‘Put me down,’ Belle panted breathlessly, panic rising. ‘This is not at all what I want.’
‘To hell with what you want, lady,’ Lance muttered thickly. ‘I can feel your need, Belle. It is the same as my own.’
‘Please,’ she cried. ‘This game has gone on long enough.’
‘Games are for children. But this is something more between a man and a woman.’ His eyes burned into hers as he strode purposefully to the bed with her. Kneeling on the mattress, he lowered her to its softness and before she could move his arms came down on either side, trapping her between them.
‘You beast,’ she hissed. ‘You filthy beast. How dare you lay your hands on me.?’
He silenced her with his lips, kissing her long and deep and hard. She struggled, but her physical resistance was useless against his strength and his unswerving seduction. Lowering his weight on to her body, he cradled her head between his arms. He was strong, muscular, savage even and very determined, and for a moment Belle felt her insides lurch—she didn’t know why—and in the pit of her stomach flared a spark of something, and again she didn’t know what or why.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he breathed against her throat. ‘I won’t hurt you. Let yourself enjoy it.’
‘I can’t,’ she argued.
‘Yes, you can.’
Again he found her lips and parted them. Shuddering excitement passed through her, and the strength ebbed from her limbs. Not for a moment did Lance break the kiss that was inciting her. His mouth was hungering, turning to a heated, crushing demand. Her anger had become raw hunger, cindered beneath the white heat of their mutual desires. It was sudden, the awakened fires, the hungering lust, the bittersweet ache of passion such as Belle could never have imagined.
His position gave him full access to her body. Pulling her shirt out of the waistband of her breeches, his hand slowly snaked its way up to the tantalising fullness of her naked breast, cupping it, teasing her nipple until it was a hard bud. She made a sound deep in her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was a protest or merely a sound of pleasure she couldn’t contain, so wonderful did it feel. She was kissing him voraciously as the pleasure swiftly escalated, her entire body trembling with desire. She moaned again and wrapped her arms around his neck, shoving her fingers in his hair without even thinking about it, for she couldn’t seem to help herself and it seemed the most natural thing to do.
Lance closed his eyes, intense desire for this woman torturing him and making him acutely conscious of the celibate life he had led for some time now. As he caressed the sweet, young body, his flesh betrayed his need, rising up against his will. He was hungry for her and could hardly restrain himself to free her from her garments, possibly even tearing them if they resisted his fingers.
His hands slid from her breast and Belle felt him fumbling with the fastenings of her breeches. Instantly her sanity returned and with a horrified gasp, she broke away from him, her whole manner conveying her fury, which reappeared with shocking speed. With a tremendous effort of will she flung herself away from him and rolled off the bed. She stood glaring at him, breathing hard, her hair tangled in disarray about her shoulders, her green eyes burning, completely unaware of the vision she presented to his hungering eyes.
‘How dare you?’ she hissed. ‘How dare you do that to me? I will not be forced.’
Struggling for control, finding it with effort, getting off the bed, Lance straightened his clothes. ‘Come now, Belle,’ he managed to say, smiling, though he himself was shaken by the moment. ‘It was only a kiss—an innocent kiss, nothing more sordid than that.’ But he was not convinced by his words. With her long sleek legs encased in breeches, he was led to think that he had never caressed any that had evoked his imagination as much as those. The lingering impression of those trim thighs entangled with his own had done much to awaken a manly craving that had gone unappeased for some months.
He cursed himself for letting Belle Ainsley affect him in this way. He went from hot to cold, a sensation not normal for him, a man who had always had a woman at his whim, had enjoyed a woman casually and made love to her for his pleasure. Now this young woman needed to be taught a lesson and he could hardly keep his hands off her.
Belle’s anger was boiling. Every single word she uttered seemed to make it worse, as if it were feeding upon itself. And having no other outlet for this anger, it would continue to grow and fester.
