“My family has influence,” he practically roared.
“Not here.Not enough,” she said.“In these perilous times, with the French!”She broke off, shaking her head.“I must be careful.The survival of our entire way of life is at stake.There’s my family to consider, and then there is Henrik.His safety.Above all, I cannot jeopardize him.”
Jonathan covered her hand with his, holding it against his chest.“I don’t understand.What does your engagement have to do with your family and Henrik?”
Lise tugged her fingers free.“My father told you.Captain Albrecht is Henrik’s commanding officer.Imagine how he would treat a lieutenant whose sister has betrayed and dishonored his brother and by relation, his entire family.”
Now that was the first solid reason she’d given him.He well knew, from living deep in the heart of British nobility, how looking out for one’s own over the greater good caused earldoms, duchies, and even kingdoms to crumble.A young soldier could find himself in the thick of a sticky situation rather quickly if, instead of having his back, his commanding officer wanted to put a knife in it.
On the other hand, Henrik wasn’t some foot soldier.He was a lieutenant, and retribution seemed unlikely.Thus, Jonathan looked into her eyes and asked an idiotic question.
“Are you sure that isn’t simply what you’re telling yourself to make your acquiescence more palatable?”
Chapter Nine
Lise slapped his face.Later, she would decide it was anxiousness and sadness that had caused her to lash out, as well as understanding that she was well and truly trapped.
“You know nothing of my family’s circumstances.Nothing of what we face here with the battles over who owns which blade of grass.You sweep in from England with your maps and your questions and your ...your presumptions, and you think you can simply —”
“I think nothing,” he interrupted, touching his fingertips briefly to his cheek, before fisting both hands at his sides.
She was momentarily ashamed, until he added, “Your eyes flashed with anger, and you’ve just shown the first sign of true passion I’ve seen all evening.”
Lise didn’t like to be manipulated, especially not to evoke a display of her emotions.She was ready to walk away from this futile discussion.But he reached for her hand again.
“You deserve better than a marriage of obligation to a man you don’t love,” Jonathan insisted, as if stating some obvious truth she had foolishly missed.She wanted to slap him again for his arrogance in thinking he understood her predicament better than she herself.
“Love!”she snapped.“What does love have to do with marriage?You are a member of the nobility.Surely you know better than that.”He must have seen many loveless marriages, unions that were merely arrangements between wealthy families seeking to increase their power.
“I know I’ve never felt for any woman what I feel for you,” he told her quietly.
Every last ounce of irritation drained from her.His confession was raw, leaving him exposed should she shun him.And he hadn’t finished yet.
“The thought of you in another man’s bed makes me want to break things,” he said.“I fully realize that I’m behaving like the lowest scoundrel, yet I am powerless to stop myself because the alternative, walking away from you, never seeing you again.”He shook his head.“It is inconceivable.”
“Jonathan.”His name fell from her lips like a sigh.She was overcome with ...unwelcome feelings.“You must stop.Please,” she said, half warning, half supplication.“We cannot.This cannot come to anything.”
“I know.”He raised a hand, let it hover near her face, not quite touching.“I know all the reasons why this is impossible.But knowing does not make me want you any less.”
For a moment, they stood frozen.Then slowly, he reached out and took her hands and drew her against him.The garden was quiet around them, the evening settling into that peculiar hush that comes just after sunset.Somewhere in the distance, a nightjar called.
Then Lise heard a strange sound — soft, wounded — and realized she had made the noise.Worse, tears were starting to slide down her cheeks.
He groaned, brushing her cheekbone gently with his thumb.Helplessly, she leaned into the caress, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered, his voice sounding rough.“Please, don’t cry, Lise.”
“I don’t know what else to do.”Her voice sounded small, broken to her own ears.Not at all like herself.“I don’t know how to bear this.”
“Nor do I.”Jonathan leaned closer, until his forehead rested against hers.They weren’t quite kissing, but the intimacy was no less than if they were.
Standing like that, breathing the same air, she couldn’t summon the strength to step back.Splaying her fingers wide on his chest, she curled them into his fine wool coat, holding him, anchoring him to her, as if she could keep them in this moment forever.
The look upon his face indicated Jonathan’s control had shattered.His hands slid into her hair, cradling her head before his mouth crashed onto hers.It was nothing like London.No teasing, no exploration.This was desperation and hunger, and she answered his kiss with all the longing she’d tried to bury over the past eternity.She opened her mouth under his, needing more.
When his tongue slid between her lips, her insides melted.Low between her hips, she was hot and soft and aching.He tasted of raspberries and wine and fierce desire.As he tilted his head, their kiss deepened.He planted his booted foot between her legs, tightening her skirt, his muscular thigh pressing her womanly mound as he leaned into her.
“Mm,”came a small sound in her throat as fire raced through her veins.This was madness.This was ruin.She didn’t care.
