Hardly the act of a selfish beast.
Nor had he forced her to stay, although she knew he was primed to take her again. On a preternatural level, she’d always been aware of his reactions. After tonight, that awareness approached the uncanny.
With a muttered curse, she straightened and took a few halting steps. As she moved, she ripped the gown from her body. Later she’d carry the ruined, stained dress downstairs and burn it.
Finally she stood naked and panting by the nightstand. With unsteady hands, she lit a candle, then poured water into a bowl. She trembled so hard, water splashed the bare floorboards. She was desperate to wash Ranelaw off her skin.
Nothing would wash the blemish from her soul.
Ranelaw was adamant that he wouldn’t loiter after Antonia like a lovesick sapskull. But following a night troubled by frustrated desire—good God, wanting her was worse now he’d had her—he headed for the summerhouse.
In the bright morning light, the place was no longer a mysterious temple of sensual delight. Instead it held an abandoned air that darkness had concealed. He climbed the steps and walked inside, recalling how he’d carried Antonia. His pulses raced with anticipation, no matter that it was too early to expect her.
> He couldn’t escape her phantom presence. The breeze lifted his hair, reminding him of Antonia’s touch. Did he imagine a trace of her scent? Footprints showed on the dusty marble floor. Absently he scuffed one boot across the marks.
Lighting a cheroot, he wandered to the bench. A small stain discolored the seat. The heat between them should have left a few scorch marks, at the very least. But as he drew on his cheroot and glanced around, nothing here indicated the world had changed.
No, the changes were inside him, blast Antonia Smith to Hades.
With a weary sigh, he slumped down, stretching his legs across the floor and tipping his head back against the window frame. It was another sunny day, warm for May. Perhaps later he could coax Antonia to swim in the lake.
His blood eddied with desire as he imagined her magnificent body gleaming with water. He still hadn’t seen that magnificent body unclothed. Last night he’d been in too much of a rush, God forgive him.
Something in Antonia melted his cold, hard core, ate into his proud self-sufficiency. He knew he invited trouble. The pleasure had been so extraordinary, right now he couldn’t bring himself to mind too much.
He finished his cheroot. Smoked another. The sun filled him with languor, quieted the clamor of need to a gentle hum instead of a screaming demand. He closed his eyes, promising himself a nap. After all, he’d hardly slept last night and his exertions beforehand had been noteworthy.
When he opened his eyes, shadow bathed him. He glanced out, astonished to see the morning had become late afternoon. His belly grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since a snatched breakfast. He’d been too eager to see Antonia to linger over the meal.
Antonia, who was still absent. Even asleep, he’d know the moment she turned up. His senses were so attuned to her, he felt her breathing when she was near.
Clearly she hadn’t been able to postpone her duties.
Tonight?
The surge of expectation should dismay him.
He should head to the house, forage something, perhaps steal a few delicacies to sustain him and Antonia later. Once she arrived, she was staying until he’d taken his fill.
Which might require the next six months, the way he felt right now.
Ignoring the dull protest of tired muscles, he rose and stretched. He set off for the house at a lazy run.
The kitchens were more crowded than usual. The household returned to its routine. For all his selfishness, Ranelaw didn’t wish fatal illness on anyone. But he regretted that the interval drew to a close when Antonia was free to meet him with minimal risk of discovery.
The maids were inured to his presence. At first they’d treated him as an interloper for all their politeness to someone of superior station. But he’d kept his hands to himself even as he’d flirted outrageously. Odd that he wasn’t tempted to tumble one or two. There were some pretty girls belowstairs and a few had indicated willingness. But he had more than enough seductions to deal with already.
“Here you are, my lord. Some of last night’s roast beef and a wedge of the estate’s cheddar.” Mary, his favorite among the maids, slid a pewter platter before him, piled with bread and fruit as well as meat and cheese. “And some ale to wash it down.”
“Thank you, Mary. I’m famished.” Under the girl’s approving regard, he tucked in.
“I do like a man with a big appetite.”
Usually he’d pursue the heavy sexual hint. Not today. Today he had more important things on his mind. Like where in bloody blazes Antonia was.
For discretion’s sake, he couldn’t ask outright about Miss Demarest’s dour companion, so he took the roundabout way. He inquired after ill family members. Then ill guests. And gradually worked around to Cassie.
All this beating around the bush made him nostalgic for open dealing with an honest whore. For all that, he wouldn’t shame Antonia more than he already had when he’d bribed the grooms. It was odd, her reputation was more precious now he’d had her than when he’d lusted from afar.