Louisa Rawlings (29 page)

He turned mild eyes to her. “I came down for a book. Nothing more.”

“And your open door? And your spying on us?”

“It seemed a sensible idea. To keep an eye on you.”

She smiled in sarcasm. “Don’t you want to know what happened outside, with Arthur?”

“I’m sure nothing happened. Your father has usurped the boathouse. And I fancy your Mr. Gray likes his comforts.”

“Especially for a
seduction
?” she asked, mocking him.

He sighed. “I don’t want to quarrel with you tonight.”

But I want to quarrel with you! she thought. Oh, how she itched to tell him what she thought of him! “Is it because he’s rich and you’re not?” It was cruel, but she suddenly wanted to hurt him.

A small muscle twitched in his jaw. “Money’s only important for what you can accomplish in the world. Not for its self-indulgence.”

“But surely you envy him,” she persisted. “His refinement. His polish. His obvious familiarity with the finer things. That you can only dream about.” He flinched at that. Good! she thought. She’d drawn blood. He turned and replaced the book on the shelf. “Doesn’t it disturb you that he’s so much finer than you are?” she purred.

He whirled on her, his nostrils flaring in anger. “Go to bed, Willough,” he said tightly.

“
Miss Bradford
, if you don’t mind. I wonder Daddy doesn’t insist you sleep out in the stables with the carriage horses!”

The storm burst from him. “You little bitch,” he spat. “You rich man’s daughter! Do you enjoy playing with fire? You’re tempting me beyond endurance!”

Her eyes widened in fear. What had she done?

He took a menacing step toward her, his teeth clenched in fury. “
Run
!” he said. “Run to your safe little room and lock the door behind you. Or I just might do something that your father should have done years ago!”

She stumbled toward the steps, quivering in fear and something else—horror at her own cruel words that had unleashed the storm.

“No. Wait.”

She stopped and turned, eyeing him uneasily.

“Willough. Miss Bradford.” He took a deep breath. It was clear he was struggling to control his anger. “Forgive me. For what I just said. And for…playing the spy. That was uncalled for.” He crossed to a window and turned, half sitting, half leaning on the sill. He seemed to be choosing his words with care. “Don’t go up just yet. I’ve behaved badly all evening. All week, actually. Since that unfortunate day in the boathouse. Forgive me.”

She stared at him, at his strong face softened by the glow of the single lamp. She’d never heard that tone in his voice before.

“I can’t blame you for being angry,” he said. “I’ve been a fool. The truth is…I
do
envy Gray. Not for his money, or his advantages, or all the rest of it. But for you.”

“He’s just a friend. I’ve told you that before.” My God. Why was she shaking?

“But he wants you. And you smile at him.” His voice was filled with despair. His eyes swept her costume. “And you dress in your prettiest gowns for him. You wore that lavender bow for him. You haven’t worn it since the first day you came to the furnace. You should always wear it. It matches your beautiful eyes.”

She gulped. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

He smiled gently, bringing the soft dimple to his cheek. “I notice everything about you. You look especially charming in your new gowns. Your father may be many things, but he has an instinct for what makes a woman look…like a woman.”

Her heart was beginning to thump madly. His words were like caresses, gently touching her very soul. “Nat…” she whispered.

“And when you sit at your desk…so solemn, so serious…you chew at your pen and frown. You’re so adorable, I can’t get any work done, watching you.” He cursed softly, glancing around the parlor. “It’s too dark in here. Come closer. Will you? So I can look at you?”

I must be mad, she thought. Her feet seemed to carry her across the room to stand before him. Leaning against the sill, he was no taller than she. She felt no fear, only a wonderful tingling to be so near him.

“Why do you hold your mouth so primly? When you forget and your lips part, they’re full and ripe, like a summer rose.” He groaned. “Oh, God. I don’t dare to touch you. You’re so beautiful. You can’t be real.”

“Oh, please…” she breathed. It was too sweet, too magical to be endured. She was trembling from his words, from longings she could barely understand.

