A Measured Risk (4 page)

He shifted and throbbing heat seared her, even through their clothing.

His erection.

Its long, thick, tubular weight was more substantial than William’s.

Ruel brushed his fingers against her back. Tugging, pulling.

Undoing her laces.

She froze and placed her hands on his chest. “Don’t.”

The gown slipped and she automatically clutched the dark purple silk to herself.

He took hold of her wrists, easily circling them with the forefinger and thumb of each hand. “Let the gown fall away.”

He used the voice. The one from the dreams she only reluctantly admitted to herself. The very confident, commanding tone that the nameless, faceless man used in her nocturnal fantasies. Her secret lover who would press her down and—

“I want you to remove the rest of your garments and then I want you to lie on that crimson divan and display yourself for me.”

 
She threw a glance at the divan, her favourite spot in this whole house. The image his words conjured—her, lying naked on the crimson velvet, open for his perusal—burnt into her brain. Her inner muscles contracted several times—hard. The folds between her legs swelled and grew slicker.

Of course, despite her wayward dreams, she didn’t
really
want to do something like that.

Couldn’t possibly.

She barely knew Ruel. Yet there was that innate sense that she could trust him. That she could give in to his whims and it would be safe. A secret shared between them. Temptation tingled through her, increasing with every beat of her heart.

Reckless.

She had never been reckless in her life. A trembling began in her legs.

She turned back to him. His features were tight with desire, his stare commanding and compelling. She
wanted
to be reckless with this man.

“The door is locked. The others aren’t going to come in here—the gentlemen are all occupied with fencing and the ladies are busy with their watercolours.”

She’d never allow herself the luxury of surrendering to this. For this was pure emotion and it would be giving him too much of herself.

“I won’t do it.” She had intended to make her tone resolute. That thready, pleading voice couldn’t possibly be hers.

“It would please me.” His firm tone sent a new wave of lassitude through her limbs.

Need twisted in her lower stomach and a fresh cascade of wetness slicked her intimate folds. It slid down her inner thighs.

Wait—How had they come to this moment? Where the devil was the reserve and sexual coolness that had driven William into other arms? This virtual stranger held some kind of special power over her. God. It was unthinkable. It was terrifying.

“No.” Her strident denial echoed jarringly in her ears.

He released her wrists.

She pulled the gown up high and clutched it tight. She wanted to run. She
should
run. But his large, strong body still stood between her and the exit. Would he really attempt to stop her if she tried to flee? Her heart pounded at the thought. Because she knew that if he put his hands on her and stopped her, especially if he did it as forcefully and firmly as he’d behaved thus far, she’d melt for him.

What a revelation! She’d never suspected such a creature existed in her secret heart, waiting for someone to come along and draw her out.

“You’d better leave now.” She pushed the words past her shaking lips.

Chapter Two

Long moments passed. Anne couldn’t look at Ruel. Right now her will was so weak that if she did, she’d be lost.

He grasped her shoulders.

No—he couldn’t kiss her again. She couldn’t allow it.

He exhaled sharply.

She looked up. Staring into his eyes was like staring up into the wide, wide heavens. Her breath caught. All her thoughts fled.

 
He compressed his lips and tightened his grip. She was trembling on the inside. Not from fear but from hunger. Oh, to feel his hard yet supple mouth upon her own again…

He turned her to face the bookshelf so quickly that her vision spun. Her stomach lifted then fell, a floaty sensation. Oh God, what was he going to do now?

He put his hands on her back, roughly. Gooseflesh rose all over her, making her nipples pull into harder points. She hardly dared to breathe. Oh God,
what
was he going to—

With several quick, jerking movements, he re-laced her gown.

“Lady Cranfield, what did you expect?” His voice cut her.

Anne whirled back to face Ruel.

His mouth quirked up at the corner.

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her shoulders. “Pardon me?”

“You have been making a spectacle of yourself over me with all your come-hither glances and inquiries about me. No gentleman could ignore such a charming plea for his attentions.”

Heat flamed her cheeks. How dare he even mention such a thing? No gentleman would. But logic wouldn’t allow her to accept her own anger. The evidence of her fascination was too damning.

She mounted an immediate defence. “I—I only asked about you because I wanted to know what kind of man rides such a formidable warhorse.”

He gaped at her for a moment. Then humour lit his eyes. “So this is an intellectual curiosity?”

What a silly chit he must think her. He’d served in the dragoons when she’d been a schoolroom miss. Had fought Napoleon on the Peninsula when she’d been floundering through her Mayfair seasons. She took a deep breath. “You’ve been making sport of me this whole time, haven’t you?”

He grinned, showing white, even teeth, and his eyes glittered with playfulness. “I am mocking my own vanity in thinking your interest signalled an invitation to an
affaire
.”

His change of mood disarmed her. Warmed her. And that warming made her wary. What did she want from him now? She wasn’t sure. What should she say or do? She didn’t know. She felt so lost. Confused. She wanted only to run, hard and fast, up to her chamber and let her roiling emotions settle. However, he still blocked her way.

She donned a frosty exterior. “I assure you it didn’t. I don’t want an
affaire
with you.”