‘A kiss that would have led to other things—which was what you had in mind you—you lecher—had I not had the presence of mind to end it,’ she flared, furious with herself for not only responding to it, but liking what he had done to her. ‘You forced your will on me, forced me to kiss you. I did not invite you to do that.’
‘I forced nothing,’ he said, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘You brought it on yourself when you decided to invade my bedchamber, don’t forget.’
He sounded entirely too smug in saying that. ‘Only because I thought it wouldn’t have you in it. I am here because I had no choice if I was to retrieve the necklace.’
‘Choice? Yes, indeed.’ He turned her angry words aside as he walked round the bed to stand before her, the burning heat back in his eyes. ‘Choice you are, my love.’ He ran his fingers down the soft curve of her cheek. ‘The very cream of the lot.’
His soft answer and soothing caress awoke once again tingling answers in places Belle tried to ignore. This betrayal by her own body aroused an impatient vexation. She had foolishly thought that all the quickening fires she had just felt in his arms had been thoroughly quenched by her anger. But she was becoming increasingly aware of the folly of that conclusion. Where his finger touched, she burned. It was a hard fact for her pride to accept. He was capable of scattering her wits in a thousand different directions. She wished she could deny it, for she realised he had a way of affecting her that made her uneasy of future encounters.
He stood before her, his wide shoulders narrowing her world to a dark, limited space. She glanced past him, but quickly dismissed the idea of darting for the door, for she strongly suspected he was as quick as he was strong. Shaking her head, Belle stepped back from him and pressed a trembling hand to his chest to hold him away.
‘You have been too long with the military and got too comfortable with the camp-followers to know how to treat a lady. I’ve heard how soldiers like to dally here and there at their leisure—I can’t imagine officers being any different.’
‘In some cases your imagination is correct, Belle. After years of soldiering, adjusting to civilian life is not an easy matter, and I, for one, intend to try.’
‘And I am not gullible enough to believe in miracles,’ she bit back. ‘I am not one of your common women. I will not be tumbled between the sheets and left to bear a child in shame. This was a mistake, a mistake you will have cause to regret.’ She walked past him, heading for the door.
‘A mistake for you, maybe, but not for me. You see, I know you now, Belle. I know how you react to my kiss, to being in my arms. The next time you may not be so eager to leave.’
She whirled in a flare of rage. ‘Why, you conceited—buffoon. There won’t be a next time. I would see you in hell first.’
Striding towards her, he bent his head, his laughing breath touching her brow as he chucked her playfully under the chin. ‘Your endearments intrigue me, but I did not fight with every measure of skill and wit at my command to preserve my life as well as my company of men on the battlefields of Spain and Waterloo, to have it taken away in peacetime by a mere slip of a girl.’
‘The slip of a girl you speak of I left behind in America, my lord.’
‘My eyes confirm what you say, Belle,’ he murmured, his eyes probing with flaming warmth into hers. ‘You are what any man would desire—softly rounded in all the right places, yet slender and long of limb. You have whet my imagination to such a degree that my pleasure would be to throw you back on to the bed and make love to you.’
She stepped back. Behind the pattern of he
r beautiful face, she was outraged. The red blushes on her cheeks had settled into a dark glow, the flush of sudden battle in her face. Her retreat was necessary to cool her burning cheeks, and to ease to some degree the unruly pacing of her heart. ‘Stop it. You should not be saying such things.’
‘Come now, Belle, believe me, after surrendering your virginity you will be amazed at the pleasures to be found in the arms of a lover.’
‘Lover? Ha!’ she scoffed. ‘The man I surrender my virtue to will be my husband. It is not something I shall give away in the weakness of a moment in the bed of the vilest of rakes.’
Lance did not seem surprised or insulted. Undaunted, he lifted his brows quizzically, a twist of humour about his beautifully moulded lips. But never had he looked more challenging. ‘This is indeed a crushing moment, Belle! I have been called some names in my life, but I must confess never to have been called—the vilest of rakes.’
