Diana didn't know what she felt. Pain from her burning bottom, a strange swirling sensation low in her belly, and a spurt of something she didn't understand as Lyonel's tongue pressed against her closed lips.
"You are a thorn in my side," he said. "Enough. I trust you have learned your lesson."
He released her suddenly, and she stumbled backward.
They stared at each other.
"You looked at me. You touched me."
He felt swamped with guilt, but he refused to allow her to see it. "I beat you first. You deserved it. And don't get up in your maidenly arms, Diana. I have seen many ladies' bottoms. Yours is quite acceptable, but nothing ---"
Diana, quick as a snake, brought up her knee and kicked him in the groin, hard.
He sucked in his breath, knowing that the agony would come, and dropped to his knees like a stone. Waves of pain and nausea flooded him. He clutched his arms around his belly.
Diana stared down at him, breathing hard. She'd never before kicked a man there, and she was shocked at the result. His face was white with pain.
"I hate you," she said, whirled about, and ran from him.
It took Lyonel a few more minutes to control the pain and clear his head. He was furious, so furious he could throttle her. He rose to his feet, saw her struggling with the mare's reins. He smiled and whistled. The mare perked up her ears at the sound, reared onto her hind legs, and calmly pulled away from Diana.
Diana whirled about and yelled, "Damn you!" She saw him coming toward her. She'd wanted to mount the mare and ride away, taking his stallion with her. But it wasn't to be. "I was born under an unlucky star," she said, and releasing the recalcitrant mare's reins, she fled in the other direction.
Lyonel was quickly gaining on her. She turned, lost her footing on the slippery grass at the edge of the incline, and went down on her aching bottom. She rolled and slid, crying out, trying to grab at something, a
nything.
Lyonel watched her roll into the stream. There was a loud splash and a fan of water sprayed outward.
He wasn't at all worried. The water was only a couple feet deep. He stood at the edge of the incline, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched her thrash about.
Diana felt so angry, so very humiliated, she wanted to cry. She finally managed to pull herself upright. Her velvet skirts were like heavy weights, and her riding boots were squashing in the thick layer of mud at the stream bottom. She looked up and saw Lyonel standing there, legs spread, hands on his hips. He was laughing.
She yelled the most vile curse she could think of at him.
He laughed harder.
She swiped away a slimy water weed that was falling over her face, and struggled back toward the shore. She quickly discovered that her heavy skirts had an affinity for the slippery water grass. She fell to her knees, trying with all her strength to pull herself up the incline. She was nearly there. Then she felt her feet slipping. Once again she slid back into the water on her stomach.
And all she could hear was Lyonel's laughter.
She was making an amazing fool of herself. Stop, you idiot, and think! She did. Without hesitation, she unfastened the heavy velvet skirt and pulled herself out of it. She rolled it into a ball and threw it onto the bank. Her riding jacket followed the skirt. Then her riding boots. Clad only in her petticoat, chemise, and thin lawn blouse, she managed to crawl out of the water and up the incline.
She remained on her knees a moment, her head lowered, panting with exertion.
She looked up to see his riding boots. She reached out to grab him by his ankles. But Lyonel was faster and beyond her reach in an instant.
"You try that again, dear Diana, and I will throw you back in the water." His groin still ached. He meant every word he said.
"I hate you."
"Talk about being repetitious. You begin to sound like a half-wit. Of course, but you are a woman."
"I will get you for this, Lyonel Ashton. I swear it."
"Perhaps you will try. First, my dear, why don't you get dressed? You do look rather ridiculous, you know."
Actually, he thought, she looked endearingly pitiful, if such a thing was possible. Her thick hair was streaming down her back and over her shoulders. Her bountiful bosom was clearly outlined against the thin material of her blouse, her nipples taut from the cold. He felt a stirring in his still-aching groin. Damn her.