A Rake's Midnight Kiss (32 page)

His lips compressed, but he continued in the same reasonable tone. “But I never intended you harm.”

That was so patently untrue that she had to blink away hot, furious tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not ever. He wasn’t worth one tear. He wasn’t worth the dirt under her feet. “Take it.”

He frowned as if she spoke a foreign language. She shoved
her hand at him like a punch. Her best efforts couldn’t control her trembling. Given a choice, she’d pitch the jewel at him, but it was delicate and valuable and deserved better use than as a missile against a faithless lover. “Take it, and may you be damned.”

No wonder he’d been so interested in her research into the family legend. No wonder he’d contrived to make her his creature. But there were things he didn’t know about the jewel, things that would give her the last laugh. When her article appeared, she’d have her revenge.

If only the prospect was more satisfying. Right now, all she wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and cry her eyes out, whether he was worth her tears or not. If the chance to huddle forever in that dark corner arose, she’d snatch it as fast as she expected Sir Richard to snatch the Harmsworth Jewel.

Although to be fair, he wasn’t acting like a heartless Machiavellian blackguard. Which did nothing to mollify her anger.

Very gently he cupped his hand under hers. Someone this cold-hearted should be clammy like a frog, but he was warm. Memories of those hands on her skin pricked at her determination to loathe him. She beat the weakness back, but with more difficulty than she liked.

“I don’t want it, Genevieve.”

She stiffened with horror. Did he guess the secret, the discovery that would make her article the talk of the academic world? Surely not. That was impossible, even for the great Sir Richard Harmsworth. “Of course you do.”

He shook his head and with more of that searing gentleness, he closed his hand, curling her fingers around the jewel. “Keep it.”

“Do you want me to beg you to take it? You overestimate your charm.”

He sighed. “Right now, I don’t feel very charming.”

Raising her hand, he kissed her knuckles. For one lost moment, yearning surged. Then she remembered his deceit and wrenched her hand away.

“You’ll regret this sacrifice after you’ve gone.”

He frowned. “Gone?”

“I want you out of my life.”

Stubbornly he shook his head. “No.”

She forced herself to confront her brazen behavior. “You’ll never touch me again. You’ve got everything that you’ll ever get.”

Unhappiness shadowed his face. “Genevieve, don’t torture yourself like this.”

Torture herself? How wrong could he be? She was a queen punishing an unruly subject. “Tonight was a mistake.”

He smiled slightly. It was the first hint of humor since he’d confessed his identity. “A magnificent mistake.”

She flushed. The horrid thought struck that tonight might result in repercussions. She’d known from the start that she played with fire, but it had seemed more important for Richard’s caresses to erase all traces of Lord Neville from her skin. Now she wondered at her idiocy. “I never want to see you again.”

His faint smile remained. “I’m sure that’s true, but you’re in danger. I won’t abandon you.”

She laughed harshly. “Who protects me from you?”

He didn’t react, although that muscle in his cheek continued its dance. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I’ll never offer you the jewel again.”

“You’re the only jewel I’m interested in.”

He was such a liar. Anger that felt more like desolation made her stagger back a step. “Pretty words, Sir Richard.”

He remained inhumanly calm. Probably he didn’t care
enough to be angry. “Fairbrother must realize now that the jewel’s not in the vicarage. He’ll come after you.”

“So you’re offering to keep it for me?” Sarcasm weighted the question.

He shook his head. “I told you, I don’t want it. But you can trust Cam.”

Her temper flared again, although it had hardly subsided since he’d admitted his name. “The duke’s a liar too.”

He winced, but his voice emerged as measured as ever. “He hated being party to this deception. Cam’s as fine a man as you could meet.”

His defense of his friend rankled. A snake like Sir Richard shouldn’t demonstrate qualities like loyalty. “I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as a man worth the air he breathes.”

Sir Richard made a convulsive move as if to take her into his arms. His voice vibrated with urgency that she couldn’t let herself credit. “I’m sorry, Genevieve. I’m sorry I hurt you this way. I know I was wrong. I’d do it all so differently if I could. But I didn’t count on you. I didn’t count on how you’d change me. I didn’t count on what all this would mean.”

She stepped back before her needy heart lured her closer. He was right. She was hurt and angry. But she wasn’t fool enough to throw herself into the furnace where she’d been burned once already. “And what does it mean, Sir Richard?”

Unwaveringly he stared at her. For a moment, she wondered if she might get an answer. Not that she’d believe him.

He straightened, dark blue eyes somber as she’d never seen them. “One day I’ll tell you. When you’re ready to listen.”

She tightened her hand around the jewel until the metal bruised her. “I’ll never be ready.”

Unable to withstand the steady gaze that seemed to
demand something of her, something she didn’t understand, she moved around the temple collecting her clothing. Carefully she wrapped her torn shift around the jewel. She avoided glancing at the jumbled pillows in the center of the floor.

Genevieve feared that in taking her body, Richard had marked her forever. That unwelcome perception fortified outward hostility, while inside she quivered like one of Dorcas’s jellies.

“Go back to London, Sir Richard. I’m sure the fine ladies there appreciate your cruel games.”

Arms overflowing with undergarments, she headed doggedly for the entrance. This man, Christopher, Richard, whoever in blazes he was, had wrecked another of her sanctuaries. He left her nowhere to hide. And she’d never needed a haven more.

