He hadn't been thinking. He'd been angry. Tormented. Pushed beyond reason by her teasing and flirting.
But even as he was condemning himself as a fool, when he looked at her swollen lips and flushed cheeks all he could think about was doing it again.
And that rattled him even more. Enough to make damned sure it never happened again. "Was that enough to satisfy your curiosity, my lady?"
She blinked, confused. "W-what do you mean?"
He took a deep, ragged breath, trying to calm the fierce pounding in his chest. "It means that you have that dog to thank for letting you leave here with your virtue intact." He held her gaze, his eyes hard and unyielding. "But I can damn well assure you that if you keep up this game of yours, the next time you might not be so fortunate."
She flinched as if he'd struck her. "How can you say that? How can you kiss me like that and act as if it doesn't mean anything? As if you didn't feel--"
"What I felt was lust. Don't make the mistake of thinking it's something more."
He wouldn't.
He couldn't.
She took a step back, her eyes dampening with tears. His chest started to throb and burn.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you deliberately trying to be cruel?"
His fists clenched against the nearly irrepressible urge to comfort her. He was doing it for her own good--for them both--protecting her from an impossible situation. "I'm merely giving you a warning. Your little game is over. Whatever you were doing here, it ends now."
She gazed up at him mutely, searching his face for something she would never find.
"Take your dog," he said, his voice oddly rough, "and go."
Without another word, she scooped up the puppy and fled. He watched her, feeling as if the room had suddenly grown darker.
Only belatedly did he remember the map. He looked down. It was there, at his feet, where it must have slipped from her hand--landing the wrong side up. Had she looked down, she would have seen the notes on the back. But somehow the disaster that he'd avoided didn't seem to come close to the one that he hadn't.
* * *
Anna barely made it out the door before the tears of hurt and humiliation burst through the dam of pride. She wouldn't let him see how badly he'd hurt her. Devastated--not only by the kiss, but also by the cruel rejection that followed--she took refuge in her chamber. She was fortunate that everyone seemed to be at the evening meal, as she was in no state to see anyone.
Pleading a headache to her maid--who took one look at her face and must have known she was lying but was friend enough to go along with the pretense--Anna feigned sleep when her sisters returned. The last thing she wanted to do was answer questions or talk about what had happened. She didn't even want to think about what had happened.
God, he'd been right. Horribly right. She'd been a hair's breadth--or in this case, a puppy's whinge--away from doing something disastrous.
His kiss. His tongue. Dear Lord, the incredible sensations of his hands on her breasts. They'd felt too good. She hadn't wanted it to stop. She'd been swept up in desire far beyond her experience to resist. Instinct had overtaken caution, pleasure had overtaken reason, the primal urge to join with him had drowned everything else in its wake.
Her body had been tingling for him. Flushed and eager for his touch. The place between her legs had been--her cheeks heated--damp.
He could have taken her innocence with little resistance. Tears poured from her eyes and a harsh sob tore from her chest. Nay, withnoresistance.
Her heart squeezed at the appalling truth. She'd wanted him. Enough to do something inconceivable. Something rash and foolish that could never be undone.
But it hadn't been just about lust. At least not for her. When he'd held her in his arms and kissed her, Anna had been overwhelmed with emotion. What she felt for him was intense ... powerful ...different.
Yet the kiss that had meant so much to her had merely been some cruel lesson to him--a means of discouraging her "shadowing him."
The accusation was all the more humiliating for its truth. Shehadbeen chasing after him, and if it had been only about her father's request, it might not have been so bad. But after what had just happened, she was forced to admit the truth: it hadn't been about just doing a job for her father. Her interest in him had been just as much about her as it had her father. Perhaps more so.
His cruel lesson worked. The next morning, with the tears if not the hurt that spawned them behind her, Anna reported her findings to her father. Sir Arthur Campbell was exactly as he appeared: an able, ambitious knight focused on the upcoming battle. Any lingering doubts that he was hiding something, she pushed aside.
Satisfied by her estimation, her father instructed her to cease her efforts. Her attention in the young knight had been remarked upon and her father didn't want Sir Arthur to grow suspicious.
Anna didn't tell him that it was too late for that.
