portly by now. After the deprivations of campaigning, he would probably make the most of having as much food as he wanted. She would not mind that at all. He would be…cuddly, she decided, trailing her way dreamily across the flagstones to rest her hands on the balustrade. He might have a limp, given the number of times he had been wounded. Not, of course that Rick had ever told her the specific nature of any of those wounds. But he would definitely have scars upon his person. He might be a little self-conscious about them. But she would tell him they did not make him any less attractive to her. She would tell him they were his badges of courage…
A slight movement from the garden below alerted her to the fact she was not alone outside.
‘Why, if it isn’t the girl who ambushed me with a champagne glass,’ a hated voice drawled, as Viscount Mildenhall emerged from the shadows and made his way up the steps to her side. ‘How very persistent you are.’
‘Persistent? Oh!’ She gasped as it dawned on her that the viscount had assumed she had come outside in pursuit of him. ‘How dare you!’
‘I dare because women like you will stop at nothing!’ He came right up to her, his eyes flashing green fire. ‘Set up one more scene like this, just one—’
‘I have not set up any scene, you arrogant pig! Are you so vain you think the whole world revolves around you?’
‘So, what is your excuse for coming out here, not two seconds after I left the ballroom?’ He laughed mockingly. ‘Discovered that you show to advantage in moonlight, have you? But it is too late to attempt to charm me with those starry eyes and that dreamy air. You may think you look like some kind of romantic vision in silver tissue, Miss Hebden. But I have seen you watching me with a calculating gleam in your eyes—’
The only thing she had been calculating was how to right the wrong impression he had gained of her. But since her drive with Rick, she had decided she no longer cared what the arrogant fop thought of her.
‘I wanted,’ she replied, drawing herself up to her full height, ‘to get some fresh air. If I looked starry-eyed, it was because I was thinking of another gentleman. Had I known you were out here, it would have been the last place I would have come. All you have to do, if you do not wish to remain in my presence, is to return to the ballroom.’
He took one pace in the direction of the doors, then stopped and whirled back to her with a face like thunder.
‘And I suppose you will come in right behind me, with your gown disarrayed, telling tales that I have taken advantage of you. Hoping to force my hand…’ The only way Miss Hebden was going to get a husband was by utilising such unscrupulous means. It infuriated him to think she had made him her target. That she had somehow sensed, in spite of the pains he had taken to conceal it, that she might have some chance of success. Because, even though he despised her methods, he could not deny that she was never very far from his thoughts. And that those thoughts were, invariably, highly salacious.
Imogen had taken all she could stand. The accusation, coupled with the expression of contempt on his face was like a bellows, fanning her simmering antipathy into searing flame. She lashed out at him, her open palm cracking across his cheek with a noise like a whiplash.
It silenced him, but only for a second. ‘You vicious little…’ His hand went to his reddening cheek. ‘You will pay for that.’
Before she could make a move to stop him, Viscount Mildenhall pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her cry of protest was swallowed under the insistent pressure of his mouth. His arms clamped her own to her sides, so that although she struggled with all her might, she was quite unable to break his hold.
At first she was far too angry to feel scared. Then after only a few seconds, she discovered that there was something wickedly fascinating about being kissed, thoroughly kissed, by an utterly determined man. She stopped struggling as some essential, deeply buried aspect of her femininity came leaping to life in acknowledgement of his masculinity. Her lips softened and parted. With a low growl, Viscount Mildenhall plunged his tongue into her mouth, taking the experience onto a whole new level.
Her mind reeled. Her heart pounded. Her stomach did an excited little flip.
And Viscount Mildenhall, sensing her capitulation, brought one hand round to the front of her gown and cupped her breast.
His audacity shocked her.
‘What are you—’ She gasped, her eyes widening in dismay. ‘You cannot—’
‘It is what women who pursue men get,’ he sneered. ‘Exactly what they deserve. Since the night you made a play for me at Mrs Leeming’s, I have made it my business to find out about you. Did you know that men are making wagers about how long it will be before you follow—’ he delved inside her bodice ‘—in your mother’s footsteps?’
Then he fastened his lips to her neck.
Imogen felt as though she was splitting in two.
She hated the scathing way he had spoken of her mother. She knew the casual way he was fondling her breast, as though she was a light skirt, was grossly insulting.
Yet the sensuality of that caress was sending rivers of desire coursing through her veins. Her body wanted to arch into his, entwine itself around him.
‘Please, please,’ she heard herself moaning. ‘Kiss me again.’
The viscount raised his head and smiled at her. With such contempt it roused what remained of her pride.
When he lowered his mouth to take the kiss she had begged for, she bit him.
‘What the—!’ He reared back, and Imogen, who had been taught well by Rick, struck him in the face, first with her right fist, and then her left.
There had not been room for her to take a really good backswing. It was shock, she expected, that sent him reeling backwards. And a stroke of luck that his shoulder slammed into an ornamental urn—that turned out to be full of sandy loam. Which cascaded all over him as it rocked on its plinth.
She made good her escape while he was still struggling to prevent it from toppling onto the flags below the terrace.
She had only just got inside when she careered full tilt into Rick, who had a glass of champagne in each hand. He did not spill a single drop when she crashed into him, she noted somewhat hysterically as she clung to him. He merely raised his arms in the air, absorbing the impact of her body with a slight grunt.
She felt him turn and put the drinks down, then put his arms round her as he asked, ‘What the devil has happened?’ He put her from himself, then looked down at her with concern. His eyes snagged on the front of her gown, and narrowed. ‘Has some man tried to take advantage of you?’
For the first time, Imogen noticed that the flimsy material was torn. It must have happened when she wrestled herself out of the viscount’s hold.
His face darkened. ‘I shall kill him,’ he growled, making for the outside door.
‘No, Rick! Don’t say such a thing!’ She grabbed his arm and hauled him round. ‘If you get into a fight over this, everyone will say I am just like my mother, luring good men to their doom! Don’t you see?’
His eyes flicked from her to the door and back again.
‘Dammit,
