Beauty in Breeches(13)

‘Only those who stupidly believe they can get the better of me,’ he said between his teeth. ‘I’m merely trying to assure you that you don’t want to be my wife—to give you a taste of what you will be up against if you continue with this farce.’

One hand rose to grasp her chin, but Beatrice turned her face away, eluding capture. When his hard fingers at last closed over her jaw, she gasped with fury. ‘Stop it. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare hurt me! Kindly take your hands off me!’

Julius stared down at her. He hadn’t missed the flare of temper in her eyes, or the fright. ‘I’ve never hurt a woman in my life. But I mean to convince you to reconsider the forfeit you demand from me.’ His gaze dropped to her soft lips, then slid lower, following the line of her throat down to the tantalising mounds beneath the soft fabric of her shirt. With her head thrown back, they quivered and thrust forwards invitingly, emphasising the undeniable fact that she was an alluring woman.

As he released her chin, his fingers unintentionally brushed her breast. He was instantly aware of the contact. So was she—he could tell by the furious blush that rose to her cheeks.

Beatrice tried to ignore the effect of his touch.

‘Release me this instant,’ she demanded heatedly. ‘Kindly remove your hands.’

It was a supremely proper response—prim, restrained, ladylike, just the kind he would expect from a woman of her social standing, who had been taught to hold the physical side of marriage in aversion. ‘Why? Don’t you want me to touch you?’ he murmured, deliberately running his fingers along the line of her jaw. She was so close that he could smell the fragrance of violets in her hair. ‘Don’t you know that as my wife I shall be able to touch you where I like and when I like, that you must accept my attentions no matter how repugnant you find them to be? Shall I give you a taste of what to expect when I exert my husbandly rights?’

Drawing her rigid body closer, he pressed it against his, and the sensation of her soft body and her slender legs encased in breeches moulded to his own acted on him like a powerful aphrodisiac. Desire surged through him, heating his blood, sending it singing through his veins, and then his mouth crushed hers with a controlled expertise that left her gasping, shocking her with his arousing warmth.

Julius finally raised his head. ‘Consider it, Miss Fanshaw. You will have to learn to enjoy my lovemaking,’ he warned, ‘to be available to me whenever I want you, so if you still insist on being my wife, perhaps you should start enjoying it now.’

Still reeling from his devastating kiss, Beatrice stared up at him, two bright spots of colour highlighting her cheeks. His voice had suddenly grown husky with sensuality.

Julius’s smouldering eyes stared back at her. She knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. If he was trying to destroy her resistance, he was succeeding. When he fitted his body to hers, she tensed with a mingling of dread and wanton longing. She hardly had time to catch her breath before his mouth descended on hers once more and his tongue plundered the inner softness in a fierce, brutal kiss that was meant to punish and humiliate her.

Rigid with fury, she clawed and squirmed against him, trying to break his hold and to drag her mouth away from the fierce possession of his lips. Her struggle only seemed to encourage him on his course of persuasion and he deepened the kiss. His arm went around her, his hand cupping her buttocks to bring her hips even closer to his. Raising his head a fraction, he murmured, ‘I would take my pleasure of you any time, at my leisure, any time I choose. I would make you moan for me,’ he rasped against her lips, ‘moan with pleasure.’

Beatrice shuddered, seeing something primitive and terrifying flare in his eyes as his arms tightened. She jerked back, a protest rising in her throat, but his lips stifled her voice with a demanding insistence that stunned her into immobility. She had never even imagined what it would be like to be kissed—at least not in the way Julius Chadwick was kissing her, with his mouth moist and parted, warmly tasting hers, his tongue parting her lips to probe and explore with a hungry ardour and an inflaming expertise that rendered her weak.

Mindlessly she slid her hands up his chest, trying to cling for support to the very object that was destroying her balance. Confused and lost in a haze of nameless yearnings, she raised herself up on her toes, responding to the forceful pressure of his arms.

Julius groaned in response, deepening his kiss as she moulded her body against his. Her breath was so sweet, the feel of her so good he felt himself respond with that part of him that didn’t give a damn about his mind, which was telling him to tread with care. In his mind he knew that what he had intended wasn’t working. He was driving himself insane and losing the battle for control.

