by Rebecca King
When he didn’t answer her, Geranium tried to step around him only for Ronan to step sideways, deliberately blocking her path. Geranium glared at him. She expected him to growl at her, threaten her, hiss a warning at her. What she didn’t expect was him to slide one long arm around her waist while cupping the back of her head. Together, both hands jerked her toward him until she slammed bodily against the unrelenting warmth of his heavily muscled chest. Her breath left her in a whoosh of disbelief, but she could do little more than suck in a quick breath before his lips landed on hers.
Geranium eased one hand between them and placed it firmly on his chest but when she tried to push him away found that she couldn’t put enough force behind it. Her arm was trapped but Ronan didn’t allow her any room to move. The band of his arms was tight, warning her that she was at his mercy and was going nowhere until he had taken his fill. And take his fill he did. His lips didn’t just caress hers, they savaged. At first, they sought out the moist warmth of her mouth, forcing her to comply with his heady possession. The force of his mastery tipped her head back until she was bent backwards over his arm, completely vulnerable to him. He bent over her. The only thing preventing her from falling onto the floor in an undignified heap was Ronan. The hand Geranium had pressed to his chest slid upward to cling to his shoulder. While she knew it was wrong, Geranium allowed him to take what he wanted. What they both wanted. She knew this was hedonistic; to be out in the lane like this with him, a stranger, with nobody for miles around to see them. But their isolation made her feel wanton, reckless, and so Geranium didn’t hesitate to slide her hands into his hair to hold him still while she tried to copy his movements.
Ronan knew his intention to scare her had backfired the second his lips touched hers. He felt the first shiver wrack her slender frame but wouldn’t be thwarted because he hated to think about what might have happened to her had Lynchgate seen her in that house, or had been the one who had caught up with her out on the country lane instead. Geranium could be dead by now. That thought was enough to reassure Ronan that he was doing the right thing trying to scare her out of being so foolish again. He wanted her to feel frightened, threatened, wary of him. He wanted her to hurry home as if the Hounds from Hell were nipping at her heels, and not look back at him. He wanted her to avoid him every time their paths crossed, if they ever did, in the future. But now that he had sampled the sweetness of her kisses, the tentative exploration of her embrace, Ronan knew that kissing her was a terrible mistake. It was one that he knew he should never ever repeat, and one that he now had to find a way of extricating himself from without doing any damage to her reputation or his bachelorhood.
Before he could stand upright, he pressed the kiss a little deeper and felt her mewl as she clung to him more desperately. He expected her to object, but contrarily she didn’t. He was sure he wasn’t hurting her but had no idea if she felt a little overwhelmed by what was happening. Whatever she felt, she didn’t stop him from exploring her. Her recklessness was arousing. That, and Ronan’s suspicion that this was the first time that Geranium had been properly kissed. He felt a faint shimmer of satisfaction surge through him that he had been the first. He wanted her to remember her first kiss, here, with him. Strangely, Ronan wanted her to feel as if every other lover she had in the future would never be able to create the same burning desire within her that they were sharing now. The ferocity of the desire coursing through his veins compelled him to continue to plunder when Ronan knew he should release her, to indulge a little longer when he knew he should escort her home. He didn’t care about the consequences; not to her, not to him. He had never experienced this all-consuming, mind-numbing passion before, and he had experienced his fair share of women since he had reached maturity. It was startling that he should feel such reckless desire now, especially with a woman like Geranium. It left him worried, intrigued, perplexed even, to know what he could do about this attraction he felt toward her.
Geranium.
Whenever Ronan tried to ease away from her, he found that he couldn’t. His mind wouldn’t work properly. It had been overwhelmed by a haze of cloudy desire that seemed to have robbed him of common sense and logical thought. Ronan had no idea how long they stood wrapped in a passionate embrace in the middle of the quiet country lane, or how much longer they would have remained there had it not been for the sudden flurry of movement in the woods beside them.
