Anne O'Brien – Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue (страница 31)

She stood before him, tall and straight, yet intensely vulnerable. Challenging him. Demanding an answer. Yet it would be so easy to hurt her. Lord Henry groaned inwardly with frustration, a quick brush of temper. Why could she not simply retire to bed and allow the stresses of the night to calm before they must, by necessity, meet again over the breakfast table? He did not know what drove her. He only knew that desire and need had begun to simmer in his blood when he saw the proud light in her eyes, the indomitable spirit. Through narrowed eyes, he took in her flawless complexion, glowing in the soft light from the branch of candles at his right hand. Her soft lips, eminently kissable. The curve of her breast, enhanced by the low neckline of her gown and the glitter of precious stones. By God, he wanted her! He clenched his hands into fists and breathed carefully.

Eleanor stared at him, unable to interpret his stern expression, trying to clear her brain from the mist that engulfed it. Some unknown force seemed to be pushing her tonight. There was no need for this conversation, confrontation even. She should, if she were sensible, turn on her heel and leave him, ignore his ill temper, whatever the cause. She had played her role, held her head high through the whole nerve-wrenching proceedings, thanked him for his supreme moment of chivalry. And surely that was enough. But he stood there in the silent shadowed space where tension all but crackled around them. All dark power and male magnetism. And something kept her from sensible retreat. A need to provoke, she admitted to herself in that moment, honesty demanding that she see her motives for what they were. A need to strip away the polite exterior, the bland response. To discover what really lurked behind his cool, sophisticated, superbly governed outer defences. To see if this man before her bore any resemblance to the Hal she had known two years before, when she remembered his spirit and energy, his unquenchable thirst for a life of excitement and achievement that would cause his pulse to beat and his blood to run hot. When she remembered the heat in his eyes when he looked at her.

But did she know what she was doing? Unlikely, she decided, with a quick wash of panic that brushed the skin along her arms. It was like teasing a fireside cat, all fur and soft paws, only to discover a panther, sleekly elegant, but hiding lethal intent and deadly claws.

Emotion arced between them on that upper landing, unbidden, undesired and as yet unacknowledged. Created by their close proximity, the high, tension-filled emotions of the evening and their own past history. Alone, separate from time and space, they faced each other. Only themselves, so it seemed to be, in the silent, shadowed house. Caught, entangled in a fine web of silken strands, magical and unbreakable, which drew them together and bound them for ever whether they wished for it or not.

And they did. Albeit unacknowledged. The desire was there, unspoken, in their eyes, in the tingling awareness of their bodies, one for the other.

Henry was the first to speak, to break the spell.

‘Eleanor…'He grasped at sense, control, honour, all of which seemed to be sliding inexorably beyond his reach. ‘I must go.’ He took a step back from her.

‘Hal—’ Stretching out her hand, that one word and the plea in her voice proved to be all that was needed to bring him to a halt. Was she really so wanton? The possibility astonished her, as did the answer in her mind. It did not seem to matter any more. Only this moment mattered. ‘Ah, Hal—don’t go. Don’t leave me.’

‘What do you ask of me, lady?’ A hint of desperation crept into his voice.

‘I don’t know.’ And indeed she did not. A suspicion of a tear escaped from the amethyst depths onto her lashes, as bright as any diamond, a rival to the brilliance of the fortune which clasped her throat.

It was his undoing. He answered the demand in his body rather than the sane advice of his mind, now completely overthrown. ‘I know only one thing, Eleanor. I want you. I do not know if this is good or ill. Wise or unwise. But I can no longer deny it. I wanted you then—two long years ago. And I want you now—the feelings are no different.’

Before she could regret her ungoverned and blatant invitation, he took one stride towards her, grasped her wrist and stalked the length of the corridor, pulling her with him, deaf and blind to any resistance. Except that there was no resistance, which merely enhanced his desire for an ultimate fulfilment of this shattering revelation. Determined on privacy, he opened the door to his own room, pulled her through and closed it behind them. Locked it behind them. Then simply stood and looked down into her eyes, wide with anticipation, her lips parted, her breathing shallow.

‘Tell me that you do not want this,’ he demanded, ‘and I will open the door and let you go free. But tell me now before it is too late.’

‘You know that I cannot.’ Her voice might be soft, but her reply was immediate. Her eyes never faltered.

‘Have you then become a temptress, my lady?’ She could not read the expression on his face, the edge in his words.

‘No. Or perhaps yes.’ She would not lie, caught in the forcefield of his power. ‘I am not the naïve innocent that I was, no longer a green girl with no knowledge or acceptance of the desires of my own heart. And I remember you, Hal. I remember what it was like to lie in your arms. I remember only too well. So, yes, I want you. I would be a fool to deny it.’

He could wait no longer but pulled her close, destroying the distance between them. Her body was held hard against his, that she would feel the strength and urgency of his desire for her. His mouth met hers, hot, feverish, her lips parting beneath his in willing submission as his tongue sought out the inner softness of her lips. Yet it was no submission. There was no force here. Her response was as heated as his, meeting fire with fire, as demanding and overwhelming as the need that surged through his own blood.

Now, although he released her to stand alone, he gave her no chance to retreat. They were beyond that. With clever fingers he dealt with the intricacies of her gown, removing it with all due care to her and the delicate fabric that she wore, all the while subjugating the force that drove him to tear and ravage, to permit the sensation of his hands against her skin. Her silk stockings were unrolled to reveal elegant calves and high-arched feet, as soft and smooth as their delicate covering. The diamonds were unpinned and unclasped to be discarded at her feet as so much dross. Until she stood before him in her chemise, her feet bare, her face naked and vulnerable before his searching gaze.

‘I had forgotten how very beautiful you are.’

With neither reply nor response to the stunned amazement in his voice, Eleanor bent her head and began to unfasten the ribbons to remove her own chemise. She would not allow him this final intimacy, but would accomplish it herself. The gesture stripped him to the bone. Took his breath—and even more, when the silk and lace folds slithered unhindered down her limbs to lie on the floor.

‘I had indeed forgotten. I have longed to see you. How could I possibly forget such perfection?’ He simply looked at her, could not take his eyes from her, transfixed for the moment by the magnitude of the gift she was offering him with such deliberate concentration. If she had been vulnerable before, now she was at his mercy, yet she met his gaze with her own, a challenge still in her raised head. He allowed himself the ultimate pleasure of his eyes lingering on every curve and dip of her body. Feminine with high breasts, the soft swell of hip and thigh from her slim waist, she had indeed matured into a beautiful woman from the shy débutante of the moon-shadowed summer house. Flickering light from the single candle on the nightstand illuminated and cast shadows as it would, to entrance and invite his touch. She simply stood, arms loosely by her side, and let him look his fill.

And he knew that it could not be enough. It pleased him that when he finally stretched out his hand she did not flinch from his touch or withdraw into shy embarrassment. Yet he did not touch her yet, still intent on savouring the moment to come, but removed the pins from her hair, one by one, until the lustrous glory of it cascaded into his hands and over her breasts in a shining fall. Until his own needs allowed him to hesitate no longer.

Then, stripping off his own clothes, leaving the single candle burning, he came to her. Without further thought of the sense of his actions, he lifted her high in his arms and tumbled her onto the bed. To join her there, flesh against flesh at last. ‘Why can I not rid my dreams of you? You haunt me so.’ A touch of anger here as he framed her face with his hands. ‘I feel the touch of your hands on my skin, your lips on mine—both waking and sleeping. I can’t get you out of my mind.’ He crushed his mouth to hers, holding her as he wished, angling his head to take her lips more completely.