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Her voice was husky, barely audible. His touch was doing things to her, surprising things. Her breast seemed to swell, her nipple to harden and ache, and even stranger, there seemed to be a connection between her breast and the intimate place between her thighs, because the more he caressed her, the more that place throbbed and burned.
“I know your skin is like silk,” he answered her statement. “I know the swell of your breast.” His fingers slid down farther, moving from one breast to the other. Suddenly he sat down in an armchair, taking her with him, and she found herself planted on his lap.
She knew she had to stop him. Her lips formed the words, but as he gently tugged on her nipple with his fingers, she found herself groaning instead, her throat aching. Something inside her was building, and although it was new and frightening, still she wanted to know what it was and how it would end. She wanted to experience this feeling.
“I am no man’s plaything,” she said, when she’d caught her breath.
“Who said I was playing?” he murmured. And yet that was exactly what he was doing, teasing her, taking away her ability to think. He turned her, placing her sideways across his knees, and bent his head, and she felt his mouth, hot and wet, close over the thin cloth of her nightgown and the breast beneath. Her nipple ached unbearably, and yet the heat of his mouth didn’t seem to soothe it. She twisted, gasping.
Again she opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but he was sucking on her nipple again, tugging the turgid flesh, and the aching tension between her legs began to grow in intensity. She arched her back, her fingers tangled in his hair. He cupped her other breast in his hand, stroking and squeezing. Her muscles trembled weakly, her breathing was little more than gasps. Something was happening to her, as if she were aboard a runaway horse with no way to…to…
“Stop!”
Finally she got the word out, but it was too late. Muscles she didn’t know she had were contracting, clenching, and a great sunburst of pleasure exploded inside her.
When she came back to her body again, it was with a wonderful sense of languor, as if all the strength had been siphoned from her. He was kissing her neck, his lips moving slowly to the line of her jaw, tickling and soothing at the same time.
“You’re wonderfully sensitive, sparrow,” he said. “Or I’m bloody good at lovemaking. Let’s try again.” He brushed his fingers over her breast once more, then blew warm breath on the damp cloth. She shivered violently.
Oh, he was dangerous. This was dangerous.
Antoinette knew for the sake of her safety and sanity, she must escape him.
She twisted out of his grip and stood up on shaky legs. Her solution was to drive him, and the danger he represented, away from her. Far away. Eager words tumbled over themselves.
“I have Lord Appleby, one of the richest men in England, and he gives me everything I want. Why would I want anything to do with you?”
She saw the gleam of his eyes as he looked up at her, the hiss of exhaling breath. Too late Antoinette realized that instead of driving him away, she had thrown him a challenge.
Gabriel knew that what she was saying might well be true, but he didn’t believe her. Even if she refused to accept it yet, he knew the truth. He could give her the sort of pleasure Appleby, with all his wealth, was incapable of giving her. He’d just proven it.
He pulled her back into his arms. She was trembling with anger and passion, and the ache in his groin redoubled. The only way to relieve himself of the pain was to bury himself deep inside her, and he wasn’t going to do that tonight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t show her what she was missing.
Gabriel’s mouth closed on hers in a deep kiss. He felt her stiffen, as if she was intending to resist, and then almost immediately she melted against him, her arms encircling his neck and drawing him down.
She made his head swim. What had begun as a plan to seduce her and steal the letter from her was no longer so clear-cut. He wanted her. The seduction had taken on a life and importance all its own.
And he knew now that she wanted him. He’d brought her to her peak simply by touching her and kissing her breasts. Her soft lips clung and she made a little sound, half moan and half purr.
Perhaps he could take her now, he thought dizzily, his need making away with his wits. Why not? A woman like this wouldn’t expect to be wooed or courted. She was Appleby’s mistress, and had probably lived a life less than respectable. She wouldn’t expect gentle treatment.
He lifted her, drawing her thighs around his hips, feeling his hardness pressing against the place he was dying to get inside. He cupped her bottom, arching against her, his body rigid with pleasure.
But he’d misjudged her.
The flat of her hand struck his cheek, hard enough to sting, and then she was pummeling him with her closed fists, struggling in his arms. He let her go, and as soon as her feet touched the floor she was gone. The door opened and she was running across the hall and up the stairs. Briefly her scantily clad body was silhouetted against the lamp before she vanished toward her room.
Chapter 6
Weakly, his legs barely holding him up, Gabriel leaned against the doorjamb. He could still feel her clasped in his arms, the intimate heat of her so close to where he most wanted it. He’d never desired a woman this much. Did she feel the same? God, Gabriel hoped so, because he didn’t want to be in this on his own. The woman was a witch, with the ability to drive him to madness with a single glance.
He turned back into the parlor and poured himself another drink. His mood changed, the complications of his situation becoming clear. Anyone who would give herself to a man like Rudyard Appleby, he reminded himself, must be beyond contempt. His lip curled. Contempt, that was what he should feel for her. Did the fact that he’d kissed her and fallen under her spell even for a moment make him contemptible, too?
There was a history of male Langleys making fools of themselves over unsuitable women. One of Gabriel’s ancestors had brought home a bride, a king’s castoff, another man’s mistress, and suffered for it. Such women must have an irresistible allure for Langley heirs, Gabriel thought, and he was simply following family tradition.
The thing was, he didn’t trust himself.
Ever since he’d learned that Lord Appleby had stolen Wexmoor Manor, Gabriel had felt as if the brake that had always ensured a measure of restraint, even in his most hotheaded moments, was finally gone. He became reckless and frustrated, and he wanted to get to Appleby. Antoinette Dupre just happened to be standing in his way.