Recollecting herself when a small lance of sanity entered her mind and made her wonder at her behaviour, Beatrice tore her mouth free. She was horrified by what was happening, what he was doing to her. She should have found his kiss repulsive, but in truth she found it wildly exciting and found it hard to keep her world together. It was as if she had drunk too much wine and was giddy from it. What was the matter with her? She was neither a tippler nor a woman of easy virtue. She was a virgin, for heaven’s sake. In her fury she pushed against him with all her strength. She must be out of her mind to think she could do this, could manage this charade—and him. Julius Chadwick was more than she’d bargained for.

‘You beast,’ she hissed. ‘You filthy beast.’ As she wiped the moisture from her mouth with the back of her hand, sparks of indignation flashed in her eyes. ‘How dare you lay your hands on me?’

Julius stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. She was wide eyed and vulnerable and trembling. And lovely. Dear Lord, she was so damned lovely. He wanted her with a fierceness that took his breath away. His strategy to make her change her mind had backfired with a vengeance. He had begun by trying to frighten and threaten her and had ended up with his own resolutions threatened instead.

‘Come now, Miss Fanshaw,’ he managed to say mockingly, laughing lightly, though he himself was shaken by the moment. ‘You needn’t be so indignant or feel insulted.’ A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘It was only a kiss. You must have been kissed before. I told you, if you really do want to be my wife, that is something you will have to get used to. It’s as well you know that I’m an amorous man. I would not take kindly to having a cold and unwilling partner in my bed.’

He still had his arms about her and he could feel contempt written in her straight back and imperious head. At that moment she was feeling insulted and degraded and her posture was implying that if he knew what was good for him he would go away and never come back. But no matter how much she wanted to utter the words, too much was at stake for her to utter them.

Julius let her go so abruptly that she staggered back a step, then he drew a long, audible breath. She glared at him. ‘How dare you do that to me? No doubt you will say I was asking for such treatment.’

His mobile mouth twisted into a grim smile and Beatrice had the fleeting impression that he was struggling for composure, as she was. Before this he had been a man unknown to her. She had not thought of him as anything but the man who had ruined her father and taken Larkhill and how she could use him to get it back. She’d had no reason to think of him in intimate terms. Now she saw him as a strong, attractive man who was unsettling her. For the first time in her life she felt unsure of herself.

Julius studied her, grudgingly thinking how magnificent she was. Her mouth had been sweet, warm and moist, and he was impatient to repeat the kiss. In her madness she had fought him like a lioness, and yet there had been a moment in that frenzied kiss when she had leaned against him as though the strength had gone from her and he had felt her hands, instead of clawing at him, hesitate and then slide up his chest and cling to his shoulders as though to steady herself in the havoc that washed over them both. He felt slightly bewildered by her now, almost bewitched.

‘You made a grave mistake when you asked for my forfeit,’ he said finally. ‘However, after saying that, I don’t think either of us can deny that we are drawn to each other.’ Forcing himself to remain calm, he caught her glittering gaze and held it. ‘I think we both know what we want, don’t we?’

Beatrice scrutinised his expression warily. Her feelings were nebulous, chaotic, yet one stood out clearly—frustrated desire. She hadn’t wanted him to stop kissing her. But she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know that. Holding his gaze, she drew in a slow breath, then shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Liar,’ he uttered quietly. ‘Your eyes tell a different story.’ Turning from her, he took a moment to reflect on her strong will, a quality he admired. He could not escape the fact that Beatrice Fanshaw had intrigued him from the moment he had laid eyes on her. She had no artificial airs and graces and possessed a kind of courage about her that was unusual in a woman. She was also proud and independent, with bold, forthright ways, but he considered that in the matter of the forfeit she had acted foolishly. Looking at her now, Julius felt her breathtaking beauty quicken his very soul, stirring his mind with imaginings of what life married to her would be like. He was fiercely attracted to her, yet because of the secrets he was carrying he would have to try to fight the attraction.