
“Nick—”
“Shut up!” His voice was thunder. “You are no longer welcome at Dragmore. Pack your bags and get out!”
A silence fell.
Jane felt as if the world were disintegrating beneath her feet. Lindley was the earl’s one and only friend! She could not let this happen! God, she was so sorry! “It wasn’t his fault,” she managed breathlessly. “It was mine.”
He whirled. “You shut up as well.” To Lindley: “Move.”
“When you’re calmer,” Lindley said, “we can discuss this—”
The earl hit him. It was an explosive blow with the speed of lightning and the force of a locomotive. He snapped back Lindley’s head, knocking him against the maple. Jane cried out. Lindley staggered upright, holding his nose. The earl stood with thighs spread, fists ready, his face black. Lindley pushed off of the tree and, with a look, left.
“Oh, God!”
At the sound of Jane’s moan, Nick turned to her. “You little flirt,” he grated, sick inside, so sick. His hands found her shoulders of their own volition and he hauled her close, very close, lifting her off the ground so they were face to face. She didn’t whimper, but she was white.
He wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him. He wasn’t thinking, he was only feeling.
“You little flirt,” he said again, shaking her once. “I thought you were different, but you’re not, are you? You’re like all the rest, aren’t you?”
“No.” Jane gasped. Their faces were so close. She could see his eyes, and they frightened her.
“A man’s kiss,” Nick cried. “You want a man’s kiss?”
She frantically shook her head no.
He shook her, then, with one arm, he yanked her against his chest, his other hand grabbing a hank of hair next to the scalp and anchoring her head viciously. She whimpered. His mouth came down hard and brutal upon hers.
He was savage in his attack, not waiting for any sign from her that he should proceed. His teeth clashed against hers, he forced her mouth open, thrusting his tongue through her lips. He plunged relentlessly into her mouth, again and again.
He slowly became aware of many things, one after the other.
Jane was soft and warm and more exciting than any woman he’d ever held. Every inch of her body throbbed against his. His kiss had, somehow, a will of its own, and it had softened. She was kissing him back. In fact, her tongue was dancing with his, entwining with his, stroking the inside of his mouth the way he’d stroked hers. And … she was clinging to him. Her hands were caught in his hair desperately. And she was wiggling her plump, sweet mons against the steel length of his erection.
