Chapter Eighteen #3
And turning her pages had only exacerbated his desire.
The vision of Fiona’s slender neck and wealth of ebony hair—held by more infernal ribbons—was maddening.
He wanted to pull them out one by one and see it fall down her back.
The fragrance she wore made his mouth water…
lilies of the valley and some herb he couldn’t name.
By the time they reached the marble buffet, her natural color had replaced the alarming pallor he had noticed after her first performance. He glanced at the wine and trays of iced pastries and wheat biscuits.
“I don’t suppose you ate supper?”
“A bit. I was too preoccupied to eat much,” she admitted.
He handed her a glass and placed a few of the biscuits on a plate. “Come sit down.”
“I promise you, I’m fine,” she objected, following him to a table amid the potted ferns. “I’ve played a dozen recitals and survived.”
“Fiona,” he warned, “do not test me. Not after your deplorable outing in Hyde Park. But we’ll discuss that later.
” He set the plate of biscuits within reach.
“Eat something. The last thing I need is for you to faint.” Thankfully, anger was an antidote to the seething sexual tension he had endured most of the night.
“I never faint,” she flared, snatching a biscuit. “And I would have ridden out again, despite your ludicrous orders, had I wanted to.”
“Cedric was told not to give you a horse again, and no one at Merrick dares defy my instructions, except for an obstinate ward who lacks common sense. Don’t pretend there’s a defense for your imprudent behavior.
Riding out with an unattached gentleman while unaccompanied isn’t circumspect in any circles, even in Dublin. ”
“You were unreasonable to reject Sir William as a suitor. What did you expect, my lord?”
“So now this is my fault? And is Sir William your suitor?”
“I fervently hope so. He is considerate and handsome and makes me laugh. We suit very well.”
“You would ride roughshod over him within a week. He is not the husband for you.”
“And you are? You cannot force me to marry you,” she declared, flags of anger on her cheeks. “No matter how you bully me.”
“Bully you? Bully you? I offer you my name and protection, and that is how you thank me? Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, Fiona? Remember, that comes at a hefty price.”
She had enough sense to back up a few steps, but he followed, and she moistened her lips, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. “The price of being mauled by you?”
The tight leash of his control snapped. “You might recall I was not alone in giving in to my ardor that night.” He needed to touch her.
To hold her. It was as simple as breathing.
Coming closer, he ripped off a glove and tossed it to the floor.
Taking her chin, he searched her eyes. “Tell me you haven’t thought of the library and burned for more. ”
She rose on tiptoe to meet him, and he grasped her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her ruthlessly.
Their tongues met, entwining intimately, and she gave back everything he asked for, kiss for kiss.
Overcome by a wave of lust so carnal, so immediate, all the blood in Richard’s body pulsed directly to his cock.
He fumbled with the other glove, releasing it. With a growl, he buried her face in the curve of her neck, drinking in the scent of her, kissing and nipping the creamy flesh, bending her over his arm.
“Call me a bully again,” he said thickly, “I dare you.”
“Oh, mhuirnin, you are, you are…” she murmured against his throat. “You know I cannot resist this drùis…this fire between us…but it’s no basis for a marriage.”
“At the moment, I’m damned if I can think of a better one.”
His hands cupped her breasts, pulling aside the ribboned silk of her bodice and the rosy nipples peaked at his touch. He rained kisses on each breast, tasting every luscious curve. She wound her fingers through his hair and moaned his name.
She was so beautiful…so damned responsive. He took a handful of her silk skirt, gathering it to her thighs and blindly reached the delicate undergarment underneath, finding her heated center. A knotted groan escaped as he touched the damp petals of her womanhood.
She arched against him, panting, and his name on her lips was part gasp, part plea. “Richard—á dhia—anyone might come upon us…”
No sooner did her words penetrate the haze of lust that possessed him than Clementine Drummond-Burrell and Lady Maria Sefton walked into the conservatory. Both froze, their mouths comically agape.
Muffling a curse, he broke the embrace and faced them, blocking their view of Fiona as she straightened her gown.
Mrs. Drummond-Burrell bent and retrieved the ornate fan Lady Sefton had dropped in her surprise, along with his fallen gloves. Her face was tight with anger.
“Lord Seldon,” she said icily. “I hope you have an explanation for this outrageous behavior.”
Richard stepped forward, taking the gloves. “I apologize that you find us in such awkward circumstances, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, Lady Sefton. I hoped to announce our engagement tonight with your permission, of course. Earlier today, Miss Rafferty accepted my proposal of marriage.”
Three women stared at him in astonishment—and the one most surprised of all was his bride-to-be, flushed and rosy from his kisses and still slightly disheveled.
God help him.