His grin softened to a smile. “You don’t?”

“No.” What a lie. That creature lurking in her secret heart wanted nothing than to fling herself into his arms and press against his hard body. Her heart beat triple its normal cadence with fear. Fear both of him and of the stranger within herself.

His expression turned thoughtful. “What do you want from me, Lady Cranfield?”

“I’d like to know you, that’s all.”

“Well, darling.” He traced a fingertip over the silver locket resting against the hollow of her collarbone. William’s locket. “I’d like to know you, too.”

His sensual inflection, his heated look, flushed her cheeks and sent a fresh flood of wetness between her legs. Her slick, swollen folds tingled. She was hollow inside; aching. If she were alone, she would take care of it in the most efficient way possible, so she wouldn’t have to feel these feelings that confused her. But here, with him, she was forced to stand there with fire raging in her blood, clouding her thoughts, weakening her resolve… God, no man had ever done this to her.

Aside from her fear of horses and carriages, she didn’t suffer with her feelings. Nothing could touch her. Nothing could hurt her. She made logical assessments of her emotions, then dismissed them.

What was she becoming? First the mindless fear, now this mindless passion? She was losing all her self-control—the self-control that protected her against the world.

Flustered, she had to look away. “I don’t mean ‘get to know you’ in the way you do, my lord. I want to understand how your mind works.”

He laughed, sensual and deep. “So you want to pin me to a board and examine me under a magnifying glass? Egad, that’s not very flattering to a man’s vanity.”

“Please don’t laugh at me, it is very important to me. I—I believe you know something that I do not. That there is something I can learn from you.”

“And what is that, sweeting?”

“I want to learn how someone like you can be so fearless.” Oh God, why had she told him that so bluntly? It sounded ridiculous when said aloud.

“What do you fear?” His tone held curiosity.

Her breath became very quick, very shallow. No one but Nellie knew. There had been no way to hide it from her own abigail, but even then they had never spoken of it openly. She’d worked hard to conceal it from everyone else and people tended to put her isolationist ways down to her grief. But she was ashamed at not having been able to overcome her fear in all these months since the accident that had taken William’s life. She longed to confess this deepest fear to Ruel. To him and him alone. He was so strong, so fearless, so dominant. Yet his eyes, at times—like right now—could convey such compassion. She just knew that if anyone could understand, he could.

She turned back to him. “You must give me your word—your absolute word as a gentleman—that you will never speak of it to another soul. Never, ever.”

Her voice sounded strained, desperate. Just like the voice of a heroine in one of those dreadful plays William had favoured. At least she wasn’t clutching Ruel’s arm.

He smiled, but now there wasn’t any laughter in his eyes. Instead, his gaze shone with something very like sympathy. “I should rather have my heart cut out than betray your confidence.”

Maybe he was acting. Maybe he was laughing at her inside and would share this story with Francesca and her friends. Anne would just have to take that risk. Because she’d tried everything she knew of and had made no progress. She needed someone’s help. She was forced to trust someone, to reach out to someone. God, she hated to need anything, from anyone—but she had no other options. And she couldn’t shake this notion that he could help her. She had never listened to that sort of a fancy; an intuition. Yet this time she couldn’t silence the little voice. It nagged her day and night. Her time was running out. He would be leaving soon—very soon—and she would lose the possibility that he might be able to teach her something priceless.

Be brave. Take a chance.

She took a deep breath and plunged into it. “Horses. I am terrified of horses and carriages.”

* * * *

Jon studied Lady Cranfield’s large, dark sapphire eyes. The sad shadows there spoke volumes.

“You were with him in the accident, weren’t you?”

Her rich, honeyed skin went at least three shades paler. “Yes.” Her soft, soprano voice broke, went all crackling. “I held him as he…”

Died. Christ.

“We were waiting for our entourage to catch up. William insisted that we leave before they were ready.” She pressed her lips together. White showed around the edges and she looked down at the floor.

Jon knew the next chapter. One of the horses had kicked had through the thin carriage wall and struck Cranfield, cracking his skull open.

Death was such a capricious bitch.

“It was hard to accept. I was ill for a long time afterwards.” Her words were simple, yet they resonated with pain. “Now I am better—physically, at least—yet I cannot bring myself to even approach a carriage, or take an apple to Neroli, my mare.”

He touched the silver locket that lay against her collarbone. Silver was far too cold a metal for her. With her ebony hair and skin like warm honey—and, damn, that lush, burgundy wine mouth—she was as stunningly sultry as the deepest, darkest tropical summer’s night. “He gave you this?”

“Yes, it was a birthday present.”

Then he let his gaze roam over her large, lush breasts, softly curved hips. And the image of her proper woman’s arse, broad and round, was likely burned forever into his mind. He lifted the locket in his fingers, considering the delicate chain and dainty pendant. A Persephone-like trinket made a poor adornment on the neck of an Aphrodite. He tightened his hand on the locket.

The slightest pressure would break the fragile links—

Catching himself, he loosened his hand and focused on what was glaringly apparent. William Bourchier had never
seen
his own wife.