the shrewish tongue come from?’
She didn’t know. Claire flushed at the rebuke and frantically tried to lift her bodice back to cover the half-naked globes of her breasts. For a moment she thought she saw hunger flicker around his strained mouth, but it set back into hurt lines again and she knew he was going to deny any idea of assault.
‘Where are we?’ she asked frostily, hunting around for clues.
‘The church vestry.’ His wary eyes watched her as if she were a bomb that might go off at any minute. ‘You’ve got a few minutes’ grace to recover.’
‘If I do,’ she said wildly.
‘Of course you will,’ he soothed, a worrying edge to his voice.
She squirmed under the compelling glance, saw his gaze drop as if hypnotised by her quivering breasts and she froze. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the treacherous excitement firming each peak and knew that she was quivering from the frisson that always came when he was near.
There was a horrid silence between them as if they were adversaries in some ghastly Cold War. Desperately she tried to interpret his expression, to find something—anything—that told her he felt concern or a residue of love for her. But the dark, smoothly tanned face had become quite inscrutable. Her eyes glimmered with contempt. He didn’t want to lose her—or rather the money that came with her. He’d want to coax her back to the altar, wouldn’t he?
‘I’m sorry. You must have had an awful shock,’ he said with disarming gentleness. Almost disarming.
‘Terrible,’ she replied bluntly. ‘I would like some water, please.’
‘Of course. Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking,’ he said in stilted, courteous tones. He went to fill a glass from the small wash basin and she took the opportunity to struggle with the zip but her fingers made no headway. ‘Let me,’ he said politely, putting the glass on the table beside her.
‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she snapped hastily.
‘For God’s sake, Claire! What the hell’s got into you? I told you I was applying common sense and first aid! Do you think I’m an animal?’ he growled.
‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. Other than her father, what did she know of men? How they behaved?
‘God!’ he exploded angrily, balling his fists.
‘Don’t hit me!’ she warned unsteadily.
His eyes flickered with a lightning flash of rage. He sucked in his breath and slowly released it before allowing himself to launch into a chilling reply. ‘I’m not like your father,’ he said coldly. ‘I don’t hit women. The rough treatment your mother had to suffer——’
‘Don’t you dare to speak of my father like that!’ she flared defensively, shamed by his perception. ‘You know nothing about his marriage!’
Trader seemed to be making an effort to control himself. It was like damming a river in full spate, she thought nervously. ‘If you say so,’ he said tightly. ‘I regret the remark and I made it in temper. But I don’t hit women, Claire. Whatever the provocation. Now listen. This is a church vestry. There are one hundred and fifty-two people, a vicar and a dozen choirboys a few yards away. Even if you think I’m the sort to jump on you at any given opportunity,’ he continued sarcastically, ‘you surely can’t imagine that I’d choose this particular moment, when I’ve had ample opportunity before, on beaches, in cars and in secluded woods?’
Her face flamed at his listing of the times when she’d been achingly willing. ‘No. Of course not. I believe you. I felt…vulnerable. Muddled.’ She put a shaking hand to her head and looked at him in appeal. ‘I feel terrible that—I—I reacted without thinking,’ she said miserably, wishing her zip would come unstuck. ‘I’m sorry.’
He grunted and watched her ineffectual wriggling with ill-concealed impatience. ‘Why don’t you give in?’ he sighed. ‘You’ll never do that up on your own.’
‘I—all right. Thank you,’ she mumbled, wanting to cry.
‘My poor darling,’ he said huskily. ‘You must be feeling awful. I hate to see you upset.’
And she wanted to believe that. But the lies seemed to come too easily to his lips, the adoration flowed too freely from his drowsy eyes. She had been vain to imagine she could have captured his heart when he was so handsome, so unnervingly sophisticated and worldly.
Oh, God! She blanched. Was that how her father had seduced his second wife into parting with her fortune? By charm and stealth and smooth talk?
Trader came to stand behind the chair, and remained there for several seconds without doing anything. The hairs rose on the back of her neck while she sat waiting, her hands firmly gripping the low neckline of her dress as a precaution. Eventually, after an eternity, he swept the headdress to one side in a drift of silk that caressed her smooth shoulder in a soft, erotic whisper and she gave an involuntary shiver. Her whole body waited for the touch of his hands and every fibre of her being had become focused on her naked and unprotected back.
‘Claire——’ he husked thickly.
‘For heaven’s sake, get on with it!’ she cried in agitation, unable to bear the suspense. There was a sensation running down her spine that frightened her. Fear and anticipation. Half of her wanted him to kiss each vertebra, to surround it with his warm mouth. The rest of her wanted to pick up her skirts and run for safety. A snake-pit would be fine.
‘Of course, darling,’ he soothed and she felt the satin voice wash over her, calming her doubts despite her struggle to stay wary. ‘We are pushed for time. I merely wanted to say how I adore you. How much I want to hold you in my arms.’ He gave a wicked little chuckle. ‘But it wouldn’t stop there, would it?’
Yes, she wanted to say. It would.
One of his palms came into contact with her back and she shuddered again, the desire to have it stroke her skin far too strong for her to deny. But Trader grunted, she felt the tug on the zip and so she drew herself erect to help its slow progress upwards. It couldn’t be that difficult a task, but she seemed suspended in a heavily dragging time while the material gradually closed over her lower back and then each straining rib; one by one, inch by excruciatingly exciting inch.
Probably to taunt her, he took a painful age to do up the fastening at the top, and she agonised over the touch of his fingers on her flesh. Something fierce and raw was piercing her body, something alarmingly sexual had made her vibrate to his practised caress. Each time he brushed her skin she quivered with a strange, vibrant life that made her blush with shame.
It was deliberate, she told herself. Part of his seduction. And mentally she clad herself in an impenetrable armour.
‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ he murmured. Idly his hand ran down the sheathing material that now encased her back. ‘You have such a tiny waist,’ he mused, sounding huskier by the second. ‘I think my hands could——’
‘Please!’ she breathed in agony. The armour was melting!
In a sudden, abrupt movement, he appeared by her side and wordlessly handed her the water. ‘Tell me when you feel you can continue,’ he said, his features as brittle as his voice.