“I don’t believe you,” he snapped. “If you think a man like me cannot protect you from scandal, then you do not know me at all. I will keep your reputation safe, Eugenie. I can make it so that no one knows our true situation but you and I.” His brows drew together and there was anger in his face as well as hunger. “I want you and I mean to have you.”
“It always amazes me that men like you think they can have anything they desire. Well, you can’t have me, Sinclair. My answer is still no.”
She moved to walk away but he caught her, pulling her back into his arms. “Men like me?” he mocked. “You may fool yourself with your denials, Eugenie, but you can’t fool me.” His mouth swooped down, hot and hard against hers, as if he might turn her to his will by sheer force. Eugenie knew her lips would be bruised and swollen by his treatment of her—and she would have to hide that from her family—but the other part of her didn’t give a fig for swollen lips. Indeed, she was reveling in his forceful passion.
And she was enjoying herself too much to stop.
She gave her fingers permission to roam through his dark hair, mussing it up, exploring the texture of it. His skin smelled of sandalwood and man, and when she kissed him she could taste the passion for her on his mouth. He meant what he said all right. He really did lust after her.
His own fingers were cupping her face, his lips against her eyelids, her cheeks, then her throat and she found herself arching back, so that he could kiss the hollow there, before working his way down to the thin strip of lace that bordered her neckline. He dipped his finger beneath it, brushing the swell of her breast before encountering the well-laundered cotton of her chemise.
Eugenie’s knees trembled. Her skin burned. She ached to have his hand delve farther, exploring the peak of her breast. She imagined his mouth closing over her, hot and moist, and experienced such a jolt of desire her head spun.
It happened so quickly. This loss of control, this need to give herself to him completely. The voice in her head was telling her that nothing mattered except this. Why worry? Everything would be all right. Don’t stop, don’t stop.
But she knew that she had to stop, that everything wouldn’t be all right. She had to stop now. At once. Before it was too late.
Reluctantly, shakily, she dragged herself out of his arms, and then walked away, taking deep steadying breaths. When she felt able to turn he was standing where she’d left him, looking like a man who had just awoken from a dream and was still more than half asleep.
“Eugenie,” he groaned, demanding and begging at the same time.
The temptation to run back into his arms was irresistible, but somehow she resisted. The distance between them was not wide enough, and she took several steps backward, increasing it until she felt calmer. Safer.
“I apologize,” he said, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I was rather more brutal than I intended. It’s your fault.”
She laughed and shook her head. “My fault? You can’t blame me for your behavior, Sinclair.”
His stare was almost beseeching. One sign from her and Eugenie knew he would rush toward her and take her in his arms again, and then they would both be lost.
“I must go,” she said quickly. “My mother will be looking for me. I have chores to do. We do not have quite as many servants as you do.”
“We will meet again? How can I persuade you to change your mind if we do not meet again?”
“No. This is the end of the matter.”
She went to where she’d tied her mare, not waiting for another argument. Suddenly his hands closed about her waist and, briefly, he drew her back against his chest, his lips pressed to her nape. She shivered as desire returned in full force, and then felt herself lifted and tossed into the saddle. Even that brief touch caused her to tremble and burn, but she fought for composure. It didn’t help that his hand was resting on her stocking-covered ankle, possessively, as if she was already his.
“Good-bye, Your Grace,” she said, with a cool nod.
He shrugged and stepped back, letting her go. She gave her mare its head, riding away without looking back, knowing he was watching her. A strange sort of feminine triumph blazed inside her but she damped it down. What was the use of having such a power over the duke when she could not gain the prize she wanted? He would not marry her. But someone else would; someone who saw her fine qualities and would love her for who and what she was.
Someone she was yet to meet.
Eugenie spent her time on the ride back thinking of her mystery man, of how she would wake up with him every morning and dine with him every night, of walking at his side as his wife. Bearing his children. Their days full of the small pleasurable moments between two people who loved and respected each other.
It was a pity that even in her daydreams her mystery man seemed to acquire the face and personality of Sinclair. Eugenie just hoped the duke hadn’t spoiled her for anyone else.
Chapter 11
Sinclair was even more determined to get his way with Eugenie. Her lack of interest in his proposal stirred the coals of his desire into a roaring inferno.
Most men of his class and social standing had a mistress—it was expected, even if it wasn’t spoken of in polite circles. A mistress was de rigueur and until now he’d denied himself that pleasure, but with Eugenie all of that had changed.
And by God, he deserved her!
As a man who was restrained and responsible, an almost-Puritan who’d always put his position and his family first, it was time he looked to his own desires. Yes, for once he was going to put himself and his own needs first.
And why not?