Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(64)

“I would.” Tasia stiffened with genuine outrage. “I-I will not fornicate with you while we're under the same roof as your innocent daughter! I would be the greatest of hypocrites if I ever attempted to give her moral instruction after that.”

“The horse is already out, Tasia. Too late to close the stable door.”

“Well, the bedroom door will be closed,” she said firmly. “Until we are married.”

Luke's expression turned stony as he realized she would not budge. They exchanged a challenging glare. Abruptly Luke turned and walked away, his broad back tense beneath his shirt.

“Where are you going?” Tasia asked, half-afraid he would change his mind about everything.

“To arrange a wedding,” came his muffled growl. “A damned quick one.”

Seven

Tasia saw very little of Luke for the next few days. He spent nearly every waking moment arranging for the private wedding to be held in the estate chapel, and in the evenings he returned to Southgate Hall to inform Tasia of his progress. She was never quite certain what his mood would be, for Luke was alternately tender and aggressive with her. Sometimes he would hold her as if she were made of fragile porcelain, wooing her with soft love words. But he was just as likely to pin her to the nearest wall and behave like a sailor on shore leave with the first available streetwalker.

“I'm coming to your room tonight,” he said after one particularly heated episode, when he had yanked her into a dark corner and kissed her for five minutes.

“I'll lock the door.”

“I'll break it down.” His knee pushed between her thighs, delving between the layers of her skirts. He fastened his mouth to hers, thrusting his tongue deep, and she writhed against him in growing pleasure. His breath struck her cheek in hot bursts. “Tasia,” he groaned, sliding his mouth to the tender hollow beneath her ear, “I want you. I want you so much I ache.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled it low between their bodies, molding her hand around the hard ridge of his loins. Tasia lost all count of the sweltering minutes that passed as she stood there returning his kisses, feeling him throb intimately against her palm.

“We must stop,” she gasped. “This isn't right. You're not being fair.”

“Tonight,” he insisted, pulling roughly at the buttons of her high-necked gown.

Tasia tore herself away from him, wobbling a little as she discovered that her knees had turned to jelly. “You will not come to my room,” she said stubbornly. “I would never forgive you.”

Luke's frustrated passion found vent in an explosion of temper. “Dammit, there's no difference in being together now or two days from now!”

“Except we'll be married then.”

“You were willing enough to share my bed before.”

“That was different. I thought I would never see you again. Now I'm going to make a place for myself in this household, and I will not lose the respect of the servants and your daughter by behaving like a strumpet.” Her voice was quiet but firm, allowing no possibility that she would change her mind.

Luke was willing to try. In the short silence that followed, his approach softened from angry demand to wily coaxing. “Sweetheart, everyone here respects and adores you. Especially me. I need you. I can't help being impatient to hold you. All I want is to make you happy, to please you…”

Tasia watched him suspiciously as he drew closer. All at once he made a grab for her. She evaded him neatly, skittering out of his reach.

“Damnation!” His curse echoed in the hall as she hurried away.

“Don't you dare follow me,” she said hastily, vowing not only to lock her door but also to wedge a chair against it.

The next morning Luke approached her in the breakfast room. Tasia removed her attention from the landscaped scenery outside the arched windows and gave him a tentative smile. She remained sitting at the round oak table as he came to her. Luke motioned away a maid who was engaged in clearing the dishes.

“Good morning,” he said, looking into Tasia's upturned face. Once again he was the self-possessed aristocrat, his passion safely banked, his expression implacable. “May I join you?” Before she could answer, he pulled out a chair and sat beside her. “I have to leave for London in a few minutes, but first there are two questions I want to ask you.”

She matched his businesslike tone. “Very well, my lord.”

“Does it meet with your approval if I ask the Ashbournes to witness the ceremony?”

Tasia nodded. “I would like that very much.”

“Good. The other thing I need to know is…” Luke hesitated and reached out to her knee, toying with a fold of her skirt. His intent blue eyes met hers.

“Yes?” Tasia prompted softly.

“It's about the wedding ring. I wondered…if something like this would be acceptable.” As he spoke, he opened his hand.

Tasia's eyes widened at the sight of the heavy gold band in his palm. Carefully she reached for it, holding it up to examine the pattern of roses and leaves carved on the glinting surface. The gold held the warmth of his skin.

“It's a family ring,” he said. “No one's worn it for generations.” Luke watched as she rolled the ring between her delicate fingers, contemplating the golden circle. She brushed her fingertip over the carved roses. “To the English,” he said, “the rose is a symbol of secrecy. Long ago a host would hang a rose over his table to ensure that everything said beneath it would be kept private.”