Geranium flinched when a large owl hooted its disgust and burst free of the woodland when several twigs snapped loudly.
‘Damn it,’ Ronan growled, swiftly positioning himself between Geranium and the trees.
‘What is it?’ Geranium whispered, clutching his shirt with shaking fingers.
‘I don’t know.’ Ronan did but refused to tell her. When the silence settled around them, Ronan turned to look at her. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’
Just in case they had to run, Ronan kept Geranium’s hand in his as they walked down the lane. He kept glancing over his shoulder but suspected that the man in the trees was probably Peregrine or Roger rather than Lynchgate, who made enough noise to wake the dead. But knowing he was safe didn’t slow Ronan down. Now that the last vestiges of passion had waned, common sense had returned and urged him to get her home before he did something else that was incredibly foolish.
Geranium was stunned. Beside her, Ronan was a towering strength, a quiet protector, but he was also a stern presence who left her in no doubt that she was with someone who had no qualms about what he had just done, and would do it again if the opportunity arose. What she couldn’t understand was where that left them now.
I barely know the man.
‘Tell me, do you always kiss strange young ladies in quiet country lanes?’ she asked quietly.
Ronan lifted a brow at her. ‘You should be glad that all I did was kiss you. Do you always do such foolish things?’
‘I live around here,’ Geranium replied with an off-hand shrug.
Ronan suddenly rounded on her and planted himself directly in her path again. ‘That is no excuse.’
‘What I meant was that people around here know me,’ Geranium amended.
‘Again, that is no excuse. I don’t know you,’ Ronan warned her. ‘And I managed to get you to do what I wanted you to do.’
He brushed the pad of his thumb against the moist warmth of her plump lips and mentally cursed when his body surged to life again. Dropping his hand, Ronan threw her a warning glare as if the way he felt was all her fault and resumed his steady walk toward the road where she lived.
‘So, tell me a little about you,’ Geranium prompted.
‘Believe me when I tell you that you shouldn’t know too much about me,’ Ronan growled.
‘Why? What do you have to hide?’ Geranium asked curiously. ‘I know that you and your friends have just moved into Mr Quinton’s house just a few doors away from me, and that you tend to linger in bushes.’
‘And kiss pretty ladies who cross my path,’ Ronan murmured.
Geranium was suddenly glad that it was dark, and he couldn’t see the tell-tale blush staining her cheeks. ‘Is your name really Ronan?’
‘It’s a bit late to ask that now, don’t you think?’ Ronan murmured, neither confirming nor denying it.
‘But is it?’
‘Of course. I am not a liar.’ Ronan stopped again and looked at her. ‘Just take a word of advice from me and don’t go poking your nose into too many other people’s business right now, especially people who live in the village. It is best that you just stick to running your own house and leave everyone else to run theirs.’
‘Mr Wardle was behaving most oddly just now,’ Geranium murmured with a thoughtful frown. ‘I wasn’t sticking my nose in. I went to tell him that Judge Sminter is dead. He didn’t seem interested and said that it was suicide and that he didn’t need to investigate anything. He was quite rude about it as a matter of fact.’
‘He showed no interest, or upset, or surprise at the news?’ Ronan asked
with a frown.
‘No,’ Geranium replied. ‘Well, he was surprised but then refused to consider that Judge Sminter had been murdered. What do you think it means?’
‘I think it means that the man is probably incredibly busy right now and that you shouldn’t disturb him.’
‘But he is the magistrate. There has been a suspicious death in the village. The magistrate has to know.’
‘There is nothing suspicious about suicide,’ Ronan growled.
‘But there is about a stranger lurking in a dead man’s house,’ Geranium argued. ‘And people who watch the judge’s house prior to his death.’
