his need hard against her as he held her fast. Whatever lay in wait for him in the uncertainties of his future, she was his. His mouth ravaged, his tongue tasted, seduced then plunged as her lips failed to withstand his assault. She was his, now, always. No one would stop him…
When he felt her sigh softly against his mouth he raised his head, drawn back into reality. His smile was a little twisted, but his hands still gripped firm.
‘I suppose I must now listen to you condemn me for my ungallant conduct.’
But her eyes were glorious, sparkling with life. Her reply, her reaction, startled him.
‘I liked it.’ A twist of her hand to free it from his and she lifted it to touch his cheek with her fingertips. ‘I should not, I dare say, but I did. My sister would say that no good can come of it. Do you suppose I shall regret it? I doubt it. Unless you are planning to seduce me, to steal my heart and break it.’
So she would flirt with him.
‘You think I would seduce you?’ An audacious lift of a brow. ‘Do you think I am a libertine?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘A rake?’
‘I don’t know that either.’
‘If I was either, you should not be here alone in this room with me. Will you take the risk?’
‘I must.’ Marie-Claude smiled. ‘I seem to have lost my will-power along with my wits.’
Zan inhaled sharply. ‘Many hereabouts would say you’d be foolish to trust me.’
‘You’ve given me no reason not to trust you. I would have been regretful if you hadn’t kissed me. Does that make me too forward again? I’m afraid it does.’
‘It makes you a delight. It makes you all I’ve ever dreamt of in a woman—’ What was he saying? Zan closed his mouth like a trap on any more revelations before the control of his thoughts and words broke entirely. ‘Where are you staying? I presume you are visiting. Where do I take you home?’
‘There’s really no need.’
‘I wish it.’ Once again he pressed his lips to hers, all his senses overpowered by her instant response when she slid her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers in his hair to draw him closer. He groaned softly against her mouth. ‘I don’t want to let you go, but I must. Tell me where…’
‘Not far. Take me to Lydyard’s Pride.’
The Pride!
It was like the echoing clang, discordant and ill fated, of a death knell. The name was like an arctic blast to chill the heat in his blood to ice. Or perhaps it was a searing fire from the depths of hell to blast and destroy the flame of his desire.
Zan encircled Marie-Claude’s wrists and pulled her hands slowly from around his neck, trying to ignore the skittering of her pulse. Why did it feel as if a bottomless black void had appeared before his feet? And equally in his chest where his heart had been?
Whilst Marie-Claude could only marvel at the effect of her words. This man who had kissed her with passion was now regarding her from a distance of his own making, with some species of stark horror.
What had she said?
‘Lydyard’s Pride?’ Zan heard his voice, bleak as the cliffs in a winter’s gale, dreading the reply.
‘Yes. The house on the cliff…’
‘I know where Lydyard’s Pride is. What’s your name—your full name?’
‘I’m Marie-Claude Hallaston. I was Marie-Claude de la Roche before my marriage.’
Hallaston. Marriage.
Why hadn’t he discovered this pertinent piece of information in the first place? It had never crossed his mind. His lips curled in cynical acknowledgement of this unexpected turn of the cards. So the gift from the hand of fate had all been a mischievous charade after all. Well, he had been taught a short hard lesson, had he not? It was as if he had been offered his heart’s desire only to have it snatched away in some malicious game. Zan took a step back, his brows meeting in a black bar.
‘Zan…?’
He took another step. When he could think, memory struck to fill in the gaps.
‘Ah, yes. Of course. I should have known, I suppose. You’re the widow of the noble Earl of Venmore’s brother.’
‘Yes. Captain Marcus Hallaston. He died in Spain.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you know the Hallaston family? And Harriette’s family, the Lydyards? I suppose you must since you are a neighbour.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m staying here for a few weeks.’
‘I see.’
‘Harriette and Luke are at The Venmore, but I—’
‘I must take you home,’ Zan interrupted. ‘I’ve kept you here long enough.’
She was a Hallaston. Of all the families she could have been connected to. Striding to the door, he flung it open, raised his voice in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Sal! Bring the lady’s shoes. Now!’
When they arrived, Sal at a run, he took them with a brief word of thanks, handed them over.
‘Put your shoes on.’
Not understanding, Marie-Claude simply did as she was ordered. What point in attempting an explanation when the man who had first saved her life and then had kissed her into mindless delight had inexplicably decided that he wanted nothing more to do with her? Without a word, spine straight against the humiliation, Marie-Claude took the little boots, then sat, just as rigidly, struggling with the soaked fabric to pull them on. They were, sadly, past redemption.
‘Never mind.’ Impatiently, Zan all but snatched the boots from her, tucking them with her stockings into his capacious pockets. ‘Put your arms around my neck, Madame Mermaid.’ When she obeyed because his sly mockery seemed to rob her of any will to do otherwise, he effortlessly lifted her and carried her out of the parlour.
‘I can walk!’ Flustered, mortified by her response to his nearness, hurt by his rejection of her, Marie-Claude pushed against his chest. ‘There’s no need for this! Put me down.’
‘Not in bare feet you can’t,’ he responded, as cold as January.
Without further comment he carried her outside, where he boosted her into the saddle, then swung up behind her, immediately gathering up the reins and turning the mare’s head in the direction of the Pride. His mouth curved in what was not a smile at this change in plan. Had he not intended to allow the mare to walk as slowly as she wished, to make her own way so that his time with the girl was stretched as far as possible?
