by Eva Shepherd
Lady Redcliffe.
Suddenly Iris’s anger came back, its flames burning fiercely. That was why she was here, standing at the door of his drawing room, staring at him, awkward and tongue-tied. She wasn’t here to admire his appearance. She was here to rebuke him for his behaviour last night, behaviour which had been unconscionable.
She strode into the room, her head held high. ‘I’ve come to tell you that I was more than disappointed by your actions last evening. You were very rude to my mother and Lady Walberton.’ There, she had said it. She tilted up her chin in defiance of any objection he might now raise.
His eyebrows drew together and he frowned slightly. ‘Your mother? Lady Walberton? I hardly spoke to either woman, so I cannot see how anything I said to them could have given offence.’
‘That’s exactly it,’ she said, standing up even straighter and lifting her head even higher. ‘You left without saying goodbye. That was extremely rude of you.’
He said nothing. Iris stared at him and waited to hear his excuses. He still said nothing. Was he not going to respond? This was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She forced herself to maintain her affronted posture. Forced herself to remember how ill-mannered he had been. Forced herself to ignore the way her heart was now beating even faster, and her entire body seemed to be blushing.
‘I fail to see how it is any concern of yours,’ he finally said, his voice low and disquieting.
‘Well, yes... I mean, no,’ Iris said, suddenly flailing and uncertain what it was she really wanted to say. Fortunately, he could not see her confusion as she bit the side of her lip and tried to gather her thoughts. ‘No one else would tell you, so yes, I do feel it is up to me.’ She nodded, confident in her assertion.
He walked towards her, and she resisted the temptation to take a quick step backwards.
‘And did either your mother or Lady Walberton comment on my rudeness?’
Iris swallowed to try and relieve her suddenly dry throat.
He took another step towards her. ‘Did either of them suggest that someone needed to put that ill-mannered man in his place so in future he would know the correct way to behave in Society?’
‘Well, no...’ Iris pursed her lips, determined not to be undermined by his close proximity. ‘But then, both of them are very well-bred women, so they wouldn’t, would they?’ She smiled in satisfaction with her answer.
‘What does that mean, Lady Iris? That you are not as well-bred as either your mother or Lady Walberton?’
Her satisfied smile died. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. Stop twisting my words. I just... It’s just, I think you need to know that when you’re invited to a social event it’s good manners to say goodbye to the hostess before you leave. That’s all. And it would have been polite to say goodbye to my mother as well, as she was the one who had extended the invitation.’ She placed her hands emphatically on her hips to underline the point, even though he couldn’t see how emphatic she was being.
‘And perhaps a well-bred young lady should be sure of her facts before she arrives at a man’s home, unaccompanied, and starts making unfounded accusations.’
‘I am sure of my facts,’ Iris stated, biting her lip again and trying to think what facts she actually was sure of.
‘If you’d asked either your mother or Lady Walberton, you would know that I asked Lord Walberton to pass on my apologies for leaving so early.’
Oh, it was those facts he was referring to.
‘You would also know that I sent over a card this morning, thanking the Walbertons for their hospitality.’
Drat. Perhaps she should have got her facts right.
‘Would that be deemed suitably well-mannered for you? Or is there some other breach of etiquette you’d like to point out to me?’
Iris’s hands dropped from her hips. She was no longer feeling quite so emphatic. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘No, you didn’t. And perhaps I can now give you a lesson in etiquette. Should I remind you that young ladies do not reprimand gentlemen, particularly ones they are not related to? And that they do not arrive at a man’s home, uninvited and alone? Something you appear to be making a habit of.’
‘My lady’s maid will be joining us shortly,’ she blurted out and said a silent apology for yet another little white lie.
‘Shortly?’ He inclined his head. ‘A lot can happen in a short time. A young lady’s reputation can be destroyed in a short time. What would your mother say if she knew that you were in my home, alone? And I believe this time you are neither lost nor needing shelter from a storm.’
Iris continued staring up at his proud face, at the uplifted jaw, at the full lips that were pinched together in annoyance, and wished the fog in her brain would clear so she could think of a suitable counter-argument.
‘It is rather windy outside,’ she finally muttered, then cursed herself for being such a dunderhead.
He gave a small, dismissive laugh. While his laughter was something she’d longed to hear, this laugh contained no humour.
‘Or do you think such rules do not apply when it comes to me?’ He took hold of her arm, holding it tightly, causing Iris to gasp. ‘Is that the reason, Lady Iris? Is it that, as I am a blind man, you do not see me as a real man, one that you should not be alone with?’
Iris did not move, unable to breathe, unable to talk, unable to think. All she was aware of was the touch of his hand on her arm. A touch that was burning into her, causing her skin to come alive.
And he was wrong. So wrong. Right now, there was no way she could see him as anything other than a man, a man who was so close to her she could feel the warmth of his body, could smell his masculine scent, the one she remembered so well from his nightshirt, from the night that she had held him in her arms. It would be so easy for her to reach out and touch his chest, to reacquaint herself with those hard, strong muscles. And more than that. With him so close, all she had to do was rise up on her toes and she could kiss those full lips.