She froze and then contemplated her words. When she looked at him again it was to find that Ronan was staring steadily at her as if trying to give her a silent warning. Rather than accept it, Geranium, as curious as ever, began to ask questions.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Who are you?’ she began. ‘Where did you come from? Why are you here? Is Ronan really your name? Why are you out here, near the magistrate’s house at this time in the evening? Are you following me? If so, why? Did you get to speak to Mr Wardle before he left?’
Ronan planted his fists on his hips and waited patiently for her to finish. Eventually, after what felt like an age, Geranium stopped pressing him for answers he wouldn’t give.
‘God, you are seriously inquisitive, aren’t you? Might I remind you that we have a body in the house near to yours, a body you found? If the killer, if there is one and I am not for one second saying that there is, saw you were in the house, or suspects you saw them, you are in danger. That makes you incredibly foolish to be out here alone at night like this. Anything could happen to you and nobody would be around to hear you scream.’
‘It wasn’t you who killed Judge Sminter.’ Geranium wasn’t at all sure why she said that with such certainty, but she knew, she just knew that she was right. Ronan was too passionate to be that, well, dispassionate about taking someone’s life. Nobody could be so gentle and tender as he had been a moment ago yet mere hours ago be a cold-blooded killer who would take another man’s life without a blink.
Ronan didn’t answer. The silence lengthened between them until Geranium frowned up at him. It hadn’t escaped her attention that he hadn’t answered her questions, but she wasn’t going to be thwarted. Right there and then, she resolved to get him to tell her what she wanted to know no matter what it took. She was going to find out everything there was to know about him whether he liked it or not.
I am never going to be able to forget you so I may as well satisfy my curiosity so not knowing certain things about you won’t drive me out of my mind in the future.
‘I know I am an inquisitive person,’ Geranium began, her lips pursed in a parody of a self-effacing smile. ‘It is one of my many faults, but that doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with me.’
Ronan frowned. He hadn’t meant to insult her, but when he reflected on what he had just said knew that was what he had just done.
‘Asking questions isn’t wrong, Geranium.’
‘But you make it sound like it is. You make it sound like there is something fundamentally wrong with me,’ Geranium whispered.
Ronan realised that he had inadvertently nudged a serious problem but had no idea how to resolve it. All he could do was make sure that he never chastised her if she asked him any questions in the future.
‘Look, there is nothing wrong with asking questions of anybody. You are right to ask and be curious rather than just trust in the niceness and honesty of anyone. However, there is a time and place for questions. Out on the street in the late evening like this is not the right time for an interrogation, is it? Anybody could be lurking in the bushes, listening to our conversation. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want them knowing all my business any more than I want them knowing yours. Now, can we please keep walking? If Judge Sminter was murdered, I don’t want to spend my evening wrestling with whoever killed him, do you?’
Geranium shook her head but was too busy battling tears to answer him. She bit her lip and forced herself to suck in a deep fortifying breath. It was silly to be so upset over a few questions, but Ronan’s response had raised all sorts of spectres from her past which she had no idea how to rebury. Squaring her shoulders, Geranium fell into step beside him and remained stoically silent while she contemplated her faults. But as she reflected upon her many suitors, and their criticism of her curious nature which had so painfully echoed Ronan’s, Geranium felt tears loom to the point that if she didn’t think of something else she was going to start bawling her eyes out.
Then Ronan will think I am unhinged as well as nosy.
Miserable now, Geranium looked at the black ribbon of the road beneath her feet. It felt as if they were walking toward their doom, which was a ridiculous thing to think really given that they were in absolutely no danger whatsoever.
As if God was prepared to challenge her on that thought, the sudden snapping of a branch or large twig in the undergrowth beside them broke the tension hovering between her and Ronan. He studied the shadows, but it was too dark to see anybody moving about in them. Rather than issue a call, as he would have had he been alone, or dart into the hedgerow, Ronan scratched his right ear. Within seconds, the strange, strangled sound of what might have been an owl in distress broke the silence. Ronan struggled to withhold his chuckle because he knew that the only member of the team who was bloody useless at making owl noises was Dean. Shaking his head in disgust, but relieved that his colleague was keeping a watchful eye over them, Ronan urged Geranium to start walking again.
