The tight knot of fear that had lodged beneath her breastbone loosened at his light words. “That’s too easy. I’m not certain I trust you to keep your word.”

“Again, more insults,” he said with a sigh. “I swear on my sister’s soul that if you do not kiss me back I will release you. Immediately.”

At that she believed him. “Yes,” she said immediately, her eyes glowing. “Oh, most definitely yes. Though I fail to see why you’re giving up so easily.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m winning.” Tucking one long finger beneath her stubborn chin, he drew her face up to his. She looked into his pale eyes and felt the first trickle of misgivings. This was impossible, wasn’t it? He ran his thumb across her lips, pulling them apart. And then he settled his mouth against hers.

10

This was going to be so easy, Miranda thought, the moment his mouth touched hers. She’d never been fond of kissing, at least, not when it didn’t involve young babies or family members, and this was a wager she was preordained to win. She’d gone from defeat to certain victory, and she held very still, waiting for him to be done with it.

She expected brutality. She expected force. She didn’t expect the featherlight brush of his mouth against hers, a whisper of a touch. His hand cupped her chin, holding her loosely, knowing she wouldn’t, couldn’t pull away, and he moved his mouth to the side of her cheek, his warm breath in her ear, down the line of her jaw, and she squirmed.

And realized she was sitting on his lap, his arms around her, and she was no longer a virgin. She knew exactly what was beneath her bum, hard and growing harder, and she told herself it was one more reminder of how little she liked any of this. But his mouth tickled her eyelids, closing them, and she felt an odd little shiver dance down her spine, and she squirmed again. And he grew harder.

He moved his other hand up to the back of her neck, his fingers playing gently with her hair as it was coming loose, barely grazing the skin. His mouth brushed her temple, then moved down the other side of her face. He brought his other hand down to cradle her throat, stroking gently, and he pressed his mouth against her pulse, which for some strange reason was pounding.

“I thought you were just going to kiss me,” she said in a tight voice.

“Hush,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m taking my time. You’re not an easy conquest.”

She was tempted to bite him, but she resisted. “I’m not a conquest at all—” she started to say, but he covered her lips with his long fingers, silencing her.

“If you’re impervious then you can be patient.” He slid his hand down to the high neckline of her dress, and she felt a button pop open. And then another. She preferred dresses she could get herself in and out of—she hated being at the mercy of a lady’s maid, but he was having far too easy a time unfastening the top of her dress.

“I don’t …” He silenced her by covering her mouth again, and his lips were soft, damp, brushing against hers, and if he were any other man she thought she might even enjoy it. He hadn’t lied. He knew how to kiss, a great deal better than Christopher St. John, and she could feel an uncomfortable warmth between her legs. She tried to harden her mouth, but he caught her chin again. “That’s cheating,” he admonished her.

She wondered if he’d use his tongue. That would guarantee her disgust, she told herself. No one had ever kissed her that way. Jane had insisted it was wonderful, but Miranda took leave to doubt it. Nothing this man did to her would bring her pleasure.

Not when his hand pushed open the front of her dress, baring her skin, the tops of her breasts to the warmth of the fire, the warmth of his hand. Not when he slid his fingers inside her chemise, cupping her small, bare breast, but when she felt her nipple harden against them, felt that unfamiliar heat build, she tried to move.

“I really don’t think you should do that, my dove. I failed to bring my valet, and I must confess I’m at about the limit of my self-control. I would certainly hate to embarrass myself before I claimed victory, and I don’t have many changes of clothes.”

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about, and she froze. “Kiss me and get it over with,” she said, ignoring the fact that she wanted to press down against him, she wanted to slide her fingers through his long, dark hair.

“Then open your mouth for me, darling.”

His tongue was a shock, its intimacy astonishing considering he was pressing her bare breast against his fingers. She held utterly still as he tasted her, with deep, sensuous thrusts that should have reminded her of the unpleasantness of mating but instead only turned the heat to dampness, and her other breast pebbled against the cloth, wanting his hand, wanting his mouth, as he kissed her with such slow, deep deliberation that she closed her eyes and let her head sink back against the support of his long, stroking fingers.

Jane was right. The touch of a man’s tongue was intimate and arousing, and she had never known this. She didn’t want to think anymore—her body was on fire, and she wanted more of this decadent sweetness. She couldn’t have it, she told herself dazedly. If she was to win this battle she needed to stay cold, reserved, but how could she do that when she was burning from the inside out?

