“I eloped with Celestin,” she said, and relished startling him.
“Your family didn’t approve?”
“He was foreign and self-made.”
“You must have loved him very much.”
After a heartbeat, she said, “Yes, yes I did.”
It wasn’t a lie. Wild, impetuous love had driven her into Maurice’s arms—carefully created wild impetuous love as unreal as this mock devotion.
“Then have another adventure.” He took her hands. “Agree now to marry me. We’ll put the notice in the papers tomorrow and shock all London.”
She realized that he was speaking as if they might be overheard, and they might. She was vaguely aware of a couple nearby talking softly but earnestly about the meaning of freedom and love.
Ah, youth.
“Well?” he asked.
No point in hesitation. “Very well.”
He smiled. Even with the amber light it seemed warm. “You’ve made me very happy.”
“Have I?”
“But of course. Now I get to kiss you. But not here,” he said before she could protest. “That amber light is doing terrible things to your looks.”
That disconcerting thought allowed him to tug her into deeper, untinted shadows. Then she got her wits back. “You do not have permission to kiss me.”
“Are you going to scream?” He pulled her into his arms. “Wouldn’t that rather spoil the show?”
She braced her hands against his chest. “Stop this!”
Shockingly, however, his strength and hard body weakened her, as such things always did. Maurice had not loved her, but he’d been a good lover when he’d bothered, and he’d given her what most excited her.
He would turn up in the middle of an ordinary day, seize her arm, and march her to the bedroom. She’d been practically in orgasm before he had her clothes off, and he’d made sure she whirled into that madness two or three more times before he went on with his busy day, leaving her languid.
Satiated.
Conquered by her flesh.
And it had been a conquest, a matter of pride to him to succeed in everything. She’d known it, but never had the strength to resist.
Zeus, she didn’t need those memories now. Despite hot skin and aching thighs, she said, “Force a kiss on me, Lord Vandeimen, and our arrangement will be at an end. It will make you a thief of the money you’ve already spent, and I assure you, you won’t see a penny more.”
She couldn’t see his expression, but his arms neither tightened nor slackened. “You threatened me once before, Maria. Didn’tyou learn that I don’t care enough? Send me to hell if you want. I’ll have my kiss.”
He knocked up her bracing arms and cinched her close, then captured her head and kissed her.
Ravished her.
Shock and remembered hungers opened her mouth and pressed her closer, betraying her utterly. It had been so long, so long, since a man had held her, kissed her like this. She’d told herself she was glad to be free of it, and known that she lied.
She found she’d thrust her hands beneath his jacket, and was clawing at his long, tight back through silk and linen. She stopped that at least, but her heart thundered and that betraying ache had become throbbing demand.
His lips released hers and slid down her neck.
She should stop him now. She should. Instead, she was fighting not to fall to the ground and tear his clothes off.
