CHAPTER 8

HIS GAZE BORE INTO her. Intent, demanding. Her face flushed, and she turned away, retreating a few steps. Avoiding his gaze, she replied, "What do you mean, how I feel? It is necessary, that is all."

Oh, no. He would not let her retreat. He stalked her. "Will you be able to tolerate my touch?"

He ran the backs of his fingers over her arm. Even through the fabric of her sleeve, he felt her tremor, and she withdrew, wrapping her arms around herself as if to provide comfort or protection.

"Your reaction just now doesn't bode well. If you get flustered by a simple caress over your clothes, how will you be able to tolerate a more intimate touch?"

"You don't need to worry about that, my lord. I know what is involved and will do what is necessary. I'm hardly a maiden. You just surprised me now, that's all."

"You will do what is necessary, you say. But I don't want a martyr in my bed. That would not be an enjoyable experience for me. Since you know the facts of life, you must know my enjoyment is necessary for procreation."

At that, she turned, eyes wide in surprise. God, she was so beautiful, with her big innocent eyes the color of the purest sky, her rosy cheeks, and that perfectly shaped pink mouth. He wanted that mouth on his flesh. He burned to devour her. But he had spoken the truth. He didn't want her merely to tolerate his touch. He wanted her to want him, too.

"I didn't mean any insult by it, my lord. Of course, I won't behave like a martyr in your...while we..."

"You can't even say it. While we have sex, Duchess."

"Right. I won't behave like a martyr while we have sex," she said, turning even redder.

"Have you ever taken a lover?" It became important to know.

"What?" Her affronted gaze shot to his. "Of course not! I am a decent woman. I realize you have no reason to think well of me, after having agreed to this, but I have always been faithful to my vows." Indignation shimmered like an aura around her.

"Calm down. I didn't mean to insult you. In fact, I thought that might be the case. I just wanted confirmation."

"What do you hope to ascertain with that question?"

"What I'm trying to explain is that you don't know how you will feel. You are an innocent, Duchess. And morally upright. You may have regrets, guilt, or simple disgust. Before going forth with the plan, before going off into some remote location, where you will be far from home, isolated, and vulnerable, I need to know you are comfortable with me."

"I have already told you I will be. I will not make a fuss. You have my word."

"It is not your word I seek," he said, stepping closer to her and lifting his right hand to her face. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, a butterfly caress, while his palm cupped her jaw. Her skin was so soft. He felt the ripple of her neck as she swallowed, but she didn't retreat. Her eyes met his, and the pure blue of her irises mesmerized him. Blue, like a cloudless summer sky. Infinite, welcoming.

"What I need is proof." His gaze roamed her face and settled on her lips. Slowly, to give her time to refuse, he lowered his mouth and pressed his lips against hers.

The moment their lips met, desire exploded through him. And something else too. Something far more dangerous. It almost felt like a homecoming. She hadn't moved. Either to reject or accept. Her lips were warm and pliant under his. He felt them soften under his caress, felt her hands land like frightened doves on his chest, and grab his lapels as if she needed the support.

It was enough of an invitation for him. He couldn't help but go for more. His left arm circled her waist, pulling her tight against him, while his mouth became more demanding.

He molded his lips to hers, slid his mouth back and forth, suckled her bottom lip until a sigh escaped her and she melted against him, opening her lips.

Immediately accepting the invitation, his tongue slid inside, probing, tasting, dancing with hers, while his head swam. He was lost in this feeling. In her. Drunk on the most exquisite pleasure he had ever experienced from a kiss. Her hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and into the hair at his nape, and he groaned, deepening the kiss. He could have devoured her on the spot, but the intensity of his need scared him enough to give him the strength to pull back.

Their lips separated at last, but he was still holding her, and she was cupping his face in her hands. He wanted to say something, but nothing seemed adequate.

At last, in a breathy, shaken voice, she said, "Was that proof enough?"

"We are off to a good start, but I want more."

"More?"

"Meet me here tomorrow at the same time."

"Brentford, I..."

"Call me Gabriel. If we are to be intimate, we should drop the formalities, don't you think, Hannah?" He tested the name on his tongue. He had never uttered it aloud. Had barely allowed himself to even think of her in those terms. But now...now he wanted to call her by her given name, Hannah, and hear his name on her lips.

"I don't know. This is happening so fast. I thought I would have a couple of weeks to prepare."

"What is the point of waiting? I won't pressure you, Hannah. But I think it is better if we get to know each other better here, while you are in familiar surroundings."

"You may be right. I just don't know..."

"Think about it. I will be waiting here tomorrow. If you don't come, I'll be disappointed, but I'll understand. I will wait until you are ready."

With that, he pulled back. Dropping his arms from around her was an exercise in self-discipline. He executed a brief bow before mounting his horse and riding off. Damn, it was hard leaving her. He could have seduced her. Overwhelmed her with desire until she agreed... No. He wouldn't pressure her. As much as he wanted her, he wanted her to want him, too. To come to him of her own volition, without doubts or hesitation. He needed that.