Chapter Ten
IRENE THOUGHT FOR a single harried instant of turning and running, but she firmly clamped down on that impulse. Had she not just resolved to be strong, to return to her accustomed ways? She would meet this problem as she always had: straight on.
She stiffened her spine and watched Gideon approach.
She recalled that Lady Odelia had told Francesca that Gideon was a poor rider, but Irene could not help but think that he showed quite well on horseback.
He might not have the excellent form of many of her male acquaintances, who had ridden from childhood, but that fact did not detract from the picture of power he presented, with his wide shoulders squared and his large, leather-gloved hands holding the reins, his muscular thighs clamped against the horse’s sides.
Irene swallowed and straightened even more.
“Why, Lady Irene,” Gideon said as he drew near, laughter lurking in his voice, as he swept off his hat to her. “What a surprise to find you here.”
“Indeed. I am equally surprised to meet you,” she retorted. “Did you follow me?”
“No, I thought you ensconced in your bedchamber with a headache, if you will remember,” he responded and swung down from his horse. He took the reins in his hand and led the horse closer to her. “I decided to take a look at one or two of my farms, as the rest of my day was suddenly free.”
Feeling that some explanation was in order, Irene told him, “I thought perhaps a turn in the fresh air would relieve my headache.”
“Ah, I see.” He nodded. “Then I shall just walk with you…unless, of course, you prefer not to have company.”
The roguish gleam in his eyes was too much of a challenge for Irene to resist. “Of course not,” she replied. “Indeed, my lord, I believe that there are a few things that we need to discuss.”
“Really? Points about my manners? Or my dancing skills? And I thought we had agreed that you would call me Gideon.”
“Gideon,” she said, deciding that she would give in on that small point. “Though, of course, it would not be proper to address you so when we are in company.”
“Oh, no, indeed. Then I must definitely be Radbourne to you.”
“I know this all seems a joke to you,” Irene told him stiffly. “But these are the rules by which we live, and it does a lady little good to be seen breaking them. I am considered odd enough as it is. I do not wish to add any questions about my honor to the gossip.”
He frowned. “Indeed, I cannot imagine that anyone would dare question your honor.”
“I hope to give them no cause to do so,” she countered.
He bowed his head in acceptance, and they continued to walk. After a moment, he said, “Now, what was it that you wished to take me to task for?”
“It is not that I wish to take you task. It is more…that I wish to clarify my position here. I agreed to come to your home to help Francesca, and that is all. I had hoped she made that clear to you and your great-aunt.”
“She did.”
“I tried to make it equally clear to you that I have no intention of marrying you.”
“You did.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “And yet, this morning, you made remarks to me—”
“Remarks?”
“Compliments, I suppose you might say.”
His eyebrows vaulted up in an expression of innocent surprise. “Am I not allowed to compliment you?”
“It was your manner, sir. It was not the compliment of a…a gentleman to a woman he does not know. Or of a brother to a sister.”
“No. They were not the compliments of a brother. But then, I am not your brother.”
“You are being obtuse. Purposely so, I warrant. Your remarks were…You were flirting.”
“Am I not allowed to flirt with you, either?”
“No,” she answered crossly. “Oh, do not put that astonished look upon your face again! You know exactly what I am talking about. You spoke to me in a…well, in a seductive manner.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “I am glad to see that my intention was clear.”
“But I told you—”
“I know what you told me, Irene.”
“Then why do you continue to pursue the matter?” she asked with some heat, not even noticing that he had used her first name, though she had not invited him to.
“I repeat, there is no hope of my marrying you, so I see no sense in your making advances toward me. Do you hope to change my mind? You will not, I assure you.”
“No, I can see that your mind is set in stone,” he retorted.
Irene’s brows drew together in a frown. “Now you are insulting me.”
“You did not wish me to compliment you, if you remember.”
She heaved an exasperated sigh and turned her face away. They walked on in charged silence.
After a moment, Gideon said mildly, “In any case, I did not ask you to marry me. Surely you noticed.”
“No, but you were making advances toward me. You have admitted that.”
“Well, you said only that you would not marry me. You did not forbid…other matters.”