Belle saw him struggling to hold back his deep amusement. Then, to her rising dismay, he threw back his head, letting out rich, infectious laughter. ‘This has really made my day—”the vilest of rakes”.’
‘You are insufferable,’ Belle cried angrily, her rage pouring out. ‘Let me out of this room this instant.’
‘You needn’t be distressed by what has just happened between us,’ he said, no longer laughing, but still quietly amused. ‘Making love can be just as pleasurable for a woman as for a man. Are you so fearful of losing your virtue, Belle?’
She thrust her face forwards to deliver her own angry rejoinder. ‘With you? Yes!’ she answered with a finality that brooked no discussion. ‘I will not allow myself to be sullied and then tossed aside by you, leaving me little hope of attracting a respectable husband. Rumours have a way of shattering lives, my lord. No man wants spoiled goods.’
Lance offered her a cajoling smile, appealing to her with all the charm he was capable of putting into play. He had not got to where he was in life without becoming aware that many women he had known had been intrigued and captivated by the smile on his lips.
‘I’ll have you know that right now you’re presenting a definite challenge to me,’ he accused, amusement gleaming in his eyes. ‘I’ve never before known a woman who seems to loathe me one minute and the next accept my attentions as you did just now on the bed. Can I not persuade you to relent?’
‘You certainly know the right words to entangle a gullible maid’s mind, my lord. But I am not gullible and certainly know the risks I would encounter if I allowed myself to be taken in by the likes of you. What woman would willingly invite such disgrace?’
Cocking a magnificent brow enquiringly, Lance peered down his noble nose at her. ‘Not all women who know me would consider it a disgrace.’
‘Just how many women have you addled with comments of that sort, my lord?’ Belle asked snidely. ‘If any of them believe you then they must be simple minded. You can say what you like, but any lady would be upset to be involved in a conversation such as this. It is hardly a topic to soothe one’s nerves.’
His eyes danced as he probed the bright green orbs. ‘I’ll allow the subject itself wouldn’t soothe your nerves, Belle, but the joining of our bodies in the ritual of making love would do wonders for relaxing you. I’d be more than willing to show you.’
‘I’m sure you would, but I’m not going to give you the chance. Now please stop it. You are far too persistent for my peace of mind.’
‘When I see something I want, I go for it.’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘It’s in my nature. At least the men under my command thought so.’
‘I’m not one of your men,’ she retorted, and had cause to wonder what would follow as his eyes gleamed tauntingly into hers.
‘Believe me, my lovely Belle, looking as you do, I would never mistake you for one of them—not even for an instant. None of my men ever looked even remotely appealing to me.’ Lance chuckled softly. Devilment shone in his blue eyes as he placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Relax. I’m not going to kiss you again. At least not yet.’
Suddenly Belle found herself trying to gather the shattered pieces of her aplomb. His persuasive voice seemed to bombard her very being.
‘Just be thankful I’ve decided to let you leave.’
She met his warmly alluring eyes with a cool stare as she warned him crisply, ‘I should jolly well hope so. If you lay one hand upon me, my lord, I’ll scream the house down. That much I promise you.’
‘In which case, I shall comply with your wishes. Your presence in my bedchamber would take some explaining to my guests.’
Belle now had cause to regret her impulsive decision to come to his house. It was the kind of bad behaviour she had indulged in when she was a child—too hasty to jump in, too stubborn to draw back before it was too late, and suffering regret afterwards. There was more than just regret this time, however, much more.
She flung her head backwards so that more of her hair was loosed from its pins, coiling down her spine, so gloriously a shade of rich brown, now as dark as night. Her chin jutted dangerously and her eyes flashed.
‘How noble of you,’ she uttered sarcastically. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you will never lay hands on me again.’
Her lips curled back over her teeth in a snarl, and Lance thought she was like an animal on the defensive. Dear God, she was a magnificent creature, but heaven help the poor devil who got landed with her as a wife. He liked his women quicktempered, spirited and with fire in their veins. It made for a satisfying and exciting relationship, but Belle Ainsley with her bull-headed stubbornness would not only need a husband as strong-willed as herself, but with the patience of a saint.
