One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(39)

The memory betrayed him, inflaming him. Unable to stop himself, he hauled her against him, indifferent to her struggles.

He had never thought to see her again. And here she was. Aurora. Jane. Anger and desire surged inside him, a drugging poison smoldering through his veins.

"All this time I thought you were so different, so changed." He burrowed his fingers through her hair. The pins dropped free, skimming the tops of his hands on their way to the floor.

"Please," she moaned as her hair flooded past her shoulders in a rich mantle.

"So cold, so proper, all ice in your veins," he snarled against her quivering lips, fingers fisting in the silken tendrils of her hair. "You should have told me you only wanted this." Crushing his lips to hers, he smothered her cry and plundered her mouth in a brutal kiss. His hands spanned her waist and lifted her onto the wet table in a hard move. Using a knee, he forced her legs apart, settling himself between her thighs.

An erection pushed at his breeches, aching and hungry for her sweetness, for the snug heat of her. Grasping her hand, he forced her to touch him there, groaning at the tremble of her slight fingers against his length. Heaven and hell in one touch. He guided her fingers over him until she moved on her own.

He ravaged her mouth, punishing her.

She submitted, complied, caressed him in feverish strokes. Not a sound escaped her as she took his kiss, suffered the savage invasion of his lips and teeth and tongue on her soft mouth. Not fighting, but not responding. Not blossoming to life in his arms as she had done at Vauxhall. Or at the musicale…before she had slapped his face.

Disgusted, he cursed and broke contact. Chest heaving with serrated breaths, he fought his need for her and demanded, "Why have you come?"

Her fingers traced her lips, wet and swollen from his kiss.

"Why?" he thundered.

She stared, her eyes hunted, wounded. Large and bright in her pale face. Beautiful. Hell's teeth, even now she got beneath his skin.

Bile thick in his throat, he stepped back and swung around, the erotic picture she made with her skirts bunched between her legs atop the table too much to bear.

With the desk between them, he snarled, "Say something, damn you."

"I—I had no choice."

He heard something in her voice then, in her barely audible words that had him looking at her with fresh dread sealing his heart.

The agonized look in her eyes told him her next words would forever change his life.

"I'm with child."





Chapter 17


Jane shoved her skirts down and slid down from the table, regretting the decision as soon as her knees gave out. She grasped the edge of the table, barely catching herself from falling to the carpet and shattering into pieces alongside the vase.

Seth made no move. Merely stared at her. Through her. His scar so very stark, lightening-white on his swarthy face. Her stomach heaved, pitched, and for a moment she feared she would be sick all over the fine Persian rug. She clutched a hand over her belly as if she could quell the violent reaction.

His brown gaze darkened, the amber light in the centers vanishing as he followed the movement of her hand. His granite-carved face cracked and emotion bled through. Fury. Astonishment. Shaking his head, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a bitter laugh. "Oh, this is rich." His laughter carried an edge. Like a finely honed razor, she felt its slice keenly, digging and twisting into her heart. Dropping her hand, she squared her shoulders. "I've come because you have a right to know—"

He laughed harder, the sound slicing through her. "And you're so concerned with what's right, are you?"

Heat swarmed her face.

"You've come only to inform me of this. You want nothing." She dropped her gaze, studying the swirls in the carpet with rapt attention. "I don't know," she replied, squeezing her eyes in one long blink, mortified at the feebleness of her response.

"You sought me out at Vauxhall," he proclaimed, his eyes narrowing. "Why? Was this your scheme?" His slid his gaze to her stomach again. "Is the child even mine?" Her hands curled into fists, the nails digging into her tender palms. "I suppose I deserve the question." She wet her dry lips and wondered if she would ever endure something so shaming as this again. "Yes, it's yours. Whether you believe me or not." He studied her a long moment, his hot gaze roving over her face in searing thoroughness, as if he stripped away flesh and bones to see all she hid within.

"And you're expecting a proposal no doubt?" he demanded, his voice frightening in all its calm. Standing before him, suffering the hot condemnation of his stare, she wished she had not come. Some shame, she decided, was in fact too much to bear.

Spinning about, she headed for the door. "I shouldn't have come. I don't know what I thought to accomplish—"

His hands clamped on her shoulders, whirling her around. "Don't you?" His fingers flexed, burning through the fabric of dress. "You knew precisely what it was you wanted from me when you walked in here."

She struggled in his arms, furious at his words because she could not deny them. "Release me."

"What's wrong, Jane? Is this any way to treat your husband-to-be?" She froze, staring at him with wide, aching eyes, certain she had misunderstood.

"Isn't this what you wanted? Can you not find the nerve to admit it?" He jerked her against his.