She swallowed and drew in a quick breath, her hand flying to her tingling lips. This was so wrong. What was he doing? He should not be this close to her. He should not be holding her arm. And she should not be letting him do so. She should admonish him in no uncertain terms, break from his grasp and storm out of the house, never to return. But she knew she was not going to do that.
‘Well?’ he asked, tightening the grip on her arm.
‘No... That’s... It’s...’ Her words came to a halt. What she wanted to say eluded her, but she knew exactly what she wanted to do, what she wanted him to do to her. Her breath coming in more rapid gasps, she leant towards him, wanting him to do more than just grasp her arm, wanting him to take her in his arms, to hold her close against him, to feel her body against his chest, that strong, muscular chest that she had seen just two nights ago. She wanted him to kiss her, to caress her. But that was so wrong she shouldn’t even be thinking about it.
She looked up at his implacable face, her eyes focusing on his full lips, lips she wished would kiss her, would whisper sweet, seductive words in her ear. Gasping in another quick breath, she ran her tongue along her own lips and placed her hand gently on her stomach, which was fluttering in a most peculiar manner. Was it nerves, excitement, a little of both? She didn’t know.
‘Have you entered my home, alone, because you do not think a blind man is capable of ruining your reputation?’
‘No, no, I...’ Iris wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. Her heart was beating so loudly in her chest any thoughts she tried to form were drowned out by its insistent pounding.
She drew in a few strangled breaths and tried to focus her mind. ‘That’s not what I thought,’ she finally murmured.
When she had set off for his house she hadn’t been thinking about her reputation. Now she wasn’t sure what she had been thinking, or if indeed she had actually been thinking at all. She
just knew she had wanted to see him again.
And now that she was here, thinking was the last thing she wanted to do. How could she possibly be expected to think of anything when her body was consumed by that strange feeling, the one that always took her over when she was in his company? But now it was even stronger, even more demanding, pulsating wildly and uncontrollably within her.
Still not thinking, she closed her eyes, her skin aching for his touch, her fingers itching to touch him. She arched her back and moved even closer towards him. He had said he could ruin her reputation and right now that was exactly what she wanted—for Theo Crighton to take her in his arms, thoroughly ruin her reputation, and to hell with the consequences.
Chapter Sixteen
She was still here. Theo had expected her to turn tail and run, never to visit his home again. But she was still here. No woman should allow a man to stand this close to her, to take hold of her arm the way he had done. If she was so damn adamant about correct etiquette, she should at the very least be objecting. She still did not see him as a threat. Still did not see him as a real man. Damn her. How dared she treat him like this, like a non-threatening child?
She was no different from Estelle. No different from everyone else at last night’s dinner party who had treated him with such condescension. If she didn’t leave soon, she was going to discover just how wrong she was to think he was less of a man just because he could not see.
He was so close he could almost feel her up against him, could feel the warmth of her body and smell her scent of orange blossom and rose water.
It was an enticing scent. He inhaled deeply, letting it fill his senses. It was also the scent that had woken him from his last nightmare. He had awoken to find her holding him, like a child who needed comfort. She had even told him that she was doing exactly what her mother had done when she was a little girl and had a bad dream. That was how she saw him, as a child who needed to be coddled.
He exhaled loudly to rid himself of the effect her scent was having on him and to focus on his anger.
No matter what she thought of him, he was still a man, damn it. A man who had once been admired. A man who had been at the very pinnacle of Society. He was not a cripple to be pitied by everyone, including Lady Iris Springfeld. And if she didn’t leave soon she would discover that he was definitely not a helpless child, and coddling was the last thing he was after.
‘Do you make a habit of this?’ he asked, pleased that his voice contained a significant degree of menace.
‘Habit of what?’ He could hear the trepidation in her voice. Good. She was starting to realise what a mistake it was to arrive at a man’s house unaccompanied.
‘Of reprimanding gentlemen.’
‘Um, no, but...’ He could hear her breath, coming in short, rapid gasps. She was frightened of him. He loosened his grip on her arm, suddenly ashamed of what he was doing. He did not treat women like this. This was reprehensible.
‘No, I don’t usually, but I made an exception in your case.’ Her words cut through him. He was an exception. He was different from other men. He was a child to be both comforted and chastised according to her whim. He increased the pressure on her arm. She needed to know the folly of what she was doing.
‘So why am I singled out for this attention?’ Go on, say it, damn you. Because I’m a cripple.
‘Well, because...’ She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I made a mistake.’
He reached out and took hold of her chin, tilting up her head. ‘Yes, you did. And you made another mistake today.’
She swallowed. ‘I did?’ Her voice was quiet, breathy.
‘As I said, a well-bred woman does not visit a man’s home on her own.’ He waited for her to make another joke, to let him know that she saw him as a joke. ‘Not unless she cares nothing for her reputation.’