‘As to that, Belle, I shall make no promises. Who knows what will come from our association? I will tell you now that I consider my independence of great importance. I am not necessarily anxious to give it up immediately now I have returned home, but I may just decide to forget the promise I made to myself to remain a bachelor and take you to wife just to show you what delights can be had between a married couple.’
Belle glowered at him and spoke with derision. ‘What subtle ploys you practise, Lord Bingham. If you think to get me into your bed with your liberal use of the word marriage, you will find I am not as gullible as you think.’
Lance laughed outright. ‘I get the message, Belle, so continue with your parties and concentrate on finding a husband—which is what the Season is all about. I’ve seen the many smitten swains following at your heels. I would think you’d find it difficult to choose among them. Although I can almost pity the man you eventually settle on. The poor man won’t have a moment’s peace.’
‘Like you I am in no hurry to wed, and Grandmother is not putting pressure on me to do so. I have only recently come to England and I am testing the water, so to speak. I am quite happy with my single state.’
‘Ah, but you will be caught and settle down to connubial bliss with one of your suitors ere long.’
Angry and humiliated beyond anything she had known in her life, as she watched him turn to retrieve his discarded jacket, Belle vowed to make him regret in a thousand different ways that he’d tampered with her. Her eyes settled on a small table where he had put the pouch and the smile that tempted her lips was one of cunning. Starting with the necklace.
So, he thought he had outwitted her, did he, by telling her some lame story about it belonging to his own grandmother? How easily she had swallowed it. How gullible she had been, but no more. She would not give him his victory. While picking up the pouch, which she slipped into her pocket, she grabbed hold of her hat, dropping it. She bent to retrieve it, and, turning round, Lance halted abruptly, for he found himself confronting a very fetching derrière stuck up in the air.
He emited a low groan with the gnawing hunger she aroused in him, for he had never seen anything quite so stimulating as those snugly bound buttocks, for the tight trousers left nothing to the imagination. Tempted to go to her and slide his
arm around her waist and pull her back to him, to forget all logic and again sweep her down on to his bed, he halted, prone to wonder if he was having another lewd fantasy involving this precocious young woman, and it came as no surprise to him that she had sharply awakened his manly cravings like none other before. He stepped back as she straightened up, having retrieved her hat.
Aware of the pouch in her pocket, unaware of Lance’s lewd thoughts, her smile turned to one of triumph at her own cleverness. It was the perfect payback. Pulling her hat down over her ears, tucking her wayward locks beneath it, she turned to the door.
They were descending the stairs when Belle’s worst nightmare was realised. Rowland Gibbon emerged from the dining room without bothering to close the doors behind him. Some of Lance’s guests followed him into the hall. Cursing softly, Lance immediately took Belle’s arm and was already pulling her back up the stairs in an attempt to forestall a calamity, but too late. Rowland had seen them. He let out a loud gusto and started towards the bottom of the stairs, his heels clicking on the black-and-white tiled floor.
‘Ha! What’s this, Lance? Trying to hide from your guests. I won’t have it. Already Lady Marlow and the other ladies are feeling quite bereft and have sent me to find you.’
Realising the futility of trying to escape, Lance and Belle made a final descent of the stairs.
Rowland’s eyes shifted to Lance’s companion, whom he thought to be a youth hanging back. Rowland raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘And who have we here?’ he asked, bending over to peruse the face under the hat. He turned to Lance with a grin. ‘So, you had another engagement. Are you not going to introduce me?’
‘You’ve already had that pleasure.’
‘I don’t think so—although the lad does seem somewhat familiar.’ Without more ado he snatched the hat from Belle’s head, drawing a shocked gasp of furious indignation from her. Rowland uttered a soft whistle when her hair cascaded about her shoulders. His exclamation was one of disbelief and he chuckled softly. ‘Why, ‘tis no lad I see before me.’
A Wayward Woman Page 10