"Yes, you are. You promised. Several times, in fact. Remember?" His face was amiable and ridiculously handsome. "We've been pledged to each other for ten years. It's time we marched to the altar. It will be a romantic tale, the wedding of thecentury!"
"For the love of…!” Clamping down on her exasperation, she said, "Very well, if you want me to make it official, I will. Any engagement that was between us isover. Am I making myself sufficientlyclear?"
"Remember the discussions we had about Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin? You liked the fact that I supported the principle of equal rights and obligations for females. I still do. If a man isn't allowed to jilt a woman, then a woman shouldn't be allowed to jilt a man." He smiled angelically. "The betrothalstands."
Chapter7
Roxanne gaspedat Dominick's effrontery. "We arenotbetrothed! You can't force me to marry you. No vicar will perform a ceremony when the female is gagged and that's the only way you'll be able to prevent me fromprotesting!"
"Ah, but by the time we reach the vicar, you won't be protesting." His gaze holding hers, he stepped forward and drew her into his arms. Softly, gently, his lips met hers in a warm, thoroughexploration.
She gave a tiny whimper and clutched his upper arms. His embrace was as familiar as her dreams, where he had come to her in the depths of a thousandnights.
The kiss deepened and he drew her closer. He was so tall, so muscular. She felt desire rising and her breasts ached with longing. With a gasp she tore herself away, unconsciously wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if that would free her of hisspell.
He gave a slow, dangerous smile. "You'll not escape me so easily,Roxanne."
She turned away from him, shaking. It wasn't fair that she had to be reasonable for both of them! If it was left to Dominick, they would plunge into marriage, then make each other miserable. He would leave her, or take mistresses, and she would wish she were dead. If only she didn'tlovehim...
She stopped and pressed her hands to her temples. Oh, Lord, she did love him, didn't she? Against all sense, she felt exactly as she had ten years before. Even when she had hated him for his betrayal, she had never stopped loving him. She was anutterfool.
She must escape tonight when he was asleep, before she lost what remained of her wits. After swallowing hard, she turned to face him. "And you'll not change my mind easily,mylord."
"It will be interesting to discover which of us is more stubborn. We're well matched, Roxanne. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you." His caressing expression turned pragmatic. "It's too late in the day to set off for London. I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry. There should still be some food in the pantry. Shall we see what can be made from the suppliesathand?"
Having had ample time to inventory the pantry, she said, "There are eggs and potatoes and a knob of butter, so I suppose an omelet is possible. Perhaps there might be something useful growing in the old kitchengarden."
"Excellent idea." He ushered her outside. The flowering apple trees glowed in the late afternoon sun. "A lovely day, isn't it? England atitsbest."
She inhaled the blossom scented air, feeling the pulse of spring beat in her veins. She wanted to frolic like a lamb, careen as madly as a March hare. She hadn't felt so alive since ... since that magical season when she had fallen in love withDominick.
Hastily she examined the long-neglected garden. "There are scallions over there, and a bit of parsley. They'll liven uptheeggs."
"We'll have a feast." He knelt and used his pocketknife to cut the herbs. With a mischievous smile he added, "I'll peel and fry the potatoes. I'm not sure I should trust you with aknife."
"Wise man," she said tartly. "I might use it to cut out yourheart."
Scallions and parsley in one hand, he straightened to his full height. "You don't need to do that," he said simply. "You already have myheart."
His gaze held hers, his gray eyes utterly without guile. She found that she was having trouble with her breathing. Perhaps ... perhaps it was reallypossible....
She pivoted and headed back into the cottage. "I warn you, my cooking skills areindifferent."
"No matter," he said cheerfully as he followed her inside. "I have some French wine that could make stewed boots seemambrosial."
Dropping all references to love, lust, and marriage, he removed his coat and waistcoat, then rolled up his sleeves and built up the fire. To her surprise, they worked together as smoothly as longtime dance partners, sharing utensils and taking turns at the table and the hearth. In spite of his comment about the knife, he passed it to her without hesitation when she was ready to chop the scallions andparsley.
For a gentleman, he was surprisingly competent in the kitchen. Deftly he peeled and cut potatoes, then fried the wedges into a crispy, golden pile. Feeling naughty, she stole one from the old chipped platter. It was hot and savory anddelicious.
He grinned and ate a potato wedge himself, then popped one into her mouth as if she were a baby bird. Her tongue touched his fingertips, tasting salt andsensuality.
There was an odd moment of complete, mutual awareness, and she feared that he could see the accelerating beat of herheart.
Nervously she turned and poured her egg mixture into the skillet. While she cooked a fluffy, fragrant omelet, he set the table and ceremoniously poured fine French Bordeaux into a pair ofthickmugs.
She was folding the omelet over when he slipped up behind her and removed the pins that kept her hair in place. The whole mass tumbled down over her shouldersagain.
She was about to scold him when he pressed a light kiss through the silky strands under her left ear, his tongue teasing the lobe. Her toes curled and she almost dropped the skillet. With a feeble attempt at severity, she said, "If you don't behave, your supper will end up scattered across thefloor."
