Velvet Embrace (35 page)

The late winter air was cold and biting against her bare shoulders, but she welcomed the chill. Leaning on the stone balustrade for support, she took several ragged breaths, trying to purge the conflicting emotions that warred inside her. Then after a moment she made her way down the flight of steps to the garden and soothing darkness.

Dominic had seen her leave the ballroom and was debating whether to follow her when Squire
Umstead
clapped him on the shoulder and began telling him about the sow that had won first prize at last year's fair. Dominic listened with one ear as he kept his gaze trained on the French doors. His eyes narrowed when he saw Rupert
Umstead
wander out onto the terrace.

The squire followed
Dominic's
gaze and broke off his story to swear heartily, "There
's that
damned
cub
of mine, and I'll wager a pint of my best
stout
that he's up to no good. Brie
Carringdon
went out that
door
not two minutes ago. I had better go after him. He
'll only
disgrace himself."

Dominic laid a hand on the squire's sleeve. "Perhaps you would allow me. I expect it's my fault Miss
Carringdon
is out there."

The squire eyed him quizzically. "Quarreled, did you?"

"Something
like
that."

"It isn't Brie I'm worried about. She can take care of herself. My boy's the one who concerns me. He's liable to get hurt if he gets her dander up.
Wouldn't want him challenging a man like you, either.
Might get his fool head blown off."

The corner of Dominic's mouth twisted in
agrin
. "I promise it won't come to that. Accepting challenges from callow youths is not something I relish. They're too likely to get off a lucky shot."

Having seen Dominic's skill with firearms, Squire
Umstead
chuckled.
"Very well, then, go to it, man.
I suppose Brie would rather have you save her anyway."

"Perhaps," Dominic remarked dryly, before making his way across the ballroom.

Once on the terrace, he paused to let his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness as he searched the shadows below. Although the golden light filtering out from the ballroom stopped short of the garden, the moonlight was bright enough to illuminate the bare foliage.

Dominic could see no trace of Brie, but as he started down the steps, he heard a woman's cry followed by the sounds of a scuffle, then a slap and a loud grunt. Disquieted, Dominic leapt down the remaining steps and broke into a run.

When he rounded a hedge, though, he stopped short. The shadowy scene before him was not what he had expected. Rupert
Umstead
lay sprawled on the ground, groaning as he clutched at his groin, while Brie stood over him, hands on hips, fairly spitting in her fury. Dominic found it difficult to repress his laughter as she raged at the unfortunate boy.

"If you think I
like
being pawed, Rupert, you are much mistaken! Go lavish your drunken attentions on someone else. I will not stand for it, do you hear?" Her tirade was
accompanied by a stamp of her foot for emphasis.

Still moaning, Rupert pulled himself up to a sitting position, trying to regain his lost dignity. "But I want to marry you," he protested.

"Well, I do not want to marry you! I would sooner marry—" Brie hesitated and Dominic knew she was trying to think of an appropriately vile comparison. He was surprised by the one she chose. "I'd sooner marry that odious Stanton!"

The
Umstead
boy sniffed indignantly. "I should say so.
An earl.
Who could compete with a fellow of his rank?"

"Oh . . . , just go away, Rupert. Go away this instant, before I decide to tell your father how badly you have behaved!"

Stamping her foot again with obvious impatience, she pointed in the direction of the house. Dominic stepped back into the concealing shadows as she waited for Rupert to slink away.

When her would-be lover had gone, Brie attempted to smooth her hair and straighten her clothes. Realizing then that the bodice of her gown had been torn by Rupert's lecherous hands, she let out an oath that would have done credit to any of the
stableboys
in her employ and gave a vicious kick to the trunk of the oak tree nearest her, bruising her foot in the process. When the pain had subsided, Brie collapsed against the oak and buried her head in her arms. It was too much, she thought with a groan. She would find Caroline and leave at once.

She shivered with revulsion as she remembered the feel of Rupert's hands on her breasts. She had not been afraid of him; his drunken pawing had disgusted rather than frightened her. But she hadn't liked him touching her. His hands had been cold and clutching, not at all like Dominic's hands. But at least Rupert's fumbling attempts at lovemaking had proved that she hadn't suddenly become a wanton. It was only Dominic's touch that had the power to arouse her. . . .

When she heard footsteps behind her, Brie thought Rupert had returned to accost her again. She whirled, raising one fist while clutching at her bodice with the other. But the man
before her was too tall to be Rupert.
Too tall, too dark, and too broad-shouldered.
"You!" she exclaimed, backing nervously against the trunk of the tree.

