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