“Milady,” he told her, “you have not lost one bit of your aristocratic hauteur. You had quite an abundance of it as a child, you know.”
“And you were a very rude child, and now you are a very rude adult, Lord Cameron. You’re not only a traitor, you’re a brute.”
“This is a subject, mam’selle, with which I think that you should take extreme care.”
“Your activities—”
“I am no traitor but a man of convictions. And a brute, milady? For seeking to save myself from your very tender touch? Alas, I should stand still, and allow those feminine claws of yours to draw blood. That is what you seek tonight, isn’t it? Blood, milady?”
“You’re sadly mistaken. I seek no vengeance upon anyone.”
Still, he held her close. His fingers wound tight around her wrists, and his words whispered like the breeze against her lips. She could almost feel the brush of his lips. The lace of his shirt and the satin of his surcoat lay against her bare flesh where the mounds of her breasts rose daringly above her bodice, and she was uncomfortably aware of the feel and texture of the fabric and of the warmth of the man beneath it.
“Tarryton is a fool.”
“How dare you judge him!”
“Any man who would cast aside such exquisite beauty for mere wealth is a fool.”
“You’ve no right to judge him!”
“Ah, but he didn’t exactly cast you aside. He meant to have loveandmoney.”
She tried to kick him again. He dragged her down upon the bench, laughing again. “Careful, milady! I’m striving not to be a brute, but the role of knight is difficult to play when you are so determined to cause me pain.”
“You are causingmegreat pain!” she retorted. Drawn upon his lap, she was in a very awkward position. He held her hands still, and though his touch was easy, she was still his prisoner. There was no doubting that.
“I’m so sorry. As I said, my wish is really only to fulfill your desires.”
“Oh, you lie!”
“But I don’t lie, milady!”
“I’ll never, never marry you, so any point you wish to make between us is quite moot.”
“Alas! You crush me!” he said with mock despair.
He was not in the least crushed or broken, but every bit amused. Things had not changed at all. He still viewed himself the adult, the master of the world, and her but a child playing willfully within his realm.
Except that now he touched her differently. He held her tightly. And she was all too aware of that hold. The scent of flowers was all around them and the moonlight played over his striking face, which reminded her of the fine statues in the Venus garden. His features were like those of Mars, or Apollo, hard cast and striking, as was his smile. She wanted to wrench away from him, and then again, she was struck with the startling and dizzying desire to learn more about him. She trembled already. If he touched her lips with his own the way that Robert had done, just what was it that she would feel?
“Let me go,” she said swiftly. “Now.”
His smile deepened. He knew, she thought with sudden panic. He knew exactly what she was thinking, and he was both amused and challenged. He was holding her ever closer, but now just one of his hands secured her wrists and the other moved upward to her cheek.
“I could scream!” she threatened in a whisper.
“Scream,” he suggested.
But she did not. The softest little whimper escaped her as his lips touched hers. They brought with them an incredible heat that consumed her. There was no hesitance about him, just sweeping determination and power. He offered no subtlety, he asked nothing, but demanded, his tongue plunging against the crevice of her lips with an intimate surge, breaking through the barrier of her teeth and sweeping her mouth with deep and sensual effrontery. She felt the breath of him and the scent of him, and she was filled with everything that was intimate about the man. She freed her hand to fight him, and found that her palm fell against the breast of his frock coat, and she was achingly aware of even the feel of the material there. She was trembling. She should be fighting now for dear life and honor, yet she was locked in his embrace, and could not begin to find the power to pull away. His kiss was an invasion, a subtle rape of her mouth, and yet his touch was so overwhelming that she could do nothing but absorb the sensations. Tears stung her eyes, for she was somehow aware that the magic of the night was over. Innocence was gone. She had fallen in love, she had believed in a man, and she had believed in love. And she had been spurned. And now she was discovering that she could still be touched, that she could feel, that she could rage and despise a stranger and still fall prey to the demand of a kiss, to tremble and shake in the arms of the enemy.…
She pulled away from him at last, gasping and horrified. Her fingers flew to her swollen lips, her arms wrapped protectively about her chest. “St-stop!” she charged him. She rose and backed away, hating him and hating Robert with all of her heart. She would never, never love anyone again, she vowed silently. And certainly not this man who now watched her with such striking curiosity in his silver eyes. He did not breathe hard, he did not shake or tremble. He was, at least, no longer amused, for his gaze was hard and grave upon her.
“Stop!” she repeated, still shaking. “You are in truth no better than he!”
“Ah, but I am, you see,” he said softly as he stood. “I can offer you an honest proposal of marriage, and he cannot.”
“Marriage!”
