AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dear God, she hadn’t really thought that, had she? What existed between her and Lord Ranelaw was animal lust. She was a fool if she imagined anything else.
“Get up, Ranelaw,” she said in a decisive voice. “This isn’t going to happen.”
For a moment, Ranelaw poised above her, his legs trapping hers. She couldn’t read his expression although threat was implicit in his vibrating tension. Her muscles tautened as she waited for him to assail her again. This time, she was grimly aware that he’d win.
Then with a grunt indicating endless masculine irritation, he rolled away. He sat with his back to her, his head bowed over his raised knees.
Shocked that this final appeal worked, bewildered that it had, Antonia remained lying where she was, sucking air into starved lungs. She struggled to calm the primitive surge of her blood.
The sullen hunch of Ranelaw’s shoulders, the silence charged with so much she didn’t comprehend, pierced her. Usually he seemed impervious to human vulnerability. Right now he looked like the loneliest man in England.
Perhaps he was.
He’d sounded so cold when he delivered that terse, unadorned description of his childhood. His parents clearly hadn’t known the meaning of fidelity and he’d apparently formed no close attachment to any of his many siblings. His impassive recounting had touched her, stirred reluctant compassion. All those people. Yet somehow Ranelaw struck her as completely isolated in the center.
“Ranelaw, look at me,” she whispered, wondering why she cared after the way he’d treated her.
In a wordless gesture of comfort, she laid a trembling hand between his shoulder blades. Something told her he was utterly desolate.
He flinched away from her reluctant tenderness as he’d flinched when she stroked his hair.
All right. She might be slow to learn, but now she understood. Humiliation was a bitter taste in her mouth. She jerked her hand away. He wanted raw passion from her. Nothing else.
Perhaps after this morning, he didn’t even want that.
She bit her lip and told herself it was ridiculous to let him upset her. He was a worthless, wicked rake. If he ignored her, that was to her benefit. She should be grateful he’d sampled her charms and decided she wasn’t worth pursuing.
As her heart cramped with misery, that’s not how it felt.
“Go away, Antonia,” he said in a low voice, still without glancing at her.
“Ranelaw . . .” She sat up and slid back to lean against the tree. She felt shaky, on the verge of tears.
His shoulders tensed until they were as rigid as planks. Still he wouldn’t look at her. “For God’s sake, take your reprieve and go.” He sounded savage, like a man at the limit of his endurance.
Confused, afraid, dizzy with unsatisfied desire, Antonia scrambled to her feet. Her legs were still frighteningly unsteady. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders. She glanced down at herself, and horror squeezed her lungs. Her neck cloth was gone, her jacket hung open, half the buttons were missing. Her shirt was crushed and tugged out of line.
Anyone seeing her would know exactly what she’d been doing. Would imagine more had happened than actually had. She could hardly believe more hadn’t happened. Given her foolishness, she should be flat on her back with Lord Ranelaw’s seed inside her.
On a tremulous inhalation, she scooped up her hat and stumbled to her horse. With difficulty, she dragged herself into the saddle. Ranelaw still didn’t turn to look at her.
On an inarticulate cry, she urged the horse into an ungainly gallop through the trees.
Chapter Nine
Ranelaw remained still while Antonia rose and paused. Although she didn’t speak, the confused babble of her questions was loud as thunder. Then as if his sullen silence provided an answer, she scuttled across the clearing and rode away.
Still he didn’t move. Only when the pounding hoofbeats faded to nothing and he was finally alone did he drop his head into his hands and release a deep groan.
Bloody, bloody, bloody, misbegotten, thrice-cursed idiot.
He dug his fingers into his skull so hard, it hurt. Nothing stanched his self-disgust.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He’d schemed assiduously to suborn Antonia Smith. He’d bribed servants. He’d climbed a damned cherry tree to seduce her. He’d braved assault by fire iron. He’d pursued her to Surrey.
He’d manipulated and maneuvered to get her on her own. He’d kissed her into breathless malleability. Success had loomed so close. The possession of her body, leverage to promote the Demarest chit’s ruin, a short-lived but memorable pleasure.
