‘Michael!’
‘Very well, I won’t press you.’
‘I think it would be best if I returned to the house.’ She leaped up from the bench, intending to put as much distance as possible between them. She was not fast enough. Michael rose in one swift motion, catching her wrists in an iron grasp, and hauled her to his chest.
‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she gasped.
‘Capturing your hands so that you don’t hit me.’
‘Hit you? Why would I want to hit you?’
‘Because I’m going to kiss you. Properly.’
‘No, Michael…’
‘I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘At least here we will not be interrupted. Do you object?’
He didn’t wait for her reply. His face hovered over her for the briefest of moments, his eyes holding her captive, and then he lowered his head. His lips descended on hers, and began to move in gentle exploration over her mouth as if sampling its sweetness. He let her imprisoned hands flutter free and pulled her hard against him, moulding her soft curves to his hard frame, sending frightening shivers of desire through her body.
It was nothing like his other kisses. A sensuous languor flowed through her, robbing her of every vestige of willpower. She melted against him. Of their own accord, her arms circled his neck and her hands entwined in his thick, silky hair. Under his seductive pressure, her lips parted, inviting him to more passionate exploration. She felt drugged, light-headed; her senses spun out of control as if she were becoming one with him and one with the magical moonlit night.
So this is what it is like to be kissed by a rake, she thought dazedly. Rather like drinking too much wine.
Michael came to his senses first. Kissing Rosalyn Jeffreys the way he’d wanted was proving to be too heady an experience, even for him. The delicious taste of her lips and her light, feminine scent intoxicated him. Her gentle hands tangled in his hair and the soft curves of her breast against his chest threatened to push him beyond reason. If he didn’t stop now, he’d be tempted to progress far beyond mere kisses.
Reluctantly, he broke off the sweet, intimate contact and lifted his head, his eyes searching her face. Her cheeks were flushed with desire; her expressive hazel eyes mirrored the same stunned surprise that he had experienced. With gentle fingers, he reached out and smoothed her tumbled hair from her face. As if jolted out of a trance, she started and pulled away. Her hand flew to her cheek.
‘I think I should return to the house now,’ she said, her voice shaking. She took two steps back, moving as far from him as possible, stumbling on the shallow step. Then she turned and fled.
A light wind had come up, whipping the skirt of her gown as she dashed away, a sprite in flight. Clouds drifted past the moon, casting the garden into shadow. He started after her, fearing she would lose her way or twist an ankle.
‘I had best make certain you return safely. You should not be out here alone,’ he said, as he caught up with her. He made no move to touch her.
‘Thank you.’ She said nothing more and for once in their acquaintance he hadn’t a clue to what she was thinking. Her face was nearly as expressionless as the statues in the garden.
They retraced their steps through the dark, silent gardens without speaking. At the retaining wall beneath the terrace, he halted by a fragrant climbing rose.
‘Rosalyn. We must talk.’
‘Talk?’ She stared up at him, her face now filled with confusion.
‘Yes, I thought you might wish to take me to task or perhaps slap my face,’ he said, wanting to tease the bewilderment from her face.
‘No. I don’t think so.’ He could visibly see her attempting to retain her composure. She added distractedly, ‘I have never been kissed by a…a rake before.’
He nearly laughed. ‘Haven’t you? How did you find the experience?’
‘It was rather interesting.’
‘Interesting? Merely interesting? I must be losing my technique. Next time I must make sure you find it something besides interesting.’
‘I…I don’t think there should be a next time. That was not part of our agreement.’
‘Agreements can be renegotiated. I would be quite amenable to changing the terms of ours…’ he began, but stopped when he saw the panic on her face. He was going too fast for her. He added more gently, ‘We can discuss this later.’
She tore away from him. ‘No, there is nothing more to say! I do not want to change the terms of our agreement. I pray you will never kiss me again!’
He caught her arm, pulling her around to face him. ‘What are you afraid of, Rosalyn? Are you afraid of me? I swear I will not hurt you.’
