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His Duty, Her Destiny. Juliet Landon
Читать онлайн.Название His Duty, Her Destiny
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781472040107
Автор произведения Juliet Landon
Серия Mills & Boon Historical
Издательство HarperCollins
She struggled fiercely, dropping her skirt to beat at him and push him away, but he was remarkably strong, too strong for his size, and there was no chance for her to cry out for help before his mouth silenced her protests with a firmness that belied all his earlier frivolity and playfulness. After his teasing manner of the evening, this was certainly not what she had expected from him and, although she had understood from the start that he was probably promiscuous, she had not for one moment believed that he had intended to defy his brother so insistently, or so soon. Or without any kind of warning. This was more than flirting—this was a determined, serious and skilled performance that from the first touch had the effect of holding her mind into that one place where sensation burst into bloom like the springtime of all her twenty-four years.
Her hands forgot to beat, but clung helplessly to his shoulders, as bewildered as her mind. Obedient to the hard restraint of his arms, lured by the skill of his lips, she had no choice but to surrender to the confusing thoughts circling her mind that this did not match the rather silly, witty, shallow creature she had saddled herself with for the last few hours. It was a complete revelation, and an exciting one, but a high price to pay for a scheme that had so soon got out of hand.
For all her popularity with men since her appearance in London, and indeed before that, she had never allowed more than a chaste kiss upon her cheek. Her inexperience showed, for now anger, outrage, and something quite new and fearful combined to tell her that, however much she had wished for a kiss with someone else, this must be stopped by any means available, whether ladylike or not. With a push of superhuman strength and a twist of her body, she tore her mouth away and bent her head towards the hand that held her wrist in a grip of steel, biting hard into his knuckles and releasing all her fury, not only at his immediate behaviour but at his deception too.
She felt the resistance of bone under her teeth and the taste of his skin on her tongue before his fingers relaxed and pulled away and, though she half-expected a howl of pain from him, there was no protest and no retaliation. It was as if he had been waiting for it, deserving it, accepting it.
In uncharacteristic silence, he put his arm across her shoulders to lead her forward as if he knew the way back, but she balked at this too-easy dismissal, taking time to lash him with her tongue before they parted. ‘Don’t ever…’ she panted ‘…ever come near me again. Do you hear me? Now leave me…let go of my shoulder—’ she shook his hand away ‘—and speak to me no more of friendship, sir. You are despicable! Go away!’
It was too dark for her to witness his departure, though she felt that he bowed before he left and, in only a few more hesitant and lonely steps, she was within sight and sound of the music once again. Most of the guests had now regrouped around a male soloist whose low voice, accompanied by his own lute, was holding them all spellbound. Thankful of the darkness and their diverted attention, she waited for a moment to gather her thoughts, to smooth her hair, and to lay a cooling hand upon her mouth that still tingled from his kisses. Her pounding heart she could do nothing to moderate. Like a shadow, she glided round the edge of the crowd to see who sang and played so sweetly, experiencing such a weight of numbing disappointment that her first real kisses should have come so insincerely from a man of his small calibre, a virtual stranger and self-confessed philanderer. It had served her right. She should have had more sense. He had disappeared quickly enough afterwards with not a word of explanation or apology, not even an enquiry after her state. The man was a worm, after all.
Dazed, still furiously angry and disturbed at the violation of her emotions, she felt the dull thudding in her chest change to a stifled gasp of horror as she peered through the crowd, rooted to the spot and unable to believe what she was seeing. His dark head bent over the lute, the soloist was Master Muir Melrose and, by the soaring final chord and the warm applause at the end, it was clear he had been there for some time.
Now, with her heartbeats drowning out all other sounds, her eyes combed frantically through the group to find the one man she had avoided all evening, the one whose message had warned her that his business with her was not over. He was there, alone, standing by the fountain and holding one hand tightly clasped inside the other, not applauding. As she watched, he lifted the hand to his mouth then back to its mate for some kind of comfort, turning his head as he did so as if to seek her out.
Through the dancing shadows and the flare of torches, their eyes linked at last and held, part possession and part solace, and while her eyes communicated shock and disbelief, his message was that he was in charge, that she was not free to follow his brother’s lead, and that she would not escape him. A shiver of fear coursed through her again. Fear and excitement.
Slowly, he wound his way through the scattering crowd and came to stand beside her. She, reluctant to be seen so patently avoiding him, remained fixed to the spot, overwhelmed by the urge to flee, but hampered by legs that would not obey. ‘Barbarian!’ she growled at him under her breath.
His hand moved over the wounded knuckle, though his eyes remained upon her, searing her with their unaccustomed warmth. ‘Wildcat!’ he whispered. ‘I can tame you.’
The daunting words brought her eyes to his face again, as he knew they would. But if she hoped that the creases around his mobile mouth were formed by pain, she was forced to conclude that there was quite a different emotion on display there and that he had seen how her hand stole of its own volition to comfort a certain sharp pain of her own.
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