Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

L ord Tyndall did not speak as he dragged her through the garden and into the conservatory on the opposite side of the house. Genevieve should have stopped him and told his lordship he was taking too many liberties, but she did not. A little wickedness had taken over her soul, and she wanted to see just what his overreaction was about.

He wrenched her to a stop inside the conservatory door and set his hands on his hips. Genevieve stared at him with an innocence she knew would infuriate him further, but she did not care. The man had caused a scene with a gentleman she hoped would prove worthy as her husband. Tyndall was not her brother or father, for that matter. He had no right sticking his perfect nose in her business.

"Is there a reason you're standing before me as if you're about to chastise me for walking about my garden with a gentleman admirer who may end up as my husband?"

"Are you out of your mind, Lady Genevieve? You cannot allow men to clutch at your body as you did. He had hold of your calf, for heaven's sake." Tyndall ran a hand through his hair, leaving it on end.

Without thought, she reached up and fixed a stray loose curl to sit out of his eye.

He clasped her arm. She knew what he had meant to do: push her away, chastise her more, berate her, and remind her of her position and place in society. That she could not let her family down by bringing ruin upon herself, and yet he did not.

He stared at her with a tortured longing that ripped all common sense from her mind. Without care, she closed the space between them, clasped the back of his nape, and kissed him.

She kissed him with all the passion and longing that had built within her over the past years. Let what she had longed for him to do at the tender age of fifteen overwhelm her now.

She'd learned to hate him, yet she also could not stop wanting him in turn.

He growled a deep, tortured sound that reverberated through her soul, leaving her craving more. He did not pull away, did not push her back, but instead, wrenched her against him and kissed her back. Held her hard against his body.

Genevieve lost all sense of decorum. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with abandon. His mouth moved, teased, and seduced her into his impure world. She could lose herself there and be happy doing so. Especially when the maddening earl kissed so well as to leave her breathless.

His hands were everywhere. He hoisted her hard against him, and she could feel the hardened outline of his manhood. It ought to frighten her, scare her away, or make her run to her mama and demand she make him marry her, but she did not.

Instead, she settled in to enjoy the delicious pooling of heat between her legs. An ache that, no matter how much she pressed against him, how firm his hand on her bottom was holding her close, would not relent.

"Genevieve, damn it," he moaned, moving them somehow to taunt her more.

Need built to a point that made her senseless. She did not know what it was, but she wanted it with everything that made her who she was. "Tyndall, you make me feel…feel…" Gosh, she could not catch her breath or form words. The man was discombobulating her utterly.

"Hungry?" he asked, his wicked kiss stealing her breath and what wits she had left.

"So hungry." The word couldn't have fitted the situation better. It was a hunger that only he seemed to evoke and sate simultaneously. And yet, there had to be more to what came after such a kiss, but what? And why did she want Tyndall to be the one to show her…

Everything.

Maddening…

Genevieve felt too right in his arms. He should stop. Quit this madness before they were caught and married before midnight.

He could not.

Never was he so close to losing self-control. Were she not his friend's little sister, he would be tempted to lift up her heavy skirt, stroke her, and sate them both in this humid conservatory.

When the hell had he started to desire Lady Genevieve?

His enemy.

An annoying little minx who followed him around like a lost puppy.

Damn it all to hell. He was the worst of libertines.

With reluctance, he wrenched away and separated them and fought the overwhelming urge to finish what they'd started. "This does not change what we were discussing earlier," he managed, his breathless, curt words failing to remove the longing that burned in Genevieve's pretty green eyes. "Your conduct with Mr. Venzellons was inappropriate and courting scandal."

She scoffed and brushed past him, heading toward the conservatory door that led into the main house. "That is rich, my lord. It seems far less scandalous than what we were just doing. Do you know that's the second time you've accosted me? The second time I've felt your manhood straining against your silk breeches." Her gaze dipped to between his legs, and he ground his teeth, knowing what she said was valid and unable to refute it.

"Mr. Venzellons is not suitable for you. I tell you this as a friend. You will be unsatisfied and unhappy in a marriage with him. I doubt he would be faithful." What was he doing? He needed to leave Genevieve alone and allow her to make her own choices, right or wrong. Her family could look out for her and guide her way.

He certainly shouldn't be kissing her in conservatories and then berating her over her choices, which were none of his business.

"What is going on in here?" Genevieve's brother Martin asked, joining them and looking between them with suspicion.

"Your sister allowed Mr. Venzellons to fix her shoe, and he took liberties by touching her calf. I warned you the man is a scoundrel."

Genevieve scoffed, and he inwardly swore.

Perhaps he was being obstinate, calling Mr. Venzellons a scoundrel, especially when he was one most of the time. Just tonight he had kissed a woman of marriageable age, a virgin, and his friend's sister. He ground his teeth, fisted his hands at his sides, and ignored the ringing in his ears, which refused to relent.

"Genevieve, is that true?" Martin asked, staring at Genevieve.

"I had a pebble in my shoe, and he assisted me. You know how difficult it would have been for me to repair the issue with my gown, brother. Refrain from reading into Lord Tyndall's words. He's overwrought with emotions at present."

Overwrought with emotions?

He glared at her. Did she want to play this game? "Perhaps it is you who has been overwrought by being molested by a man who is not your husband and should return to your room and think upon things and what a young lady as yourself should allow."

Her eyes widened, yet he knew she was intelligent enough to understand that he meant himself and not Venzellons.

"Well, a pebble is nothing, I suppose, and if you say there was nothing untoward occurring, I'm happy not to tell Mama or Papa. But Tyndall is correct. You should retire and rest before this evening. It's been a busy afternoon, and most guests are leaving now, which brings me to why I was looking for you, Tyndall. Would you care for a game of cards at Whites?"

"I would indeed," Beckett replied.

"Come then. I shall order my carriage. You can tie your horse to the back, and we'll travel together."

Beckett watched Martin leave them alone, seemingly forgetting that he ought not.

"Maybe I should tell my brother who else manhandled me this afternoon since you like to snitch, my lord."

He intended to walk past her, leave her alone, and ignore the fire that burned between them, but he could not. He stopped but a breath from her and stared at her beauty, which only increased with each year he knew her.

"If you did that, Genevieve," he said, using her given name, "we would forever be tied, for you would be my wife. I do not think that is what you want. Not really."

She raised her chin, contemplating his words. "It is not what I envisioned, no. I have thought of a different future for myself, and you must let me try to gain it before you ruin my Season."

"You can choose anyone but him." He hated the idea of her leaving London, England, being so far away…

"That is not your choice," she said, flouncing out of the room as best she could with her voluminous gown.

"Even so, it's not happening," he whispered so she could not hear.

A promise to himself more than anything else. Genevieve would thank him for his intrusion one day. Maybe not today, or this Season, but one day.