Irene came to an abrupt halt and swung on him, her face lighting with outrage. “What! Are you saying—Do you dare to think that I—That I—” She sputtered to a halt, unable to bring herself to say the words.
His smile was slow and knowing, an acknowledgment of the suggestive implication of his earlier words.
Irene knew that she should have felt insulted by it, even repulsed, but instead she found that the curve of his lips, the light in his leaf-green eyes, set up an ache deep in the pit of her abdomen.
She released a shaky breath, knowing she should step back from him, should tear her gaze from his, but she could not.
She did not want to, and that was the most shattering realization of all.
“Even a woman so disinclined to marry…does not necessarily seek to bar herself from all relationships,” he said carefully.
“You think that I would dishonor myself? Bring shame to my name?” she asked, appalled at how shaky her voice came out. Would he realize that it matched the trembling inside her? Could he know, just by looking into her eyes, that he had awakened in her the lust that she denied?
“Never dishonor. I do not think you capable of dishonoring yourself.” He took a half step closer to her, dropping the reins and bringing his hands up to curve around her upper arms. “What would you have us do? Deny what lies between us? Forget the fact that when I touch you, your skin turns hot beneath my hands? That when I kissed you, you kissed me back?”
Irene closed her eyes, unable to look into his face any longer for fear she would wantonly throw herself into his arms. She wanted, quite badly, to feel his lips against hers once more. She could remember their taste, their texture, and her own lips tingled at the memory.
“No,” she whispered almost fearfully. “It is not true. There is nothing between us.”
“I thought you were not a woman who lied,” he shot back, and his hands tightened on her arms, pulling her closer.
Then his lips were on hers, hungry and seeking, and all rational thought left her. Irene went up on her toes, her mouth pressing into his with an equal hunger, and her arms went around his neck, holding on to him as heat rushed down through her in a storm, sweeping aside all else.
In this moment there was nothing but the feel of his hard body pressed against her all the way up and down her length, nothing but the harsh thrum of lust in her loins, the pounding of hot blood in her veins.
Their kiss was long and deep, as though they could summon up each other’s souls.
Irene trembled in his arms, bizarrely weak, almost faint, and yet she had no desire to end the kiss.
She wanted him, his taste and heat, the hardness of his masculine body.
She yearned to drink him in, take him inside her, and was stunned at the very fact that such a feeling lived in her.
His hands slid up her back, moving to caress her sides, then sweeping down to curve over her buttocks.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh, cupping her and lifting her up onto the hard, pulsing evidence of his desire.
Irene had never felt a man in this way, indeed, had not even imagined the feeling, but she knew at once what it was, and a pulse began to throb between her legs.
She dug her fingers into his hair, aware of a wild desire to rub her body against his, to unbutton his clothes and let her fingers caress his bare skin.
“Oh, God!” Irene broke away, half turning from him, bringing her shaking hands to her face. “No! What am I doing?”
Gideon let out a groan of frustration, and his arms went around her from behind, pulling her back against him.
His loins cupped her buttocks, hard and insistent against her.
She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and hear the harsh rasp of his breath as he bent to nuzzle into her hair.
“You feel it,” he murmured huskily. “Do not deny that you burn with the same desire I do.”
“I cannot. I will not.”
“You are so stern. So harsh,” he went on, his lips teasing softly now at her neck. “Do you not care at all how you tempt me?”
“I do not try to tempt you.”
“I know you do not.” He let out a noise that was half laugh, half groan.
“That is the devil of it. You have no need to try. You have only to look at me with those golden eyes. I have only to see a lock of your hair pull loose from its restraint and I can think of nothing else but watching it all come free, of pulling out the pins and sinking my hands into those curls…gold as honey…soft as satin.”
“Gideon, stop!” Irene pulled away and faced him, clenching her fists at her sides to still the telltale trembling of her fingers. “I will not allow you to seduce me. Can you honestly think that I would set myself up as your mistress?”
“No,” he replied, scowling blackly at her. “I want you as my wife, as you well know.”
“Gideon, I told you I would not. Why will you not believe me?”