Page 26 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 17

Slowly she turned around. Lord Ansford was advancing toward her up the bank, the water streaming from his muscular body, his hair hanging in dark tendrils against his shoulders, like Poseidon emerging from the waves. Or Heracles maybe, considering the powerful planes of his chest and the fascinating bunches of muscle spanning his flat stomach.

Tia backed away, but he continued his advance. She couldn’t help herself—her gaze raked up and down his superbly sculpted form, taking in every single inch of him. It was too dark to see the expression in his eyes—they were mere shadows beneath the black slashes of eyebrows—but his mouth was set in a grim line.

He didn’t stop to clothe himself but came on relentlessly, menace in every step.

She’d seen him angry before, but this was different. She continued to back away until she fetched up short against some obstacle and could go no further. Her hands pressed against the rough bark of an oak tree as she flattened herself against its trunk, wordlessly waiting for the sea god’s wrath to fall.

As he came closer, she forced her eyes upward and resolutely kept them there, despite the temptation to admire and wonder at his body as long as possible.

When he was so close she could barely focus on him, he stopped, leaned in, and placed a hand on either side of her head against the tree.

The glitter of his eyes made her pulse skip. Her knees had turned to jelly, and only her awkward grip on the tree held her up. The beat of her heart was so rapid she half expected it to fly right out of her chest, like a frightened bird.

Holding up the key in shaking fingers, she breathed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm, my lord. Take it back, please.”

“I don’t need it. Not yet. And it seems rather formal to call me ‘my lord’ when you have me completely naked before you, stripped of all vestige of rank and power.”

She licked her lips. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“You should call me Henry, Galatea. The time for formality between us has most definitely passed.”

Not only her knees, but her legs had lost the ability to hold her upright. At this rate, she was going to end up slithering down the tree like a worm. But not from fear.

The realization hit her with the force of a hurricane. She desired him, wanted him, more than she’d wanted anything in her life before. In her heart, she knew it had happened when first she’d laid eyes on him, but she’d buried it deeply to protect herself.

Or to fool herself.

Now the need awoke with overwhelming violence. Her mouth went dry, and she couldn’t help wondering what she would experience if she ran her hands along those silvered flanks.

“You should definitely get dressed, or you’ll catch a chill,” she urged. No, pleaded. This temptation was absolute torture.

“As will you,” he replied softly, “if you go about without your underthings on.”

How could he possibly know? She glanced down and flushed.

Freed from their usual constrictions, her nipples stood out hard and proud, pushing against the thin fabric of her walking dress. Damn the man for noticing. Damn him.

He came closer until there was barely a whisper of decency between their bodies, and shifted a hand to touch a lock of her hair. A light tug, and the curl sprang back and bounced against her neck. His eyes followed it, then examined her heated face.

“I wondered what you looked like with your hair down. It’s like a dark cloud cloaking your shoulders, framing your face.”

“Very poetic, my lord.” Why did she sound so breathless?

“Henry. Or Hal if you prefer. My friends, when I had some, used to call me Hal.”

What was going on here? Was he angry, or not? She offered him the key again but he simply shook his head and gave her a mirthless grimace.

“No. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

She was most definitely in danger. Bravely holding his gaze, she moistened her lips. “Do you mean to punish me?”

“Perhaps. It depends upon your answer to my question. What cause have I given you to think I’d have my daughter’s kitten drowned?”

“I . . . I . . .” She couldn’t think straight. His breath on her face smelled sweet, like the best port wine. A drop of water from his hair splashed onto her neck and trickled down inside the front of her walking dress. He watched its progress before brushing his knuckles across the silvery trail, igniting a line of fire across her bosom. Her nipples ached from straining against the cloth that confined them.

Softly he repeated his question, and added, “Do you truly think me so inhuman? Can you not trust me?”