‘Please! Don’t touch me. I wish to be alone.’ She wrenched herself away from him and flew up the stone steps to the terrace.
Michael watched her retreating form as he leaned against the retaining wall. He ran a distracted hand through his hair. He wanted to go after her; take her in his arms and show her there was nothing to fear, but he knew that would only drive her to further retreat.
Besides, he needed time to sort out his own chaotic thoughts. Since that day in the library, he’d tried to refrain from touching her, but free from the restraints of a London ball room, he’d found it difficult. Carrying her in his arms today had pushed him to his limit. And when he found her in Giles’ library, tears in her eyes over her husband’s book, he experienced the fierce desire to erase all thoughts of Sir John from her mind.
He nearly groaned aloud. Any hopes he’d had that kissing her would put his curiosity to rest had vanished. Instead, his smouldering desire had burst into flames. He had wanted many women, but never with the same mixture of desire and protective tenderness that Rosalyn aroused in him tonight.
He should have known he was in trouble when he attended balls and routs only to see her, when other women held little attraction for him. When he actually found his role of fiancé a pleasure rather than the painful duty he’d always imagined. And most of all, when he was filled with the murderous desire to put a bullet through Fairchilde for waltzing with her.
He feared he was too far gone to turn back. Offering her carte blanche was out of the question; she was not the sort of woman he could unscrupulously take for a mistress.
He supposed there was nothing to do but persuade her to marry him.
The irony of it struck him. Wanting her for his wife was the last thing he’d planned on when he’d forced this damnable bargain on her. But fate had played his own hand against him. Amazing to find he was looking forward to the chains of matrimony, if it meant he were chained to her.
However, one small problem remained—his fiancée would rather go to the devil than wed him. He had felt her sweet response tonight and knew she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she wanted to believe. But convincing her of that…that was another matter. He had until September to convince her she did want to marry again. Him.
He moved up the steps and crossed the terrace. Lights blazed from the drawing room. Inside he could see his sister and several guests hovering around a table, undoubtedly engaged in emptying each others’ pockets at loo.
He needed to plan his strategy carefully. He’d need to employ all his methods of persuasion to break down her resistance. He only hoped he was up to the task.
He smiled, a smile without humour. Now that he’d finally made up his mind to take a bride, he had no idea if the lady would comply.
Chapter Fourteen
After breakfast the following day, Rosalyn wandered through the gardens near the house, finally making her way to a bench underneath a small vine-covered pergola. She sat down, the air fresh and clean after last night’s rainstorm.
In the rational light of day, she blushed to think of her eager response to Michael’s kisses. His touch had erased all thoughts of John or, for that matter, anything else. This was dreadful. She felt as if she were losing control not only of her life, but of her carefully protected emotions.
&nb
sp; She leaned her head against one of the pillars. Of course he was a flirt and undoubtedly kissed many women, but why would he want to kiss her? She couldn’t fathom that a man such as the Marquis of Stamford would find her desirable. But afterwards, when he had lifted his head, all the teasing laughter gone from his face, she saw he’d been as affected as she had. He desired her.
And she desired him. The revelation hit her with shocking force. She closed her eyes. Oh, heavens, how had this ever happened? Somehow her initial dislike had turned into a devastating attraction. Worse, she actually like him, liked his humour, his intelligence, his charm, his unexpected kindness. She couldn’t think of a more disastrous thing to have happened. She must not, could not, allow herself to fall in love with him.
A faint rustle made her open her eyes. Michael stood near the entrance to the pergola, handsome and all too masculine in his dark brown coat and breeches. He wore riding boots and in his hand carried a crop. ‘Good morning, Rosalyn,’ he said.
Her pulse quickened at the lazy, intimate tone of his voice. ‘Good morning.’
He moved towards her with leisurely grace. ‘I missed you at breakfast. I’m afraid I didn’t rise as early as I had intended.’