She still said nothing, but he could hear her breath, loud and fast. But she still hadn’t left, still hadn’t put up any sort of protest. She still did not see him as a man, as a threat to her reputation. Well, he was going to have to show her how wrong she was.
‘Young ladies do not enter a man’s house alone, unless this is what they are after.’ His hand slid quickly around her waist and pulled her towards him. ‘Any man would be forgiven for thinking this is what you came here for.’
He heard a quick gasp just before his lips found hers. He had given her ample warning but she had refused to take him seriously. Now she would discover how wrong she was to not see him as a real man. And he would not kiss her gently. He would teach her that she had no right to toy with him, to pity him, to coddle him.
His tongue parted her lips and he entered her mouth, tasting, probing, plundering. His hand moved further round her slim waist as he pulled her closer, her soft breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs against his legs. If she had any doubt that he was a man, she would now feel it, hard and urgent, up against her.
He continued to kiss her while waiting to feel her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away. Soon she would do what he expected—slap his face, and flee from his house.
None of these reactions happened. Instead, her rigid body went soft, moulding against him, and she kissed him back.
What was he to make of this? Did Lady Iris want his kisses? While his mind tried to analyse this surprising behaviour, his body just reacted to having her in his arms. His hand ran slowly down her spine, loving the feel of her curves, loving the way she moved sensually under his touch.
Her lips parted wider, tempting him, enticing him. This was more than he could stand. She wanted his kisses and he wanted her. But this was not right. He should stop. He should, but he couldn’t.
His hands moved lower down her body, cupping her lovely round buttocks and pulling her in hard against him, wanting her to relieve the pounding desire he had for her.
Surely, now that she could feel how she was affecting him, feel his hard arousal pressing into her, she would finally take control and push him away. But she did not react with the expected horror to the hardness of his manhood, pushing urgently against her. Instead, she arched her back and rubbed herself against him, increasing his desire for her and making him wild with need.
A low moan escaped his lips. He was now completely lost, unable to think, unable to reason, only able to act. His lips moved from her lips to her neck, kissing and nuzzling, loving the touch, the taste of her silk-like skin.
She tilted her head back and moaned quietly, driving him mad for her. He had to have her now. Grasping her blouse, he freed it from the skirt and slowly slid his hand up inside. Slowly, teasingly, his hand moved up over her corset, to the thin material of her undergarment. He could feel her heart pounding fiercely, her chest rising rapidly as she continued to gasp in quick breaths.
He paused, waiting for her to object. Instead, her moans continued, getting faster and louder.
His hand cupped the soft mound of her breast, still covered by the flimsy material. She gasped loudly. He stopped, pulled his hand away. Was she finally going to tell him to stop? Was she finally going to do what she should have done when he had first kissed her?
But no, her hand took his and she placed it back on her breast as her gasping breath resumed, coming faster and faster.
She had given him permission to do whatever he wanted to do, and every ounce of his being wanted to accept that invitation. He grabbed the thin fabric of her undergarment and roughly pulled it down, causing a button to pop off, but releasing her full breasts to his appreciative touch.
He cupped the beautiful soft, silky mound, kneading it, loving the way it filled his hand. The nipple hardened under his touch as he rubbed his thumb over her, filling him with a sense of satisfaction.
His lips found hers again, kissing her with such urgency it was almost desperation. And she kissed him back with equally unfettered passion. Her hands entwining th
emselves in his hair, holding him tightly against her, she ran her tongue along his bottom lip, then slowly entered his mouth, licking, tasting, exploring.
As he continued to caress her tight nipples, she broke from his kisses and placed her head on his shoulder, her gasps becoming slow moans, getting louder with each caress. If he had had any doubts, they were now gone. This woman wanted him. She did not pity him. She wanted him as a woman wanted a man. She was ripe for the taking and there was nothing to stop him from taking her, right here, right now.
He moved to her other breast, cupping it in his hand and stroking the nipple, harder and faster, making her writhe with pleasure.
She was now as caught as he was, lost to reason, only capable of feeling. There was nothing to stop him now from lifting her up, placing her on the table, parting her legs and taking her. Her panting breath, her burning skin and the way her body was moving sensually against him told him that it was what she wanted as well. And what he wanted, what his body was demanding from him, was to bury himself deep within her, to fully satisfy his demanding need for her.
He had wanted to teach her that he was a man and should be treated as such, not as a child. He had wanted her to see that she could not presume that she was safe to visit him, unaccompanied, simply because he was blind. And that was exactly what he was doing. Teaching her that he was a man.
She was now his for the taking. He could now complete what he had threatened to do to her before he had taken her in his arms. He could ruin her.
Ruin her.
Those words cut through the fog in his head. What was he doing? He was about to ruin her. She did not deserve this. As if his hand were on fire, he quickly released her breast and took a step back. This was unconscionable. She was a sweet, lovely, innocent young woman and he was about to ruin her.
‘You should go,’ he said, his voice coming out in a husky rasp he hardly recognised. ‘Fasten your blouse and leave.’