He stepped in front of her. His eyes glittered with a wild light as his hands hooked around her forearms. Fear shivered through her. Fear and reluctant excitement. His touch sparked sensations she’d battled to deny since learning that he wasn’t a dream lover but a lying reptile.

“Let me go.”

He ignored her. She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t exactly struggling. “This isn’t over, Genevieve.”

“Yes, it is.” She stared at him, striving to detest him.

“I’ll prove that I’m worthy of the privilege you granted me tonight. I’ll prove that you’ve turned a shallow fribble into a man of honor.”

She blushed hot as fire. “Prove it by leaving.”

His jaw hardened into an obstinate line. “Not while you’re at risk.”

“You’re the risk.”

“In that case, you’re safe. Your safety is all I want.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But that’s not all you want, is it?”

She meant the jewel. But as his eyes sparked and his grip firmed, she realized that her phrasing had been fatally imprecise. Academic suicide. Unwise too, when dealing with half-naked men.

“Right now, I want you to remember this.” His hands cradled her head with a ruthless tenderness that set her heart cartwheeling.

Run, Genevieve, run.

But her feet remained pinned to the floor. Idiot, idiot girl she was, even now, she wanted one last kiss. One last kiss before she forever banished this dangerous magic he conjured between them.

This close, it was impossible not to recall his body sliding into hers. His masculine scent teased, made her dizzy with desire she didn’t want to feel. Her hands clenched in her petticoats as she struggled against touching him.

She prepared for aggression. But he was too subtle for that. A man lacking subtlety couldn’t have seduced her. A man lacking subtlety would have stolen the jewel that first night and saved her a mountain of heartache.

Oh, how she abhorred a subtle man.

His lips were soft, reminding her how careful he’d been when he’d taken her. His gentleness brought tears closer than they’d hovered since his confession. Impossible to cling to anger when he kissed her.

She told herself to break away. He wasn’t holding her tightly. If she fled, he wouldn’t pursue.

At least not tonight.

She closed her eyes and familiar dark delight flowed through her veins, drowning outrage in desire. She fought to stay rigid and unresponsive. But as he sipped from her lips with endless patience, her iron backbone bent, melted,
turned to honey. She struggled to recall his deceit, but pleasure flooded her mind, turning her blind to all other considerations.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, tasted the corners, flicked against the sensitive philtrum. She trembled and a moan crammed against her closed lips. But he heard. She knew he did. His hands moved in her hair, stroking away tension, hatred, resentment, and luring her toward surrender.

Inevitably, her lips parted and her body curved toward his, crushing her underclothing between them. His hands slid around her back, bringing her closer, but not close enough. Lost to everything but physical need, she made a muffled protest.

The contact stayed light, teasing. She’d sensed temper when he’d seized her, but this was all persuasion and sweetness. His hands played up and down her spine in a beguiling rhythm that set her heart racing like a greyhound. She made another wordless complaint, desperate for those provoking lips to settle, plunder, ravish.

He taunted her until she was near mad with need. Then at last his kiss turned to fire. Arousal streaked through her like flame in a dry hay field. Heat flooded her body. She was at the point of flinging her arms about him, insisting that he take her.

When he wrenched free, she’d forgotten everything except hunger. He was panting and pale, apart from a flush along his high, slanted cheekbones.

Acrid shame flooded her, made her belly heave. How could she have done that? She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were dark and intent and alight with knowledge of her weakness. For one trembling moment, she stared at him, hating him more than she’d ever hated anyone. Even Lord Neville.

“And that was the cruelest game of all,” she said through lips that felt made of glass.

Genevieve saw him whiten as she firmed her grip on her petticoats. She bent to collect the lantern before she shoved past him toward the door. All the time, she raged at herself and the scheming Sir Richard Harmsworth, curse his black soul to hell.

P
apa, Lord Neville assaulted me last night.” Genevieve placed her hands flat on her father’s desk and leaned forward to capture his attention.

She’d only had a couple of hours’ fitful sleep, pistol under her pillow in case Lord Neville returned. Or that wretch Richard Harmsworth tried his luck. But nobody had appeared until Dorcas arrived with tea.

Some foolishly optimistic corner of her heart had imagined that her father might check that she was unharmed. Instead, after returning from Leighton Court he’d retreated to his library. By now, she should be inured to her father’s disregard, but every time he proved how little he cared, it cut anew. Her aunt had fussed about her all morning, horrified at the abduction and cursing Lord Neville for a villain.

“What nonsense.” Her father looked annoyed as he glanced up from his book. “You caused a deal of trouble last night, Genevieve. I can’t be pleased with you. It quite spoiled the evening.”

“Lord Neville pressed his attentions.” This morning she
felt completely battered. Her body sported bruises, and more insidiously, the untried muscles between her legs ached. “You must forbid him the house. And Greengrass too.”

Her father looked troubled. “His Grace made this ridiculous claim last night. I don’t know what you all hope to achieve with this slander. I told him then that Lord Neville is a gentleman.”

“What about this?” She straightened and touched the mottled bruise on her cheek with a trembling hand. A fichu hid the bruises on her neck. “I’m not in the habit of imagining men attacking me.”