Hetty drew in a long anxious breath. What was he suggesting? Surely not… A nervous thrill passed through her, coupled with a sense of shame. Did he consider her immoral? “I assure you, my lord, there isnothing.”
He placed a finger under her chin and raised it, forcing her to meet his fiery blue gaze. She felt singed as warmth spiraled down to heat regions of her body she’d hardly been aware of. Her knees threatened to give way.
“You owe me a kiss, I think.” He sounded entirely reasonable despite his outrageous request.
Hetty was quite sure she couldn’t handle a kiss from this man with any degree of savoir-faire. He had the wrong idea about her entirely. “I owe you nothing of the sort.” She decided to bluff it out and pushed past him.
She found herself on her back in the straw, with his lordship leaning over her. She struggled, but he held her down by her arms.
“Roué!Rake!” She fought her own desire as she attempted to evade him when he lowered his head to hers. It was useless, for he was too strong. He claimed her mouth, his lips cool and hard, and she stilled, shocked by the lick of excitement passing through her like a hot flame. He withdrew to look at her with surprise. “Horatia!”
She sucked in a breath. “I did not give you permission to call me by my name. How dare…”
His mouth claimed hers again. Hetty never knew a kiss could be like this. It was not an embarrassing collision of lips, quickly over. His lips softened as they moved over hers as she drew in his fresh male smell. Such raw intimacy stunned her. He stroked up her arms and clasped her hands, holding them above her head, a further shock of skin on skin, while crushed against his hard body. The body she knew well, having spent the night with him. How could he respect her now? And did it really matter? He would never be hers.
The fight went out of her. Had her hands been free, she would have pulled him closer still, driven by an insatiable curiosity.
Hetty was dimly aware that he taught her a lesson. Women could not live in a man’s world. They would never get the better of a man physically. They should keep their place. Impotent fury rose along with the unwelcome passion.
Their heavy breathing filled the stable. The horses shuffled and whickered as he hovered over her, still holding her captive. She glared up at him, struggling against the desire he stirred in her. She fought to keep her anger close and nurture it to build a wall between them. “You have made your point,” she hurled at him. “You are stronger than I am.”
“You are such an innocent, Horatia,” he said, suddenly serious. “I hope you now realize you can’t go about teasing poor men in this manner. That is a dangerous world out there, even in this small corner of England. Promise me you mean what you say.”
“I keep my word, my lord.”
“My name is Guy. I believe we’ve moved beyond the formalities.” His blue gaze roamed her face. “Has anyone told you your eyes aren’t brown? They are closer to amber with touches of green and gold. Like some rare stone.”
She turned her head away. “Let me go.”
When he obeyed her, she shoved him back as hard as she could. She jumped up and left him lying in the hay, an infuriatingly smug expression on his face. “You are no gentleman, sir. It seems they teach very poor manners in France!”
“Ah, but we French know how to enjoy what life has to offer.” He climbed to his feet and dusted the straw from his legs. He straightened, laughter in his eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you. The shape of your body in those breeches caused me some anguish, for which I may not forgive you!”
She put a finger to her swollen lips as another wave of helpless rage swept over her. “How ungrateful you are. I saved your life!”
“And I remain eternally grateful for it. Now go quickly and change before I decide to kiss you again. As fetching as you look right now…” His gaze roamed over her from head to toe, which made her suck in another frustrated breath. “I wish to see you dressed as a pretty woman should be. Your secret is safe with me.”
What arrogance! Glaring at him, she searched for the right words to wound him. Fury tied her tongue into knots. He toyed with her because he was a man and could do whatever he pleased. Her restricted circumstances became so unbearable she was afraid she might explode.
She planted a smile on her face and swayed her hips as she came closer.
“Mon dieu!” He eyed her body in the formfitting breeches and shook his head with an approving grin.
She raised her arm and slapped him hard across the cheek, so hard her fingers tingled. She welcomed the smarting; it made her feel considerably better.
“Coquine!” Eyes open wide, he fell backward with a hand to his cheek.
“We Englishwomen are not to be toyed with, my lord!” She turned to make a grand exit but stumbled over a rake cast down in the hay. Extricating herself without injury, she hurried for the door. “I shall expect you for tea in ten minutes.”
“Oh, I shall be there. Never fear. I wish to see your transformation,” came the amused reply.
Chapter Seven
Mortified, Hetty hurriedlyslipped on her best morning gown with a rose-pink pattern, hoping it would give her confidence. Confidence was needed to put the baron in his place. She discarded the lace cap and parted her hair to sweep it back in a smooth bun, secured with pearl-handled combs. If Guy had sought to show how weak she was when a man wished to take advantage, he’d succeeded. But in her heart, she knew he was concerned for her safety. The appearance of highwaymen had changed Digswell. It was no longer a quiet backwater. Did he fear he’d brought them here for some other purpose? To her shame, his kisses had made her feel passionately alive. She now accepted she needed passion in her life. How else could she write splendid poetry? But she wouldn’t find passion stuck in Digswell for the rest of her days.
After a quick glance in the glass, she hurried downstairs. With a deep breath, she entered the drawing room, where Guy and her father were enjoying a slice of Cook’s plum bread. Guy threw down his napkin and stood as she entered the room. “How good to see you again, Miss Cavendish.”
Her father’s brow puckered. “Where have you been, Horatia? I sent Molly to find you fifteen minutes ago.”