‘None of the men were up, so you are in good company. It makes one wonder what you do all night.’
He grinned. ‘Nothing of significance, I’m afraid. Play billiards. Attempt to fleece each other out of our respective fortunes. Argue over the best way to govern the country, accompanied by a half-dozen bottles of brandy, of course.’
‘How fascinating.’
‘Sarcasm from the sweet Rosalyn Jeffreys? What other surprises do you hold under that innocent exterior?’
‘None at all.’
‘May I sit?’ He indicated the spot next to her on the bench.
She shot up, unnerved by the thought of having him squeeze next to her on the small bench. ‘I…I was just about to return to the house. Lady Cummings has asked if I would like to accompany her on a walk.’
‘I have other plans for you.’
She stared at him. ‘Such as what? Are you not going riding?’
‘Yes, but with you. My day is at your disposal. Or rather your day is at mine. We’re going on a picnic.’
‘A picnic? I haven’t heard any plans for a picnic.’
‘This will be a private picnic. Just you and me.’ His mouth still curved in a half-smile, but his eyes were alert with an expression she could not fathom.
She flushed. ‘I really don’t think it is such a good idea. And what will the others think if we go off by ourselves?’
His smile was wicked. ‘They will think we wish to be private, of course. Put your mind at rest, Caroline thinks it is a splendid idea, as does my aunt. Any other objections?’
Rosalyn could think of at least a half-dozen more. But her mouth had gone dry.
‘Did you bring a riding habit?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I will walk with you to the house so you can change. What sort of mount do you prefer? Caroline has offered you the use of any of her horses.’
She found her tongue. ‘But I haven’t said I will go with you.’
‘But you will.’
‘Are you always this certain you’ll have your way?’
He tucked her arm through his, then turned his maddening smile on her. ‘Yes, most of the time. If I set my mind to something, I generally get what I want.’
They began walking towards the house. ‘You must have been a very disagreeable child,’ Rosalyn said.
‘Not at all. I believe I was considered a very charming child. I learned early there are many ways to achieve an end without throwing a tantrum. Often, a more subtle approach works best.’
She glanced up at his dark handsome face and his laughing eyes with their devastatingly long lashes. She could quite imagine how that worked. She could not keep the tartness from her voice. ‘I see. You wind everyone around your finger by charming them into doing what you want.’
‘Except for you. I cannot see that I have been able to charm you at all.’
‘I believe we agreed you attempt to intimidate me.’
By now, they had reached the steps leading to the terrace outside the drawing room. He halted and looked down at her. ‘I fear we are about to quarrel again. I don’t wish to argue with you, Rosalyn. Admit you will go with me, or else I will be forced to persuade you by a different means.’
‘Will you? And what method is that?’
He pulled her towards him. ‘This.’ He bent his head. His lips brushed across hers, sending a shiver down her spine. He lifted his head, a slight smile curving his mouth.
She backed away from him, giving a quick nervous glance towards the drawing room windows. ‘Michael! Don’t! What if someone sees us?’
‘Will you agree or not? Otherwise I will be forced to take more drastic measures.’
The glint in his eye told her he was fully capable of doing so. ‘Yes, I will go, but please don’t do that again!’
He grinned. ‘Then go change and hurry back.’
When she returned, after changing into her bottle-green riding habit, Michael was waiting where she’d left him. Philip stood with him. He looked up as Rosalyn hesitantly descended the steps. ‘I’d best be leaving. I am most certainly de trop.’
‘You would not be,’ Rosalyn said, who was experiencing a moment of panic when she saw Michael. ‘In fact, if you wished to join us, I am certain there would be no objections.’
‘Perhaps not from you, but there most certainly would be from another quarter. No, thank you, I don’t want a quarrel forced upon me.’
‘Very wise of you,’ Michael said drily. He glanced down at Rosalyn, a gleam in his eye that boded no good. ‘Come, my love.’