She wasn’t even aware of raising her arms to slide them around his neck, to cradle his head as her tongue reached out for his. And she was lost.

He put his hands on her legs, lifted her and swung her around so that she was astride him, her skirts up high around her thighs, and he was pressing her against his erection, pressing that damp, aching part of her against the hardness that she despised, and she made a soft, moaning sound as he rubbed against her. His hand slid down beneath her skirts, touching her, and this time she tried to pull away, but his arm held her fast, and in truth she didn’t want to escape. She wanted his hand on her dampness, his long fingers parting the secret folds of her body, and when his thumb brushed against her she jerked as a rush of pleasure washed through her, and for once in her life she wanted more.

He stopped.

They stared at each other for a long, frozen moment, and then he pulled his hand away, swung her back around and settled her skirts down around her legs, as if nothing had happened. His eyes were narrow slits in the candlelit room, and she could feel his heart pounding against her, his breath slightly labored.

“I won,” he said plainly. “You’re wet. Even in this heated room your nipples are hard. And you kissed me back.”

She pulled out of his arms, stumbling across the room and collapsing in a chair. She was shocked that her shaking legs had carried her that far. “You’re disgusting. And I didn’t kiss you back.”

“Your tongue was in my mouth, precious.” He sounded bored. He reached down and adjusted himself, drawing her eyes to the part she didn’t want to think about. “No one forced you to do that. You were aroused, and in another minute I would have had you in that chair. I do promise to make up for it eventually—we have any number of excellent chairs in my house upon which to experiment.”

She couldn’t find the words. She’d wagered and lost, though she couldn’t quite believe it. In truth, her skin still longed for his touch, her mouth for his kiss. Perhaps he’d drugged her. Perhaps she’d gone mad. It didn’t matter: she had lost.

She realized then that her dress was gaping open, and she swiftly began to button it again. “It is a great deal unfortunate that I didn’t wear something a bit more difficult for you to deal with,” she said in what she hoped was an icy voice. She couldn’t ignore the raw undertone to it.

“My precious, I could get you out of full court dress in seconds flat if I so desired,” he said, pouring himself a glass of wine. It was as if those hot, fevered moments in the chair hadn’t existed. If she hadn’t felt the evidence of his arousal she would have thought this was all a game to him. “But I think we’ll wait to consummate our grand passion until we’re legally wed. In the meantime we still have the problem of your friend. And I must confess I’ve never found threesomes to be particularly satisfying. I do a much better job concentrating on one woman at a time.”

How did he still manage to shock her? she wondered. “She’s sick. Send her back home with an escort,” she said, then paused. “Do that much for me.”

“But, darling Miranda, have I ever expressed any desire to do anything for you?” he said mildly.

“It would make life easier for you.”

“And have I ever expressed an interest in doing things the easy way? If I preferred simple efficiency I would have killed your brother Benedick the moment I arrived in England. He was lucky I was in the tropics when my sister died—it gave me time for my initial rage to pass and for me to come up with a plan.”

She stared at him, hating him, hating the fact that her breasts still tingled and she wanted to rub them against him. She kept her hands fisted in her lap. “I made a very great mistake with Christopher St. John,” she said. “I didn’t fight him. I knew he was going to bed me and there was no way I could stop him, so I didn’t struggle. Not until later, when I couldn’t stand it anymore. That’s not going to happen this time. I won’t lie down for you, and I won’t let you rape me.”

“Haven’t I just demonstrated that it won’t be rape?” He almost purred the words. “Don’t worry, your nonvirginal body is safe from me for the time being. When I take you the first time I intend to do a proper job of it. You’ve only had a taste of what I can do.”

She wanted to cry. He’d taken unfair advantage—he knew far more about women’s bodies than she did, even though she lived in one. He knew how to touch and where, how to kiss, how to arouse, when she had been so certain she’d be impervious.

She pulled together what little dignity she had left. “Are we continuing our journey tonight?”

“We are. I will be joining you and Miss Pagett in the carriage. My leg is beginning to pain me, and I prefer to begin my wedded life in good health. Don’t worry, precious. I won’t tell Miss Pagett that I almost made you climax.”