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He did not relent. “Kiss me.” The rumble morphed into a lethal weapon.
His muscled frame pressed her further against the wall, with his erection digging harder in her belly, making it harder to fight him.
Her hands fisted so tight by her side she feared her nails would draw blood from her palms. Her spine arched into him, however. Their shadows made one in the dim light.
His open mouth latched on her neck. One masculine hand covered her puckered breast. This combined siege on her battered resistance threatened to slaughter it beyond repair.
“Do it before I go insane.” He ordered anew.
In her undermined head, frantic bells rang. “No.” Forcefully, she shoved him away.
Their glowers fought in open war.
If she gave in now as her besieged body demanded, craved, he would always seek her out in every social function for a stolen tryst in darkened hallways, empty rooms, deserted gardens. Encounters which would never satisfy her, not in the least. They would be mere crumbs for her needy body. A meagre ration for her starving heart. It would not fulfil her. Ever. She would forever feel empty, hollow. This would be worse than being his mistress. Worse than seeing him marrying another. Worse than disappearing from his life.
How many kings, princes, noblemen opted for a convenient marriage, and then offered these alms to their preferred women? Transforming them into their mistresses, concubines, and consorts. Courtesans.
Did Edmund wish it for himself? She knew she did not.
“If you are fond of tryst
s, I am not,” she stated hotly to the man who began to show traces of vexation.
She knew that, as far as he was concerned, she wanted everything. Or nothing at all. At the peril of falling in traps and galling situations, she preferred to keep her own counsel.
Inhaling air to fill her up to full capacity, she turned from the scowling Earl and walked briskly to the drawing room.
A
Because Otilia doubled as a chaperone the other evening, Lady Mandeville gave her the day off. It gladdened her as she would have time to put her inner tumult into a semblance of appeasement. Or so she would try.
But breakfast had been an uneasy affair. The elderly lady engaged her in several inquiries as to how it had been to live under the Earl’s roof, vying to uncover any possible intimacy between them. Otilia answered the pry in even tones and half-truths. Inside though, tension and apprehension spread. If the dowager spotted any faint smudge in her reputation or involvement with her granddaughter’s probable future husband, Otilia would be unemployed. She hoped her answers satisfied the noblewoman.
There had been nobody in that hallway during dinner, she was sure of it. The way Edmund transformed her into a bunch of heated reaction when he arrived, however, must have risen Lady Charlotte’s suspicions. She could not avoid it. The sight of him, tall and impressive unbalanced her beyond any sense. After weeks of dreadful yearning, her body careened into overdrive despite her unwillingness to give so much away. That was why she did not raise her eyes to him for the rest of the evening. It would only have resulted in her giving more clues to the guests.
At that moment, she only hoped those suspicions would be abated until she found a new position. Preferably before the wedding.
Relieved that she would stay out for the day, she grabbed the very book he had given her and walked to the park. The weather dawned fresh with the promise of a warming sun. In a brown wool dress, coiled hair under the bonnet and walking boots, she sighed contentedly.
To reach the park, she had to pass by Thornton House. The Earl would be in the City at this time, she reckoned. Staying away from the impossible man was the best strategy to push him to the back of her mind even if forgetting him seemed unattainable.
Otilia remembered Coal. The kitten had woven himself into her affection, and she missed him. Perhaps, she could ask permission to say a brief hello to the furry thing before she proceeded to the park.
As Cook let her into the kitchen, Coal came mewling to her. “I missed you, my little darling,” she said to the black feline as she picked him up. The cat rubbed his whiskers on her and kneaded her arm. He did not even give her time to place her book on the table.
The door to the stairs opened with a swift push. Her attention flew there to see the Earl standing on the threshold. Her poor heart skipped a beat and launched into an unhinged rhythm, pumping a flush over her skin. What the darn was the blackguard doing at home?
His eyes studied her closely for lengthy seconds, pausing at the book she carried. “My study. Now.” He turned to climb up the steps.
Would the blasted Earl ever learn not to command? Because it unbalanced her on so many levels. The most insidious being this warmth arrowing to her centre. Unwilling to make a scene, she placed Coal in his box and followed the tall man.
Restive walking boots entered the study. The blasted Earl leaned on his desk, solid legs crossed, bunched arms folded over his broad chest. She wondered if there would ever be a time when she saw him without wanting him. Perhaps, at the Marchioness’s age, or not even then, she feared.
She closed the door, calling herself a thousand times a fool for stopping by. “I thought you were out,” she said, hovering by the wooden frame, ready to leave.
“Lady Edwina said you would have the day free.” The low tone poured on her defenceless ears. “I was going to send a note instructing you to come here.” This being the reason he had not gone to the City.
Honey orbs narrowed. Instruct? The man had no limits for his demands. “As if I would have obliged like a puppy.” Her defiance merely lit his eyes to a higher degree of heat. As though her insubordination turned him on as much as his overbearingness did her.