Philip grinned as he started up the terrace steps. ‘You’ll be fine. Just shove him in a trout stream if he misbehaves.’
Michael and Rosalyn started down the path to the stables. ‘There’s no need to recruit a chaperon,’ Michael said. ‘Are you still convinced I mean to seduce you?’
‘No, of course not.’ She flushed uncomfortably.
‘Although I might like to.’
‘Michael!’
‘You are very seducible, you know.’
She nearly walked into a rhododendron bush. He pulled her away. ‘Seducible? Are you implying that I am a woman of loose morals?’
‘Not at all. Merely that you are very desirable. It would be quite easy for a man’s thoughts to stray when in your company.’
‘How ridiculous! I have never had that effect on any man in my life!’
‘Not even Sir John?’
‘No!’ Horrified at speaking of something so intimate, she said, ‘Of course, he…he thought I was pretty.’
‘That is not the same as desirable.’
‘Michael…’
‘He was a fool if he didn’t find you so,’ Michael said ruthlessly. He halted and pulled her around to face him. They stood in the shadow of one of the stable buildings.
She looked up at him. ‘I don’t wish to discuss my husband or my marriage. John was kind to me, and I…I know he loved me.’
‘Of course.’ His expression softened, and he traced a gentle thumb down the curve of her cheek to cup her chin. ‘But you are more than merely pretty, you are lovely and intelligent and kind, and very, very desirable.’
Oh, no! Why must he do this to her? She nearly closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to sway towards him, feel his arms close around her. Then sanity returned. ‘Shouldn’t we be going?’
He dropped his hand. ‘Probably.’ Then he gave her a half-smile. ‘Some day I plan to wipe all practical considerations from your mind.’
‘I hope not.’ But his words made her pulse race all the same.
The groom had the horses saddled and ready. Next to Michael’s bay gelding stood a smaller chestnut horse. ‘Sir Henry’s as gentle as a kitten,’ the groom informed her as he helped her mount.
‘Although I’ve had some nasty scratches from kittens,’ Michael said. They had started across a pasture near the stables.
Rosalyn gave him an exasperated glance as she patted the horse’s neck. ‘I am certain Sir Henry doesn’t scratch. He seems to have a very nice temper.’
Michael merely grinned at her. She smiled back, suddenly happy to be on a horse again, enjoying the smell of the country air after so many weeks in London. The sky was a bright cobalt blue, the trees and grass had the lovely dewy freshness that followed a night’s rain. The air smelled clean and pure, the birds twittered in the trees, and a pleasant breeze caressed her cheeks. With a sense of wonder, she realised she felt more at peace than she had for a very long time.
She glanced at Michael and saw he was watching her. ‘You look happy,’ he said.
‘It is a lovely day, don’t you think?’
‘Yes. I don’t believe I’ve seen you look like that before.’
‘Oh.’ She coloured, a little embarrassed by his scrutiny. ‘Where are we going?’
He slanted a glance at her. ‘There’s a secluded spot near an old cottage. I thought you might like it.’
‘It sounds very nice.’ She stole a glance at his strong profile and thought he also looked relaxed, as if the day pleased him.
They rode in a companionable silence. The path wound by the lake and through a stand of trees. At last, they came out of the trees to a clearing where an old two-storey brick house stood. Vines rambled up a side wall and tall rhododendrons surrounded the front door. Michael reined his horse to a halt and waited for Rosalyn to amble up on Sir Henry. ‘This is the cottage,’ he told her.
‘It is not occupied, is it?’ she asked.
‘No. It once belonged to a Dowager Countess who didn’t want to reside very close to her son and daughter-in-law. Caroline sometimes comes here when she wants solitude. And she and Giles often come for a day or two. It’s rather sparsely furnished, but the roof is in good repair.’
He dismounted in a graceful motion and then held out his arms to help Rosalyn down. She slid awkwardly off the horse and fell against him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, pushing herself away.
A Bargain With Fate Page 17