CHAPTER EIGHT #3
But her blood seemed altogether too active to permit of her feeling the cold, pumping rapidly through her veins as she tripped carefully down the stairs, holding up the unaccustomed looseness of her skirts.
What if he was still smouldering too much to meet her for dinner?
All that effort wasted. Her heart jumping, she entered the saloon.
Raith was standing by the fire, leaning his arm along the mantelshelf. He was himself attired formally, in that dark coat and breeches from their wedding day, with blue silk to his waistcoat. He looked across at her, and straightened abruptly.
Rosina paused on the threshold, watching his reaction, half-hoping for some word of praise. He was staring, but she could not read his expression. Self-conscious, she averted her eyes, and moved into the room.
Raith’s gaze remained riveted upon her. He was incapable of words.
She took his breath away. If he had before thought of her as delicate, she was now doubly so.
The air of fragility was pronounced, for the litheness of her form was accentuated by the strange style.
There was elegance, enhanced by the lifting of her hair, which equally emphasised the elfin quality of her countenance.
But above all, she exuded so much sensuality Raith had only one idea in his head.
To sweep her up into his arms, and carry her directly to his bed, there to overbear both her resistance and his own scruples, and make her irrevocably his.
A disastrous desire! How could he possibly do it?
Rosina would fight him with her last breath.
Or would she? He had expected continued defiance, and braced himself to face her renewed enmity.
Instead she had presented him with a show of obedience.
Was it to mock him? If so, she was wonderfully successful, for he could barely contain his yearning.
It was several moments before he was able to command it. By that time, a hint of colour had risen in her cheeks, and he realised belatedly he had not even had the grace to compliment her.
“You look —” he was obliged to hesitate over his choice of adjective, for everything he wished to say was ineligible — “charmingly,” he finished.
How inadequate a description. He would have preferred to tell her that she was alluring beyond endurance, but he had not the courage. He watched her lips break into a smile, and found his breath unsteady. One moment more, and his control would break.
“Shall we go in?” he said in haste.
He ought to offer his arm, but he could not trust himself to approach her. He watched her hesitate, eye him uncertainly. Abruptly, he snapped.
Rosina felt him pass her as she made for the door.
It slammed shut. Her heart jerked. Raith was leaning against it, the wildness of his features heightened by the livid scar, of which he seemed wholly unaware.
He radiated danger, of a kind that made her pulses leap in an erratic dance.
Thought fled. His hot eyes raked her, and a blaze of heat rose up inside her as the recognition of his intent drove the blood thrumming into her veins.
Then he reached for her, and she moved as one in a trance, drawn intimately close by his hold. She saw only the depths of his avid grey eyes, hauntingly near. Then they closed, and his lips came down on hers. He mouthed her teasingly, in so tender a minuet that her bones turned to water.
She sagged, and found herself caught close against him, the pressure of his lips increasing. His voice came guttural and low.
“By heaven, but I want you! From the first I have wanted you — desperately!”
Rosina heard him with a melting at her heart, and groaned within his kiss.
Her limbs trembled uncontrollably as she became aware of the heat and hardness of the form against which she was so tightly held.
Her breath shortened as his lips left her mouth to shift down her cheek, and breathe flame into the hollows of her neck.
She shivered the more, and her hands came up without intent, grasping at his shoulders, at his face.
Her hand came in contact with an unexpected ridge, and on the instant that she took in its significance, Raith froze. For a few hazardous seconds, Rosina held her breath, as a chill seeped through the fervid heat between them, like an ill-omened breeze.
Raith fought against the impulse that bade him fling away her hand, while the driving force within him sought to speed him to his goal. Slowly he shifted a little away, bringing his hand up to cover hers against his cheek, holding it there. His eyes found hers.
“You feel it, Rosy? The worst of me under your hand. Can you endure to feel it?”
Her voice was a shaky whisper. “You d-do not let me f-feel it. Let go my hand.”
It was hard to invite her touch, but it struck him on the instant that to do so would be to invite also her trust. He removed his hand from hers, setting his teeth, unable to help his own stiffening.
He watched the movement of her black eyes, willing himself to remain still as her fingers traced along the lengthy ridging line from his eyebrow, down his cheek, and to the corner of his lip. Never had he been so aware of it.
Rosina could feel the resistance he was holding in check.
The wound under her fingertips felt alien, but not as loathsome as it looked.
She felt no repugnance, no pity, even, but a kind of morbid satisfaction, as her curiosity, so long aroused, was at last permitted to be indulged.
It was a fascinating contour, and so peculiarly Raith.
As if the store by which he set his own worth were contained in this unevenly ribbed line.
She would have liked to dwell longer upon it, but she knew his discomfort was too acute. Regretfully, she removed her fingers, and saw, with an inexplicable pain at her heart, the immediate relaxation of his rigidity. Her eyes went to his.
“Well?” he said, and the tight-lipped demand shot her through with distress.
What was she to say? She could hardly reveal to him the obscurely pleasurable sensations of her exploration. She recalled, with a sense of shame, the story he had told, of a woman who had obtained some sort of sensual satisfaction from the blemish. His disgust had been patent.
What would he think of his wife, if she were to confess to such a feeling? Not that she had been moved in that way. It had served rather to give her a sense of intimacy, that he had allowed her a share in his deepest agony.
He was waiting. She must find something to say that would not cause him to retire behind his protective barrier. And fast, for already his eyes were darkening.
“It is not nearly as bad as you think,” she said quickly. She saw that this statement found little favour, and thought fast. “And — and now that I have once felt it, there can be no shock in my encountering it again, by accident.”
Raith did not know what he had wanted to hear, but these words did not encompass it.
His ardour was already damped a trifle, despite the intense allurement of her nearness.
It sank still more. He had hoped for better than this.
What, had he subjected himself to the excruciating disturbance of her touch, to be rewarded with an assurance that she might no longer expect to be shocked?
What was she then — a degree less repelled?
He was obliged to her for the mitigation.
“Then I may take it that you would have no objection to allow me into your bed?” he said, unable to help a sarcastic inflexion creeping into his tone.
A wash of colour swept into her face and her tone matched his for acrimony. “Since when have my objections been the subject of your enquiry? You have always assumed them, and conducted yourself accordingly.”
“Because I see nothing other than duty, Rosina. It appears that I can make you respond to me, but —”
“What more do you want?”
“More than you are prepared to give, it seems.”
A sigh escaped her. Frustration? “Raith, I have never been other than willing. I am at your service, if you wish for it.”
“At my service!” he echoed, hurt beyond endurance. “Rosina, do you wish for it?”
She could not answer him. No, she did not. Not if he meant to make her a sacrifice to his bitter self-hatred. She bit her lip, mute defiance in her gaze.
“I am answered, I suppose. Would I knew whom it is I have to thank for it. I swear I would throttle him with my bare hands.” He moved aside, and opened the door. “Go in to dinner. I will join you presently.”
She left him without a word, and Raith crossed to the fireplace and rested his hands upon the mantel, staring down into the smouldering logs.
How much more of a fool was he determined to make of himself?
He was shocked to realise that, in his need of her, he would have foregone that jealous possession of her maidenhead to which his emotions made him heir.
Devil take it, had he not sworn he would not make himself master of her before he knew the truth?
She had been taken, if it was so, without her consent by this villainous unknown.
But he must have taken her roughly, for she responded all too readily to gentleness.
She had shown herself more than willing.
Had not she said as much? But, to his chagrin, she would not invite him in.
Had she expressed a wish for his caresses, he would have thrown all caution to the winds.