Regency: Rakes & Reputations. Gail RanstromЧитать онлайн книгу.
thought not. This little charade of his would render her completely ineffective. “We must halt this ridiculous rumor at once!”
She turned back the way they’d come but had not gone more than a few steps when he caught her by the arm and pulled her down an unlighted path to the right. When they were quite alone and could not possibly be overheard, he halted and turned to face her.
“We will do no such thing, Eugenia. To the contrary, you will support the fable. There is no escape from it. I intend to dog your every footstep until you are gone back to Belfast.”
“You have no right!”
His handsome face settled into hard lines. “Would you rather I take this matter to someone who does have the right? I believe my brother Andrew and perhaps Devlin Farrell are your nearest male relatives. Do you really think they would look more kindly on your activities than I do?”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Care to make a wager on that, Eugenia?”
Good heavens—he would! From the look on his face, argument would be useless. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. A show of defiance would gain her nothing, but perhaps they could reach a compromise. “I shall do nothing to contradict you, then, but when you are not present—”
“You, Eugenia, will not contradict me. I will always be present.”
“What are you saying?”
“That I intend to be at every function you attend. Furthermore, I shall escort you and your party home each night.”
“Are you mad? People will be expecting a marriage. At the very least, an announcement. One of us will look a jilt when I return to Ireland.”
“I shall take the blame. I have no intention of causing you or your reputation harm. But you must see that you have left me no other recourse to keep you safe from your own recklessness.”
Trapped. She was trapped and she would be hard-pressed to make any progress finding Mr. Henley now. With James at her elbow every time she left the house, who would confide in her? Why, how would she even meet with Miss Race and Mr. Metcalfe at the Morris masquerade? This was intolerable.
She looked up at him in the moonlight, aware for the first time that they had ventured down one of the “dark walks.” Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the strains of an orchestra playing a waltz. Nearer, the call of a bird disturbed from its nest startled her. If James had meant to find privacy, he’d succeeded.
He looked down at her and slipped his arm around her waist. “Eugenia, it will not be so bad. I promise.”
How could she ever make him understand? Frustration surfaced as she looked into his eyes and her deepest fear slipped out unbidden. “Perhaps it is already too late to save me….”
“Not while you still breathe, Gina.” His lips were soft and beseeching as they touched hers, as if making a request or waiting for permission to do more.
She responded in a way she hadn’t known she could, and she realized just how badly she’d wanted this—this closeness, this intimacy, this deep and poignant longing. She surrendered to it, sinking against him with a little moan.
His arms tightened around her, one hand winding through her hair and making a fist, holding her immobile and unable to turn away. Unnecessary, since she’d lost the will for resistance long ago. She wanted to find what lay at the end of this.
Chapter Eight
God help him, Jamie knew better. Gina wanted nothing to do with him, she’d made that clear enough. But when she looked at him with those doe eyes, when he saw the spark—half question, half plea—in her eyes, he had responded without thinking. When she’d fit herself against his body, his own had hardened with his long-suppressed need.
Her lips parted with a sigh and he teased her tongue, relishing her boldness mingled with timidity in the way she tasted him and in the sweetness of her moan. He’d been afraid she would turn away so he held her tight, preventing her from slipping away from him. He needn’t have worried.
From the moment he’d seen her tonight in her ivory gown with the daring décolletage, he’d been longing to do this very thing.
His fingers were tangled in her hair and he pulled her head back, the better to kiss her. The better to nuzzle his way from her earlobe to the hollow of her throat. He nudged the ivory ribbon around her neck aside and kissed the little line of thickened tissue where she’d been nicked by Daschel’s dagger. He could not see that scar without remembering that horrible moment before he’d swept her from the altar when he’d feared she was dead.
He was afraid she would protest at his recognition of her wound, but the sweet vibration of her sigh against his lips nearly drove him wild with desire. Where? Where could he take her? He could not soil her gown on the grass and return her to the fireworks. Nor could he whisk her from the gardens and take her to a private inn, no matter how much he wanted to. But he couldn’t let her go without tasting just a bit more because, when she came to her senses, she would never let anything like this happen again.
He edged his kisses lower, this time nudging the lace of her bodice out of his way and freeing one rose-peaked bud. She shivered, but he did not take pity on her yet. Instead he captured that little bud between his lips and circled it with his tongue. It hardened and formed a taut bead that tasted vaguely of sugared cream and made him hunger for more.
She made a whimpering sound and cupped the back of his head, pressing him closer and whispering something that sounded like his name. What wild music that made in his mind. He nipped gently in response and her hand tightened through his hair.
He relished her unpracticed responses, knowing she’d never done anything like this before. Whatever had been done to her the night of the ritual, whatever she had felt that night, could have been nothing like this. She was too surprised. Too caught up in the madness that possessed them both.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her heartbeat hammered against his lips. He knew the signs. She was his for the taking, and he was painfully capable of doing just that. Desperate to do it, in fact. But this was Eugenia. Stunning, brave and principled Eugenia. How could he disregard her wishes or sate himself at her expense? How could he risk loving her, knowing her, only to have her leave him?
A chill went through him and he slowly separated himself from her, straightening and steadying her until she could support herself again. “I…I apologize, Eugenia. I shouldn’t have done that. I know I’ve said that before, but you have my oath it will not happen again.”
She blinked, as if trying to recall where she was or what they’d done, blissfully unaware that the deepened pink of one areola still peeked above her décolletage—a temptation that nearly undid his good intentions. She winced as he sighed and reached out to tug the fabric upward.
Even through the deepened twilight he could see the stain of a blush rise to her cheeks as she turned away from him and struggled to put herself to rights. “You should not start something you do not intend to finish, Mr. Hunter.”
Finish? Everything inside him begged to finish what he’d started. But her accusation…was it a rebuke for stopping? Or for beginning? He wanted to reassure her, and he touched her shoulder in what he hoped she would interpret as support. “Eugenia, my concern was for you. You cannot know what a man—”
She shrugged his hand away and turned to face him, her eyes burning like dark coals. “This is precisely the point, is it not? I cannot, but I should.”
“What—”
“Never mind, Mr. Hunter. It is my problem and has nothing to do with you.” She smoothed the hair he’d tangled and tucked it back into the ribbons.
He wanted to tell her that anything to do with her was his concern, but he knew that would only make her angrier. He was saved the necessity of a reply by a reverberating boom, the first of the fireworks.