“You owe me an apology,sir.”
It would be been the perfect counter to his arrogance.
Blunt, fearless, and to the point.
Except for onetinyproblem.
Eloise had conveniently forgotten that some objects had a habit of being larger close up and her finger, while it had the best of intentions at hitting the stranger right beneath his necktie, bounced off his clenched abdomen instead.
Then all hell broke loose.
When Eloise wasa little girl, all freckled cheeks and coils of red, she used to follow her father into the stables where he’d kept his prized broodmares.
While most owners of racing stock only made an appearance when it was time to collect the earnings and hold the trophy, the late Earl of Clarenmore had taken a keen interest in every aspect of his beloved equines. Despite employing a veritable army of grooms, he could often be found in the barn with a brush in hand, teaching a foal how to accept the pressure of a lead rope, or even picking his way through a dirty stall.
Of an age where she’d wanted to doeverythingthat her larger-than-life father did (imitation was the greatest form of flattery), Eloise had traipsed right along beside him on his daily visits to the barn, studiously observing each action.
At least, she’dtriedto observe.
She really had.
But when her father warned her not to touch a particularly sensitive chestnut mare, her attention had been on a bird’s nest up in the rafters. Without listening, she’d absently reached out and patted the mare–who had thus far been standing quietly–on her muzzle. The reaction had been immediate, and dangerous enough that she remembered it to this day.
The chestnut had gone stiff as a board, every muscle tensing under her sleek hide. Before the earl had time to shout a word of warning, she’d erupted, her teeth gnashing the air an inch from Eloise’s face as she simultaneously struck out with a foreleg.
When Eloise touched the stranger with the cool gray eyes, his response was eerily similar.
Subdued, even disinterested, one second.
Crackling with volatility the next.
“Do not fucking touch me.” Whipping his arm up, he grabbed her by the wrist, his fingers encircling the tiny bones with sufficient pressure to draw a wince. He yanked her against him.Intohim. Their bodies collided with the force of dual tidal waves crashing together and suddenly the stranger wasn’t cold at all but hot,searinglyhot, and Eloise was on fire.
Flames raced hungrily across her flesh as she inhaled the bitter scent of coffee grounds wafting from the stranger’s breath and stared into the barely subdued fury burning in his ash-flecked irises. Any other woman in her position might have screamed or even swooned, but Eloise did neither. Her fearlessness wouldn’t permit it. Instead, as she and the stranger glared at each other, she was filled with an almost overwhelming sense of…of satisfiedrelief.
Here you are,she thought silently.I’ve been searching for you. A wolf amidst whining sheep. A storm cloud that isn’t intimidated by the intensity of lightning. A man who bruises pretty things instead of placing them high on a shelf out of reach.
Lenora–all of her sisters, really–believed that she didn’t yet have a husband because she didn’t want to be controlled, but that was only partially true. She didn’t yet have a husband because she hadn’t found someonecapableof controlling her.
Eloise did not need a gentleman that treated her like a piece of porcelain. She needed a lightning conductor; a metal rod that was capable of absorbing her dark, restless energy instead of spontaneously combusting from it.
She needed a man who had a will as strong as her own. A man who intuitively understood that feelings and emotions weren’t always tied up in a neat pink bow. That there was an ugly underbelly to all of the prettiness that surrounded them. That terrible things happened to good people…and good people did terrible things.
This man–this rude American with the eyes of a glacier–had borne witness to some of the world’s ugliness. More than likely, he’d even contributed to it. She felt it in her bones. A stirring not of revulsion, butrecognition. One outsider spying another. And it shouldn’t have excited her. It shouldn’t have tempted her to lean against him. It shouldn’t have made the curls between her thighs turn damp with desire.
But then, Eloise had a bad habit of living her life on the edge of ‘shouldn’t’.
“I believeyouare the one touchingme,” she said calmly, and had the distinct pleasure of watching his eyes widen a fraction of an inch before he shoved her away, hard enough to make her stumble.
Murmuring in disapproval (disapproval that was directed as much towards Eloise as the American), the crowd that had gathered collectively turned away…rats fleeing a sinking ship before they were pulled under the waves. But Eloise, who had been standing up to arrogant men since the age of fourteen when Sir Vincent Hamburg put his hand on her thigh under the table (and earned a fork in his nether regions for the trouble), merely recovered her balance and then stood her ground with a hand on her hip and the other absently twirling a loose curl around her finger.
There was plenty of room on the path, and a flat cropping of grass besides. The stranger could have easily gone around her. But then, she could have easily gone around him. Except that would be akin to admitting defeat and Eloise was quite positive that they’d both rather have their molars dug out with a dull spoon than do that.
Some people were naturally accommodating. Some were polite. Some were cooperative, no matter the circumstances. And then a rare few were like Eloise and the man blocking her path. Boulders that sat in the middle of a stream and demanded that the water move aroundtheminstead of being pushed by the water.
She lifted her chin.
He lifted his.
