Chapter 8

8

T homas didn't care.

He grabbed Tricia, turned her around so she was facing the wall.

"Stretch your arms out, love," he said. "Brace yourself against the wall."

Tricia did as he bid.

He removed his gloves and reached under her skirts, felt the cotton of her petticoats and then her bloomers. He slid his hands between the cheeks of her arse, and when a pool of wetness greeted him, his cock grew even larger.

"Oh, my sweet. You are slick like the stone walk after a spring rain. Dear Lord, forgive me."

She said nothing. Did not turn to look over her shoulder.

"My love, you do know what happens between a man and a woman?"

"Of course I do. I may be young and untried, but I'm not ignorant, my lord. Please. Do not make me wait any longer."

"Do you want this, my sweet girl?"

"I want this more than I want my next breath of air, Thomas. I want to feel what it's like between a man and a woman. I want to know the feel of a man's cock."

Her use of that word drove him further into insanity.

He couldn't do this. He shouldn't do this.

So he wouldn't do this. God help him, what had he been thinking? His cock bulged against his trousers, throbbing. But he had to stop.

He had to stop.

He backed away, put her skirt back down. He turned her around to face him.

"My God, you're so lovely." He touched the tip of her forehead, slid down her temple to her high cheekbone over to her beautiful lips, where he slid his thumb over the full lower one. "Please do forgive me. I shall do the honorable thing."

"The honorable thing would be to not leave me wanting you."

God, did she think he was made of steel? He shook his head, rubbed his fingers through his long hair. "You shall be the death of me, Lady Patricia Price-Adams."

She touched his cheek then, and fire slipped through him. "I never wanted to be the death of you, Thomas. I wanted only to give you life."

Thomas's heart nearly stopped.

Damn it all. Her words betrayed her. The woman fancied herself in love with him.

Well, he could certainly do a lot worse. He was wildly attracted to her, and she was a perfectly beautiful young lady.

Was he in love?

No, of course not. Thomas had never been in love.

He couldn't begin to know what love even felt like.

But contrary to her apparent belief, he was not made of steel. His cock had an ache. An ache he hadn't satisfied in so long. He took his mourning period for his father seriously, and he had remained celibate throughout.

So he would take her now. Do as he had planned on a whim only moments ago.

And then, being the honorable man he was, he would take her to wife.

But he couldn't bear the thought of her facing the wall, her beauty hidden from his view. He craved to see her face, to look into her eyes as he entered her. To witness the mix of pain and pleasure on her features as he took what was hers to give. The image of her innocence being destroyed ignited a primal hunger within him, driving him closer to the brink of ecstasy. The ball would go on for several more hours, and though his mother was probably wondering where the hell he was, at the moment he did not rightfully care.

"Come with me then, my sweet. We shall go to my chamber."

Her lips trembled.

"If you do not want this, tell me now. It is all right if you've changed your mind. But you must tell me now."

* * *

Changed her mind? Had he gone mad? Tricia couldn't believe her luck. She was about to experience what it truly meant to be a woman with the man who was himself her heart's desire.

She opened her mouth to say as much when?—

"But if we do complete the act, I shall be obliged to take you to wife."

Her jaw dropped. This should make her ecstatic. It was what she'd been yearning for, after all. But…

"I… I don't wish to marry a man who does not love me, Thomas."

Thomas cocked his head. "You shall have no choice in the matter, I'm afraid. At this point, the kisses I've stolen have bound us together. I didn't know this, but Lord Polk witnessed the kiss at my father's gravesite. If he tells your brother…"

Tricia swallowed. "Who told you that?"

"My cousin. He found you outside with Polk."

Her cheeks burned. "My lord, I assure you I'm not in the habit of kissing every gentleman who dances with me."

"Believe me, I know Polk well enough to know that he instigated anything that happened. Jonathan told me as much as well."

"But is Lord Polk not your friend?"

"He is. That doesn't mean he's a gentleman. Not that I've been acting gentlemanly toward you either. Two stolen kisses…"

"They were not stolen, Thomas. I gave them to you freely."

"You did not. I initiated both of them."

"And I did not stop you."

"You did last year. At the gravesite."

Tricia absently brought her hands to her lips that still bore a lovely sting from the earl's kiss.

He was correct, of course. She had pushed him away. But not because she didn't want the kiss.

Because she knew it was improper, and frankly, she'd been frightened.

But tonight she felt no fear. She felt only longing and yearning.

"Perhaps," she admitted, "but that doesn't mean?—"

He shook his head, rubbing his forehead. "How did I let this get so out of control? Go, now, Tricia. Return to the ball. Your mother is no doubt worried, and so is your brother."

"But I?—"

"I said go!"

Tricia's eyes widened, and this time a slice of fear coursed into her. The earl had become belligerent, and she turned and scurried down the narrow staircase.

Once she was back on the third floor, she stood, her back to the wall, her breath catching.

What had she been thinking? She'd been ready to give herself to a man outside of wedlock. A man she loved, no doubt, but a man who clearly felt nothing more for her than a lustful attraction.

She wanted him, yes.

But she also wanted love.

Cameron had married Rose for love, and Tricia often stole glances at the two of them looking into each other's eyes as if the world around them simply didn't exist.

That was what Tricia wanted.

She wanted love.

And she wanted it from Thomas.

She turned as Thomas exited the narrow stairwell. She bit into her lip. Would he yell at her again? He'd told her to return to the ball.

"I was just going back down," she said, her lips trembling.

"Please accept my apologies, my lady." Thomas didn't quite meet her gaze. "I've behaved abominably. I shall see that you return to the ball this instant."

"You mean you will escort me?"

"That would not look good," Thomas said. "I shall take you down to the first floor, and then you shall enter the ballroom. If anyone asks, you were resting a bit in the retiring room. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," she said, "but I've no need of an escort down two flights of stairs." She turned. "I'll be on my way then."

But as she turned, her slipper caught the edge of a runner rug, and she tumbled once more.

Thomas lunged toward her, and a moment later, they were both on the floor of the hallway, tangled in each other's arms.

Blimey! If she still wasn't the clumsiest person on earth. Whyever was she so often in peril? First she fell after their kiss by the gravesite, and not a half hour ago, she nearly fell four stories from the parapet.

What must Thomas think of her?

Her back was on the hard floor, and Thomas's body was above her, his gaze meeting hers. His dark eyes were on fire, and his full lips merely inches from hers.

Would he kiss her again?

How she wanted it.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and everything around Tricia became blurry. She could no longer see the hardwood of the floor, the golden velvet of the wallpaper. She saw only Thomas's eyes, Thomas's lips.

She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss…

But it did not come.

Instead, he stood, brushed off the legs of his trousers, and offered his hand. "Are you quite well, my lady?"

And again, back to "my lady."

Forget the fact that he had just offered to take her maidenhead, and he'd been quite forceful about it. Indeed, she'd been ready to allow it.

He had offered to marry her, after all.

Perhaps she didn't need his love now. Perhaps in time she could make him fall in love with her.

She rose, helped by the strength of his muscular arm. She looked down at her gown, smoothing out the rumples.

And she knew she did not want that kind of marriage. The kind of marriage where the husband and wife lived separately, where he came to her only to put an heir inside her. Where her husband spent his time with mistresses, or worse, prostitutes.

"I'm absolutely fine, my lord."

If he insisted on "my lady," she would call him "my lord."

Goodness me , she thought. He does need to take a wife. If not me, it might be someone else .

But the moment had passed.

Sadness overwhelmed her, and she scurried down the stairwell.