A moment passed, then he asked, "This something that isn't-this illusion you claim the ton will think it sees. What, precisely, is that?"
Alathea huffed out a breath. Across the room, she met his eyes. "They'll imagine we have an understanding, that in the near future they'll read an engagement notice in The Gazette. As Chillingworth so sapiently stated, it's widely known that our families are close, that you and I have known each other for years. No one will imagine any illicit connection-they'll imagine we'll wed. Once that idea gains credence, there'll be hell to pay."
"Hmm." He started to walk toward her. "And that's the bee that's buzzing in your bonnet?"
"I have absolutely no desire to spend the rest of the Season explaining to the interested why we aren't about to marry."
"I can guarantee that won't occur."
"Indeed?" She bridled at his patronizing tone. "And how can you be so sure?"
"Because we are going to many."
Gabriel halted directly before her. A full minute passed while she stared at him, speechless. Then her eyes clouded.
"W-what?"
"I agreed to defer discussion of the matter until after we'd dealt with the company-that, however, is clearly not to be. So it may as well be now. As far as I'm concerned, we're getting married, and the sooner the better."
"But you never had it in mind to many me. Not when we spoke after Lady Arbuthnot's ball."
"Thankfully, you never did learn to read my mind. I decided to marry you when I knew you as the countess. The morning after Lady Arbuthnot's ball, I was still adjusting to the startling discovery that it was you I'd decided to make my wife. As you might imagine, that was something of a shock."
"But… you must have changed your mind. You don't want to marry me."
"Not only do I want to marry you, I am going to marry you, a fact that makes my attitude toward you and other gentlemen perfectly understandable. I might be obsessively protective, but only about those of whom I'm obsessively possessive, such as the lady who will be my wife. The ultimate ramification of your masquerade as the countess will be marriage to me. There is, therefore, no false illusion for the ton to see-the only conclusion society will leap to will be the truth."
"As you deem it."
"As it will be." He stepped closer; physical awareness flashed in her eyes. She lifted her chin; he captured her gaze. "This is real. I'm not going to grow out of it, or lose interest and become distracted. Marriage to me is your immediate and irrevocable future. If you hadn't realized, you'll need time to adjust, but don't imagine there'll be any other outcome."
"But…" She shook her head dazedly. "I'm not the countess. It was the countess who fascinated you-a lady of mystery and illusion. I don't fascinate you-you know everything there is to know about me-"
He kissed her, closed his lips over hers, then closed his arms about her. It was easy to do with her being so tall. Her resistance lasted a heartbeat, then vaporized like mist; she sank against him, her lips parting at his command, her mouth an offering he claimed.
Alathea clung to her wits. She yielded all else without a fight, knowing any fight would be futile, but she held on to reason. About her, the world whirled; her senses rioted. He'd shocked her with his declaration, but she surprised herself even more.
She wanted him. Her hunger was too strong, too sharp in its raw newness, for her to ignore or mistake it. The arms locked about her were a welcome cage, the hard body pressed to hers the essence of dreamed delight. He plundered her mouth, ruthless, relentless, not gentle. She took him in, lured him further, to give and take and give again.
He took and exulted in the taking. She knew it. She sensed the surge of passion, his and hers, and reveled in her power. The heady wave grew into a vortex of heat, swirling about them, flames licking, touching, but not yet consuming. Then, to her surprise, the world steadied.
He lifted his head.
She felt him draw breath, his chest swelling against her breasts. It was an effort to lift her lids enough to see his face. Hard, each plane edged with desire, it gave her no clue to his direction. His eyes, glinting gold under lids as heavy as hers, were fixed on her hair.
His arms shifted. One hand splayed across her back, holding her against him. The other rose…
To her hair.
"What…?" She felt a brusque tug; satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Glancing to the side, she saw her beaded cap in his hand. "Don't you dare throw that in the fire!"
His gaze returned to her face. "No?" Then he shrugged and tossed the cap to the floor. "As you will." His hand returned to her hair, rifling the soft mass, searching and plucking. Pins tinkled across the hearth.
"What are you doing?" She tried to wriggle, but he held her too securely. Then her hair fell free.
"You appear to have formed a grossly inaccurate opinion of what fascinates me. Arguing with you always was so much wasted breath, so I'll demonstrate instead."
"Demonstrate?"