Amanda gaped. "That's Miss Ellis! She's only just out!"
Martin swore, straightened. Put Amanda from him, held her until she was steady. "Come on." Taking her hand, allowing his disgruntled disgust to show, he headed for the door. "Before they see us."
Too risky to do otherwise. He escorted an equally disenchanted Amanda back to a minor salon.
"I'll leave you here." He caught her gaze, noted the remnants of desire clouding the blue. Raising her hand, he pressed his lips to her fingertips. "Until next time."
Her eyes widened as she took in his meaning. He released her hand; her fingers clutched his. "Tomorrow afternoon. There's a picnic at Osterley. The others will go to the bluebell wood. Do you remember the dell at the end of the lake?"
He thought back. Nodded. "Tomorrow afternoon." He bowed and stepped back into the shadows.
Reluctantly left her to return to her bright world.
If he didn't have her soon, didn't very shortly convince her to be his, he was going to… do something rash. What, he wasn't sure.
In the dell at the end of the Osterley House lake, Martin sat on a large log and waited for relief. Reaching the dell undetected had been easy; the woods stretched unbroken from the lake to the road half a mile away. The favored picnic spot lay on the lawns beyond the other end of the lake, close by the walks that led through the bluebell wood. To join him, Amanda would have to walk around the lake. He doubted any other young lady would be so energetically inclined, which should leave them safe from interruptions.
So he fervently hoped.
Weaving a web of desire tight enough to bind Amanda to him was proving unexpectedly demanding. Admittedly, it wasn't an undertaking he'd embarked on before-he'd never previously wanted to tie any woman to him. However, given how attached women-ladies especially-tended to become even when he wasn't trying… surely, if he tried, he could tie her up tight.
So she wouldn't even think of saying "No" again, no matter what he suggested.
He heard footsteps, then saw her. She walked into the dell, smiled when she saw him, walked to the log and stopped beside him. She looked across the lake, scanned the nearby banks.
He rose. It was that or suffer worse torments; just the sight of her, let alone that confident smile, had aroused him to a painful degree.
She looked into his eyes. They were almost breast to chest as he looked down at her face. He reached for her, setting his arms loosely about her, fought the urge to seize.
"Marry me."
She held his gaze. "Why?"
Why? "Because I want you." The words were out before he'd thought, then he did, but saw no reason to take them back. Or even disguise their meaning. Instead, he drew her closer, so she could feel precisely what he meant.
Her lids lowered, shielding her eyes; a subtle smile flirted at the corner of her lips. "I accept that you desire me." Her body eased in his arms as she sank, a promise of heaven, against him. "But if desire is the only reason you 'want' me, that's insufficient reason for me to become your countess."
She was talking in riddles. Again…
A sudden suspicion bloomed in his mind. She peeked up at him through her lashes; he caught her gaze, ruthlessly held it. Considered a possibility that until then he hadn't considered possible at all.
He felt his face harden. "You are playing a very dangerous game."
Her lids rose; she met his gaze without guile, without the slightest trepidation. "I know." Reaching up, she trailed a fingertip down his check, then met his eyes again. "But I'm serious, and quite willing to call your bet."
The emotion that roared through him, that filled his ears and overwhelmed his mind-if he'd been able to shut his eyes, able to clench his fists, been standing alone in an empty room, he might have been able to let it well and fade without acting. Without reacting.
Instead, his arms tightened, crushing her to him; he bent his head, took her mouth, took her lips. A prelude to taking her. No quarter.
Amanda asked for none. Clenching her fingers in his hair, she drank in the passion he poured into her, then turned it back on him. Sensed the clash, not of their wills, but of their stubborn hearts. She'd taken her stand, knew the ground beneath her feet was rock solid; he'd made his position clear, and would not be easily driven from it. Would not readily accept the necessity of changing his mind.
She was prepared to wait him out. Prepared to wage their war until she won, then he would win, too. Despite his present stance, despite the implacable resistance that met her now, the wall of male dominance that refused to budge.
If he was a rock, she was the tide that was going to wear him down.
If he was a lion, she was the one fate had sent to tame him.
She yielded her mouth gladly, let him take her breath, give it back. Clung as he ravaged her senses, then gathered herself and pressed her own demands. Drove him on.