Dominic laughed softly, although he kept a wary eye on her upraised fist. "Yes, my little wildcat
. '
Tis
the 'odious Stanton' in the flesh.
You shall never marry, you know. Not if you treat all your suitors with such violence. Do all your swains receive a similar taste of your temper?"

Not enjoying his humor, Brie tried to slip past him. She would have succeeded but for Dominic's restraining hold on her arm. "Why do you run? I shan't distress you with a repetition of the boy's marriage proposal, not even with the encouragement of knowing you prefer me to him."

Brie was too upset even to retort. "Please, let me go."

Dominic stepped closer, his expression suddenly becoming serious as he bent his head to murmur in her ear. "Mille pardons, ma belle. I don't mean to tease you or treat you harshly. You needn't fear me, either."

His warm breath lightly fanned her cheek, before his warm lips pressed against the side of her throat. Brie shut her eyes, swaying dizzily. "Are you mad?" she asked in a pained whisper.
"Or merely intent on making me so?"

"Yes, mad," Dominic murmured, letting his lips roam over her fragrant skin. "Mad with desire. I want you, Brie, more than any woman I've ever known."

Trying to control the overwhelming sensations that were sweeping through her, Brie gave a brittle laugh. "I suppose I should be honored."

Dominic turned her face up to his and touched her smooth cheek.
" '
Tis
I who am honored,
chérie
," he said softly. "And I most humbly beg your forgiveness for provoking you."

Brie stared up at him as he slowly drew a finger over her lips. It was unfair how he could make her want him, she railed silently. His touch almost melted her determination not to give in. But she knew she couldn't let herself be deceived by his methods. She had to harden her heart against his charm.

Shaking her arm from his grasp, she took a step backward. "I do not intend to be included in your harem, my lord. You already have a mistress who seems more than willing to share her favors. Isn't that enough?"

"Brie," Dominic said patiently, "Denise isn't my mistress. We had such an arrangement once, but that was years ago." Advancing, he successfully cornered Brie against the oak, blocking her escape by placing his hands to either side of her. "Did Denise say something spiteful to you? I assure you she is only jealous."

Wanting to believe him, Brie tried to read his expression. The darkness hid all but the dark gleam in his eyes. "But Lady Denise is eager for you," she pointed out. "I am not."

"Are you sure?" he said huskily, raining light kisses upon her face when she avoided his searching lips.

"Yes, I loathe you," Brie declared, her muffled words carrying little conviction.

Triumphant laughter rumbled deep in his throat. "Show me, Brie," Dominic taunted softly. "Show me how very much you loathe my kisses."

Brie caught the glitter of raw desire in his eyes before his mouth clamped down on hers. She briefly considered struggling—but only until his arms came around her. Then she was conscious of the aching need he was deliberately arousing in her.

This was what she wanted, she realized as his muscular thighs pressed against hers and pinned her against the tree. His chest felt like granite against her tingling breasts, while his lips were hot and insistent, demanding a response. Brie let her arms glide upward to encircle his neck as she opened her mouth more fully to his searching tongue.

Slowly his kisses became more urgent, almost savage. With a harsh groan, Dominic wrapped his arms more tightly about Brie's waist, pulling her against him, as if he wanted her to become part of him. Her senses spinning, Brie surrendered passionately to his embrace.

She was bewildered when a moment later Dominic's hands tightened on her shoulders and he tore his mouth away. He held Brie at arm's length, staring down at her, his own breathing as ragged as hers. Brie shivered as the night air enveloped her. She wanted the warmth of his encircling arms, but when she tried to move closer, Dominic prevented her.

There was a hard edge to his voice when he spoke. "Your reputation will suffer if you are seen kissing in the garden, Miss
Carringdon
. You had best go inside."

Brie stared at Dominic, not comprehending. She had no idea why he had suddenly become so cold or what she had done to make him look at her with such dislike. She had been willing to submit to him, to give him what he wanted. But then perhaps she didn't know what he wanted. Perhaps he had only intended to humiliate her. Perhaps he had only meant to prove how easily he could bend her to his will.

The pain she felt was more devastating than Brie would have thought possible. Wanting to hurt him in return, she raised her hand to strike him. She nearly managed to slap his face before he caught her wrist in an iron grip.

"Your gown is torn," Dominic said curtly, ignoring her attack. "I advise you go upstairs first and repair it."

Her breasts heaving, Brie stared up at him. Was he deliberately trying to be cruel? "Your concern for my reputation amazes me, my lord," she observed, taking refuge in sarcasm to keep her voice from breaking. "You have never before been so particular."