‘What on earth was that?’ Geranium cried when she heard that God awful sound. She brushed absently at her tears and looked all around them. ‘Is it a wolf?’
‘I think that is - was - an owl,’ Ronan muttered. ‘Laying an egg by the sound of it, a very large egg.’
Geranium frowned at him. She couldn’t see Ronan’s face clearly enough to know for definite but suspected he was struggling not to laugh.
‘Is someone in those bushes?’ When Ronan sighed heavily, Geranium forced her attention to the road again and lapsed into sullen silence.
Ronan suspected he was upsetting her by not answering her. ‘No. There are only animals in those bushes I expect, but I don’t want to wait around out here to find out, do you?’
Geranium didn’t answer him. Instead, she put several feet of distance between them and began to march home. It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t bother to catch up with her. Instead, Roman remained several feet behind and appeared to be looking for something in the undergrowth. Geranium suspected that he was simply relieved that she wasn’t asking him more questions, and that he was keeping his distance so that she couldn’t.
If only he knew that I struggle to talk to people without asking a lot of questions.
Geranium couldn’t admit that to a man like Ronan, though. She couldn’t live with the embarrassment of having a man like him look upon her and find her wanting. It hurt enough to know that he was irritated by her questions. Ronan seemed too self-assured to have any character flaws like she had. He could never understand what problems she faced practically daily. Unfortunately, that thought made the distance between them seem more than just physical. It encompassed many levels; emotional, intellectual, historical. Ronan was a man of the world whereas she was an unmarried country miss who nobody wanted.
The more Geranium tried not to think about her failings the more she did because it was the reason why she still lived with her parents. Over the years, she had enjoyed the albeit brief company of many suitors, but none of them had been able to accept her inquisitive nature, her refusal to simply accept what she was told without question. Consequently, her association with her suitors had been fleeting, and had resulted in her feeling unwanted by any man.
Until Ronan, but even he finds me irritating.
‘Oh, dear,’ she whispered when she felt her nose sting and the world turned blurry.
Despite he
r best attempts to ward it off until she reached home, Geranium felt the horribly familiar heavy pressure of failure settle over her shoulders, which began to droop despondently beneath the weight of her distress. Sniffing miserably, she descended into the darkness of her deepest, most depressive thoughts, and suddenly found herself wishing she could be somewhere, anywhere, else. Sucking in a breath, Geranium gritted her back teeth and blinked rapidly to clear her tears long enough for her to get home. But a wayward tear slid down her cheek anyway and left her feeling embarrassed and ashamed even more.
‘Geranium, are you all right?’ Ronan asked. He increased his stride to catch up with her but soon gave up when Geranium didn’t slow down or answer him. He briefly wondered if he should just let her go but sensed that something was worrying her. Determined to find out if she suspected him of killing Judge Sminter, Ronan hurried after her.
Grabbing her elbow, Ronan stopped her. His mouth fell open when he saw the silvery trail of tears on her cheeks she tried desperately to swipe away.
‘Let me go,’ she moaned.
Completely misunderstanding what had caused her distress, Ronan immediately released her and held his hands up in a placating gesture. ‘I didn’t kill Judge Sminter.’
Geranium didn’t answer. She could see the end of the street she lived on and lifted her skirt in preparation to run.
‘Geranium, I didn’t kill him,’ Ronan persisted.
He knew that if he didn’t get her to believe that he hadn’t killed Judge Sminter, she would tell the entire neighbourhood it was him. He couldn’t allow her to, no matter how much he wanted to just let her go home and cry and get it all out of her system.
‘Geranium, stop,’ he commanded.
But Geranium, plagued with the doubts and hurt brought about by the many rejections in her past, wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She struggled and wriggled when he tried to restrain her again.