Matthew walked to his room and then slammed the door behind him. He wanted to throw something to ease his anger, but everything in the room looked too expensive to replace. Instead, he dropped to his bed.
Anger and jealousy raged through him.
He should have realized that she rejected his proposal because of another man. It had nothing to do with guilty feelings over John. Once again, she loved another man. Nothing would ever change.
She would never love him.
It all made sense now. So why hadn’t she married Ancroft yet? Perhaps Selby felt Ancroft’s past wasn’t acceptable for his sister.
Closing his eyes, he could picture them together on the terrace. Ancroft’s arm around her shoulder as if he had the right to touch her. Matthew’s fists clenched. The man had no right to touch her, to comfort her.
Then again, neither did he. No matter how much he desired to be there for her, to have his arm around her. He yanked off his jacket and flung it across the room. This line of thought was mad.
He would focus all his attention on Mary Marston.
Suddenly the door to his room swung open. Jennette stumbled over the threshold and slammed the door shut.
“So that’s it?” she demanded.
“What the bloody hell are you doing in my room?” The woman had no sense at all. “First you’re out on the terrace alone with Ancroft and now you stumble into my room drunk. Do you have any idea how you look?”
Unfortunately for him, he’d taken full notice of exactly how she’d looked—ready for a man to strip off her clothes and make love to her all night. His cock thickened as he thought about how he longed to do that. He wanted to lay her down on the soft bed and plunge into her sweet depths. Watch her as she shook with passion. Kiss every part of her body.
“I don’t give a damn about how I look,” she cried. “You have no right to play my protector.”
“Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been for the past five years?” he muttered.
She blanched. “You know nothing about my relationship with Nicholas.”
“Nor do I need to.” He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go to bed, Jennette.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “I don’t even know why I came here. I should have let Elizabeth do the introductions. Then I wouldn’t have had to watch.”
He knew she was mumbling in her drunken stupor but something made him question her. “Watch what?”
“You.”
He stopped mid-stride. She was watching him…and Miss Marston? “Why were you watching me, Jennette?” he whispered as he stepped closer to her.
“I can’t ever seem to stop myself,” she said, staring at the floor. Her eyes widened as if she realized how much she had revealed. She turned and grabbed for the doorknob.
His hand covered hers, stopping her from opening the door and letting anyone see them together. A powerful spark skipped up his arm. He knew he should let her go.
But he couldn’t.
Turning her back to face him, he brought his lips down on hers. The instant her tongue caressed his, he was lost. He couldn’t remember a woman ever affecting him as she did. The minute she was near, he wanted her in every wicked way possible. On the bed, up against the wall, anywhere he could drown in the sensual desire rushing through him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and wove her fingers through his hair. He brought his hand up to her breast and scraped his thumb over her silk covered nipple. As she gasped, he deepened the kiss, demanding everything she had to give him.
He wanted to rip every shred of clothing off her. Throbbing with unfulfilled need, he moved his lips to her neck. He found the soft spot where her pulse hammered against her throat. As she moaned softly, erotically, he moved back to her lips and tongue.
She tasted like honey and brandy. And he wanted to drown in the sensations.
Brandy.
The alcohol caused this reaction in her. She was in love with Ancroft, not him. Just as she’d been in love with John. He suddenly felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him. Grasping her shoulders, he pushed her away.
She had admitted she was in love with another man.