“I dream of kissing you,” he murmured. “Like the enchanted princess in a fairy tale. But I’m not a very worthy prince. I’m afraid you’d vanish. The kiss of a mere mortal who worships you…
Would
you vanish, Willough?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“Touch your fingers to your lips, Willough,” he whispered.

She was enchanted. Drawn into his spell, incapable of anything but obedience to his will. She caught the intoxicating scent of honeysuckle through the open window. She felt drugged—by its perfume, by his words, by his soft eyes that glowed with ardor. She put her hand to her mouth.

“Now touch my lips,” he said. “Let me taste the sweetness of your mouth on your fingertips.”

She reached out with her quivering hand and placed it on his lips. At her touch, he drew in a tortured breath and closed his eyes. He kissed the ends of her fingers; his hot breath burned her flesh, sending jolting tremors through her body.

He opened his eyes, those amber eyes that seemed to plumb her very depths. “My beautiful princess.”

She smiled shyly. “The prince is satisfied with very little.”

“What else can I hope for?”

“This.” Moving closer, she kissed him full on the mouth. She rocked unsteadily on her feet. She hadn’t thought a man’s mouth could be so sweet. It couldn’t be wicked! No matter what Isobel said. It couldn’t be wicked to kiss a man and feel this way. His lips were soft, yet firm, and when he moved his head slightly, they stroked her mouth in a gentle caress. At last she drew away, breathing hard. His hands were tightly held fists on the windowsill. She smiled. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?” Merciful heaven, how she ached for his touch! “I won’t vanish if you hold me. I promise you.”

He hesitated, then spread his legs where he sat and drew her in close to him. She put her arms around his neck; it seemed the most natural thing in the world. “Willough,” he said and kissed her hard, his arms pulling her tightly against his hard chest.

She clung to him, feeling as though she would swoon.

“Wait.” He lifted his mouth from hers and reached up to her hair. “I’ve been longing to do this all summer.” He pulled the pins from her hair, uncoiling the thick black chignon, and stretched out the long tresses till they rippled down her back and shoulders and breasts. He held a lock to his face, inhaling its fragrance, rubbing its satiny smoothness against his cheek. “Oh God, Willough,” he choked, and swept her back into his arms.

Her knees were turning to rubber, incapable of holding her up for another minute. Already positioned between his opened legs, she leaned against his inner thigh, seeking support.

He started violently and stood up with such haste that she nearly toppled backward and had to cling to his forearms to keep from falling. “Christ!” His voice sounded strangled. He shook his arms free of her grasp. “Go to bed, Willough. For God’s sake, go to bed!”

“What…what is it? What have I done?” She was still trembling from his kiss.

“It’s not you. It’s
me
! Look at yourself. Your hair all over the place… Christ! I could have had you out of your gown in another minute!”

“I don’t understand…”

“Must I spell it out? You’ve allowed me to seduce you! And I’m not nearly as slick as Arthur!”

She gasped, her hands going to her burning cheeks. “Oh my God! Is that why…? The only reason you…”

“Willough, I…”

“You planned it!” she cried. “You kept warning me about men who flatter women. You planned it, didn’t you?
Didn’t
you?”

“I don’t know. Yes! You were such a little fool…” He ran his hands through his hair. “No. No, I didn’t. God, I don’t know. I thought about it. But I swear to you I didn’t mean for this happen…”

Her voice was a shriek of grief and frustration and humiliation. “Damn you! You
planned
it! You bastard!” She went at him with her fists, pounding at his face, his shoulders, his chest. He took her blows without moving, his eyes cast down in shame. “I’ll ruin you! You bastard. I’ll see you never work again!” She had begun to weep, her words coming out in little choking gasps. Finally, overcome, she turned away from him and buried her face in her hands, sobbing bitterly. How could he? Oh, God. How
could
he? At last, with a deep shuddering sigh, she calmed. She wiped the tears from her face and, filled with hatred, turned to look at him. He was still standing by the window, staring shamefacedly at the floor. His cheeks were red from her blows.

