“I…A vague remembrance, perhaps. It’s just as I told my uncle. I had far too much wine. We—We both did!”
“And prior to that point, you gave no sign you found me distasteful. Quite the contrary. You flirted quite outrageously with me. You were most eager in the garden. Or will you plead ignorance there, too?”
Her lower lip thrust out. A rather delicious pout that made him want to cover her lips with his and tug it into his mouth. Raw desire slipped over him, surging heavy and thick between his thighs, swelling his shaft until he was granite hard, uncomfortably granite hard. If she placed her hand on that stretch of his leg, she would feel it. He had the urge to do exactly that simply to glean her reaction.
“You lead me to conclude you are amorous only when you imbibe. Perhaps I should ply you with spirits again one night—we make an excellent whiskey here at Gleneden—and resurrect the seductress I met that night.”
Her eyes flew wide, but her tongue was as acerbic as ever. “I’ve no taste for whiskey. And at the moment, no taste for you, Scotsman.”
“You are young, Irish, but quite old enough to know exactly what you were doing—enticing a man, luring him on. And you excel at it, by the way.”
As he spoke, he deftly unknotted the knot of her robe and pushed it from her shoulder, baring white, silken flesh. He heard her sudden intake of breath.
“What happened to the woman I met at the masquerade?” He trailed his fingertips back and forth, tracing the neckline of her nightgown. “Where has she gone? You played the bold pirate, Irish. Now play the loving wife.”
“How can I play the loving wife when I am not the loving wife? Any more than you are a loving husband.”
There was a flash of something in her eyes, something that made him want to challenge her. To tame her, while wanting to taste her and savor her all at the same time. He’d been right about her. She possessed a will of iron.
But so did he. And he was not to be dissuaded. He would not be dismissed like a green young boy!
“I think you need a reminder,” he said suddenly. “Perhaps it will jog your memory of our first encounter and rekindle your desire. Perhaps it will jog my memory of our union.”
She started to shake her head.
“You appear determined to forget. And I’ve enough experience to know when a woman returns my advances. Which you did, and most ardently. Must I reacquaint you?”
“Your grace—”
“I’ve paid a heavy price for you, Irish. Am I not allowed to enjoy it? Am I not allowed even a kiss?”
“It’s not a kiss you want,” she cried.
And it wasn’t. Her eyes were enormous. The little cheat! Why this sudden reluctance? She had lured him in. With words, with her eyes, with her body. And yes, he’d gone willingly. Through his own fault, he’d paid the price, a heavy one at that—the price of a dukedom. But she had toyed with him once, and he had learned from his experience.
“I make no bones about it,” he stated bluntly. “Is it any wonder? I would like to experience again what continues to escape my memory! I apologize for my drunken state that night. It’s most odd, however, given that too much wine or any other spirits usually renders a man…incapable.”
And by heaven, he was going to make her want him—want him the way he’d wanted her the night of the masquerade. Oh, she pretended now that she felt nothing, but he knew better. He recalled the softening of her lips, her tempting eagerness. That was branded into his brain. And now, well, perhaps he should give the lass a taste of her own medicine. He would make her pant and writhe and cry out her longing for him. He would bring her to the point of rapture, then deny her completion.
Catching her hand, he brought her to her feet. Her gaze flickered away, then returned. First the coquette. Now the maid.
He was not a man of quick temper. But the chit had managed to spark it, and once roused, it was not easily doused.
Did she truly believe he was such a fool? He’d fallen victim to her ruse once already. He would not do it so easily again. And if she was convinced he was a puppet whose strings she could pull at whim, she was mistaken.
Alec caught her up against him. She lifted her head the same instant his mouth came down on hers. His fingers slid beneath her hair, molding to her nape, even as he molded her lips to his. He would leave her in no doubt that he would not be a pawn. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips. She kept them tightly closed. So she would spurn him, would she, now that she was his wife and had what she wanted?
Something inside him hardened. No, he decided. No.
With a sound low in his throat, he brought her closer still. She was wedded tight against him, her breasts mounded against his chest, slim thighs soft against the tautness of his own. She sucked in a breath, and Alec pounced. His tongue parted her lips, stealing around hers as she sought to tuck it back; he took it into his mouth and sucked hard. In some faraway corner of his mind he registered the faint sound she made. But he was in no mood for more trickery. Why did she persist at playing the innocent?
His arm tightened. The pressure of his mouth was fierce. He kissed her with raw possessiveness, as if to imprint her with his mouth and his will.
He felt the way she twisted against him, trying to free herself. She didn’t want his kiss, his touch.
Finally he released her. He raised his head, but he was not finished. He was going to see what was his. A few swift moves and her robe and gown were on the floor.
She stood before him naked.
