The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,17

himself, he stroked the back of his hand across her cheek hearing her indrawn gasp at the contact.

A low moan issued from Cara at the flame-like contact of Julian's hand. Her senses expanded and her arm burned where his fingers grasped her. Julian's male scent surrounded her and without volition she leaned in to his embrace. Her eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings as Julian's mouth closed over her trembling lips.

Julian's kiss jolted Cara like a bolt of lightning. His soft warm lips molded to hers, sucking and teasing her generous mouth. At the touch of his tongue along the outer edges, her mouth opened slightly and her senses reeled as the tip slid between her lips. Cara was awash in erotic sensations as Julian's tongue probed the soft cushiony interior. Knees buckling, she lay against his chest absorbed in the sensuality of his caress.

It was the knowledge that this man was her husband that finally broke through the spell that Julian had woven. In horror she realized that Julian's actions were those of an adulterer. He did not know that he was kissing his wife. In his mind, Cara was merely the governess. An employee to be treated as a plaything, an object of his desires. As anger welled up inside her, Cara instinctively drew back her hand and slapped Julian's face.

The sound was as loud as a shot and just as startling.

At the blow Julian's head snapped back and his eyes, glazed with desire, changed to a hard brown. Disgust at his own lack of control gave his face a look of contempt as he glared down at the furious girl. As quickly as his emotions were revealed, a mask of indifference crossed his face and he stood back, bowing to the girl.

"Your pardon, Miss Farraday," Julian drawled. "I would say I was sorry but I fear I quite enjoyed the kiss."

"I find your behavior both insulting and depraved."

"Softly, my dear child. It was nothing."

Cara was stunned that the kiss, which had been so all consuming for her, could be dismissed so easily. She ducked her head to hide the film of tears which threatened to overflow.

"You are a married man, Lord Wilton," Cara accused.

"So far, only in name, Miss Farraday. As I am sure you are aware a man has certain, shall we say, urges."

Anger at his own behavior made Julian strike out at the girl. Watching her face whiten at his cruel words, he felt a momentary pang of regret. However it would not do to become involved with the little governess. Staring at the girl under lowered brows, Julian could not imagine what had possessed him. Her downcast eyes dimmed the vitality of the American and he was struck by the demure innocence that was quite outside his usual philandering. The virginal look of the girl should discourage any further approach, Julian admitted, after all the debauching of schoolroom chits was definitely not in his style.

"Look, Miss Farraday. It's Pennyfeather!"

At Richard's triumphant shout, Julian snorted in disgust. With a cool nod of his head, Lord Wilton spun on his heel and stalked off along the path.

It was a full moment before Cara could take in Julian's abrupt departure. Her body shook with the fury of emotions unleashed by the confrontation with her husband. Hearing the shouting of her returning warriors Cara tried to pull herself together, her mind still presenting scathing remarks she should have made to Julian. As the children approached she brushed at the leaves and grass on her skirts.

"This is Miss Farraday, our new governess," Belin lisped.

"And this is Pennyfeather," Richard announced.

Cara had been deluged during the day with the exploits of the children's friend. It was suspected that he might have been either a pirate or, at the least, a smuggler. Cara was amused that either occupation held high favor in the children's eyes. Although she wanted to make a good impression for the children's sake, Cara felt less than adequate with warpaint on her face and her wits scattered by Julian's assault.

"The children have been telling me of your many adventures, Pennyfeather." Cara smiled into the gray eyes of a, hopefully, benevolent giant.

Great hamlike hands snatched off the tweed cap perched on a thatch of frizzy hair. The hair was neither brown nor white. It looked as though Pennyfeather's whole head had been spattered with white paint. As the sausage-shaped fingers kneaded the cap, his keen eyes inspected the girl, discerning her agitation. The wild hairs sprouting from his eyebrows lowered