All those soft words, she thought bitterly. Meant to lure her, to make a fool of her. But his kisses…she had never felt that way before. He
couldn’t
have pretended. His kisses had to be genuine. Hadn’t he trembled, his voice shaking as he pulled her into his arms? Yes. He’d started out just to humiliate her, to show her how easy it would be to seduce her. But somewhere along the way, his baser nature had emerged. His lust had translated itself into kisses he himself couldn’t control. She shuddered. It was true, what Isobel had often said. All men were savages, lustful animals governed by their passions, selfishly thinking of their own pleasures.

And she had been more than willing. Oh, yes! She might have let him ravage her, whatever that entailed. She would certainly have allowed him to go on kissing her. She felt a pang of guilt, remembering: she had longed to feel his hands on her body. She’d been clay in his hands, a helpless female at his mercy.

She frowned. An instinct she didn’t know she had—perhaps a woman’s intuition—had sparked a sudden thought.
At his mercy
. But then…

“Why did you stop?” she said softly.

He looked uncomfortable. “What?”

“If you were so sure you could have taken what you wanted, why did you stop?”

He scowled. “I’m not a cad!”

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “Yes, you are! That was a caddish thing to do…to shame me…to make me a fool in my own eyes. You had no scruples about that. So why did you stop?”

He lowered his eyes, unwilling to look at her. “I couldn’t take advantage of you,” he mumbled.

“Why not? You’re not a gentleman. You’ve said so yourself.”

“But you’re a lady,” he growled.

“But helpless and willing at that moment. You knew that. I wouldn’t have stopped you. So why did you stop?” She had the oddest feeling. The more uncomfortable he seemed, the more a strange joy seemed to flower in her heart. There could be only one reason. A man who cared for a woman would protect her innocence.
Did
he care for her? “Why?” she insisted. She was on the attack now.

“Dammit, I’m not a complete villain!”

“But you’re a man,” she said softly, and felt a thrill when he blushed. She put her hand on his arm. He flinched at her touch. She smiled seductively. “Perhaps you didn’t enjoy kissing me.” She wet her lips, running her tongue across the fullness of her lower lip. “Didn’t you like to kiss me?” she whispered.

He groaned. “You jezebel! You have the sweetest mouth in the whole world.” He was beginning to tremble.

Did she dare hope? “Maybe you didn’t like my figure. Though I felt very comfortable in your arms.” She dropped her head and looked up at him through the veil of her lashes.

His hands shot out and clutched her by the shoulders. “Damn you! Do you
want
me to rape you?”

She stared at him, steady-eyed. “No. I just want an answer. Why did you stop?”

He let her go and turned to the window, staring out at the night. “Because I happen to be in love with you.”

She caught her breath, feeling waves of joy and wonderment break over her. Love! “Are you?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

She wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. “Then you meant what you said…all those sweet words?”

He turned back to her, his face twisted with remorse and misery. “All those. Yes. And words my heart couldn’t even begin to express. Oh, Willough. I’m so sorry. I had this crazy notion— Arthur is very wrong for you. I thought if I could make you see that— But the minute I began to talk, the minute I had you in my arms, I knew I must have been in love with you all along. I didn’t give a fig about Arthur or anything else. I just wanted to hold you, to love you forever.” He looked down at his waistcoat, unhappily buttoning and unbuttoning one small brass disc.

He loved her. The wonder of it bubbled up in her breast. He
loved
her! No man had ever said the words to her before. And with a ring of sincerity that made her tremble with joy. She smiled tenderly at his bent head. “Does that mean you wanted to kiss me?”

“
Kiss
you? God knows I ached to take you right that minute! But half an hour later you would have hated me. And I would have hated myself.”

“Oh, Nat!” She threw her arms around him, welcoming his impassioned kiss and straining against him with all the passion in her own being. Denied passion, repressed for so long in her heart. Even after their lips parted, she remained locked in his embrace, her face tucked into his collar, feeling the scratch of his chin against her cheek. “
Would
I hate it?” she asked hesitantly.