Page 23 of Dare it all for Love

“So I see,” he said dryly. “That must be why you’re making such heavy weather of finding a husband.”

She covered her heart with her hand and gasped, a theatrical gesture that did not lack for sarcasm. “My word, Mr Stanhope, do you really think that could be it? Why I would never have guessed.”

“Or that sharp tongue of yours puts them off,” he added wickedly, earning himself another glare.

He smothered a grin, unable to deny the delight he took in provoking her. She was too delicious when she was cross with him.

“You are a very rude man,” she observed.

Henry nodded gravely. “I am, which begs the question of why you like me so much?”

Idiot!

Henry wanted to bite his tongue out. For the love of God, they were alone, unchaperoned in a damned shepherd’s hut with a storm raging overhead. It was the basis of a dozen or more overblown romantic Gothic novels and would end with him caught in the parson’s mousetrap if he weren’t very careful. He must pray the storm would blow itself out quickly and they could catch up with the rest of their party. The last thing he needed was to go encouraging the growing intimacy between them, but it was too late. He’d asked, and he could not deny that he wanted to know the answer.

She placed another piece of wood on the fire and then stood, dusting off her hands. She was wet through, her riding habit moulding itself to her lush form. He tried not to notice the hard peaks of her nipples beneath the sodden fabric and failed, too aware of her proximity, and of the fact they were all alone. He swallowed, reminding himself that this was everything he did not want, and so closing the gap between them would be utter madness.

It didn’t matter. She came to him before he even had the chance to give in to idiocy, and Henry found he could not move away. No matter how the panicked voice in his head screamed the risks at him, reminded him of weddings and tenants for life and squalling babes and an end to freedom, his feet remained planted to the floor. Before he could come to his senses, her hands smoothed over his chest. Desire speared to his loins like an arrow thwacking a bullseye. Dead centre.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, answering a question he could no longer remember while need uncoiled low in his belly, his blood heating and surging in his veins. “I only know I have wanted you to kiss me from the first moment I saw you, but as you won’t oblige….”

She grasped his lapels and tugged and, fool that he was, he bent his head, too weak to resist the lure of her sweet mouth, too lost in wanting her to remind himself he did not want her at all.

He knew the depth of his mistake the moment his lips touched hers. It was like being struck by lightning, but with way more force than the storm raging outside could possibly muster. It stole his breath, set his blood on fire, and had his cock standing to attention and demanding he take action.

Now, damn it.

It was such a brief touch, barely a kiss at all, yet it shook him to his bones, rattled his composure, and reminded him with a cacophony of alarm bells just why she was so bloody dangerous.

She’ll make you act the fool for her, Henry.

For a moment, fear overrode passion and Henry wrenched free, putting distance between them. He stared at her in bewildered shock, as though she were some foreign species of creature that he’d not known existed before.

No. No, no, no. Not happening. Bad, bad idea.

“Henry,” she said, and the sound of his name on her lips, the intimacy of it….

“No.”

He was too aware of the ragged quality of his voice, too aware of the fragile veneer, thin as tissue paper, that stood between acting like a gentleman and taking advantage of this young woman and what was on offer. Oh, God. He wanted her, so badly that he felt giddy with it. He wanted to show her what it was she was so intent on getting from him and….

Breathe, Henry, Breathe.

“Why not? You want to kiss me.”

He gave an outraged bark of laughter. “You little fool. I want a deal more than to kiss you. You’re just too damned naïve to be afraid.”

The wretched creature just shook her head. “I promise you I am in no way naïve. Inexperienced, perhaps, but not ignorant, nor as foolish as you might suppose, and I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Sticks and stones, Mr Stanhope,” she retorted, her amusement obvious.

She looked so damned smug, a knowing glint in her eyes that told him she knew he was all talk, that he was too honourable to do anything to frighten her. Irritation burned. He wanted to shake her composure until it was as wrecked as his own.

It wasn’t as if he decided to do it, but before his brain had time to catch up, he’d grabbed hold of her, pressing her against the cold wall of the building with his body, holding her by her wrists, pinning her in place.

Mistake. Mistake. Mistake!