“I told you the brook was pretty.” Her tone indicated she’d reveal nothing more of her mysterious past today.
His gaze swept their surroundings. The spot was indeed pretty. And isolated. He was astounded he’d coaxed her to this secluded location with so little effort. She’d always been awake to his stratagems before.
He stretched out a gloved hand. “Let me tie the horses.”
Unsuspectingly she cooperated. Holding both sets of reins in one hand, he grabbed her crop and poked it through her horse’s saddle leathers. No need to court danger when he finally touched her.
Once he’d secured their horses, he stripped off his gloves and shoved them in his coat pocket. He wanted to feel her skin against his. Anticipation rising like an approaching storm, he carelessly tossed his jacket over his saddle.
He turned. Antonia stood on the edge of the stream. Under her hat, her face was in profile. Hungrily his eyes traced the high forehead, the imperious nose, the lush lips, the determined chin. For a long moment he stared, wondering why she exerted this peculiar power over him.
Of course, once he’d had her, she’d lose her fascination. They all did. But he had to admit she’d made this chase interesting.
Now at last he had her alone. And the chase would end with his victory as had been ordained from the first. He was desperate to tumble her.
Because desperation was a rare sensation in his life of easy pleasures, he lingered to savor it.
With a graceful gesture, she removed her hat and set it on the ground. He appreciated seeing her out of her usual dusty black. The dark green riding habit emphasized her sumptuous curves and sunlight gleamed on her blond hair, swept up into a chignon. A few loose tendrils softened the severity. Her pale hair and the gold light should remind him of angels and halos, but Miss Smith—surely not her real name—wasn’t nearly so ethereal. She was earthy and real and he could scarcely wait to show her what a man could do to her body.
His attention returned to her face. She looked pensive and her lips turned down at the corners. He should have been more careful of his conversation. He shouldn’t have mentioned her family. Next time he’d know better.
Would there be a next time? He’d imagined having her would be enough. Once to satisfy his itch and gain the power that he’d use to attain his real goal, the Demarest chit.
Now the prize was within reach, he wasn’t so sure.
If this house party was like every other he’d attended, the guests would scatter across the estate and nobody would consider either his absence or Miss Smith’s significant. He had several hours to enjoy her before they needed to return.
Glorious prospect.
His booted feet soundless on the thick grass, he prowled up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. He drew her into his chest.
“Ranelaw!” she gasped, stiffening. For a brief throbbing moment, her buttocks rested against his thickening cock, then she ripped herself free and whirled to face him. “What are you doing?”
More seduction was required, clearly. He supposed it was overly optimistic to expect a virtuous woman to topple into his arms just for the asking. A pity. He enjoyed these games but with every second, he burned hotter for her.
Still, he didn’t want to spook her into running. He resisted the urge to grab her again. “Don’t pretend ignorance of what awaited.”
She frowned, looking adorably confused and much younger than he’d ever seen her, except for those sweet and damnably frustrating moments when he’d watched her sleep. “But you promised.”
He released a dismissive laugh. “Don’t take me for a sapskull. You brought me here to make love to you.”
Antonia straightened to her full height, resistance tightening her expression. “No.”
“Yes,” he said implacably, stepping closer. “I’m more than willing. I’m even willing to go through the motions of pretending to suborn a woman of unshakable chastity if that makes your conscience sit more easily.”
She looked devastated again. He wished she didn’t. He hated her vulnerability. It set up an odd, uncomfortable twinge in his chest that he couldn’t quite identify.
“You think I led you on?” she asked in a whisper. She edged back a pace. “Truly I didn’t mean to.”
Oh, no, now she felt guilty. He scowled as he contemplated the unimaginable prospect of failure, of not spending the next hours entwined in her arms.
Devil take that idea.
“Of course you did.”
Her stricken gaze clung to his face. “You swore you’d act the gentleman.”
He took another step toward her. “You’ve always known I’m a liar. What made you believe me this morning?”