Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,62

blue veins of her inner wrist with his tongue. ‘What can I do to persuade you?’

‘You didn’t want this marriage,’ she managed to gasp.

‘The benefits are becoming more and more apparent.’ His voice was deep and dangerously seductive. Her eyelids drooped, her limbs felt heavy. She forced herself to straighten.

‘I would never be your choice of a wife, if your grandfather hadn’t drawn up his will this way. Would I?’ Breathlessly she waited for his answer, hope a small fragile thing in her breast.

He raised his gaze from her wrist to her face. His silver eyes glittered. ‘If we had met somewhere, you mean—in a ballroom in London?’ His mouth quirked downwards. ‘I will not do you a disservice and lie. I had no intention of marrying. Not yet. Not until the future was secure. But given the circumstances, it is not such a bad arrangement.’

Cold rippled across her skin. ‘And what of love, my lord?’

He chuckled then, deep and low. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound. And his face looked more handsome, less of a devil.

‘Miss Wilding. Mary. May I call you Mary?’

Breathless to hear his reply, she nodded her assent.

He tilted his head as if seeing her for the first time, then shook it. ‘My dear Mary, you will not convince me that a rational logical woman such as yourself believes in such romantic nonsense.’

Oh, but she did. She did not think she loved this man, though she knew she was attracted to him. Desired him. But was it enough on which to base a marriage? Others did. But she wasn’t others.

She gazed up into his dark features, searching those silver-grey eyes, and realised that this was not the sort of man she had ever imagined in her life. She’d dreamed of a scholarly man. A gentle man, who would listen to her thoughts. Who would respect her ideas. Not this dark dangerous man who set her pulse fluttering and her body longing for wicked things.

Her insides gave a tiny little pulse of pleasure at the thought of those wicked things.

But she should think with her mind. Her rational mind. Just as a man would.

‘What if at some time in the future you meet a woman you really wished to marry? Will not your resentment be great?’

He cupped her face in his hands, his large warm hands, and she felt the tremble in his fingers, as if he was struggling under some emotion as his gaze searched her face.

She could not help but look at his finely drawn lips before she raised her gaze to look at his face where she found the heat of desire in his eyes. ‘My lord,’ she whispered.

‘Bane,’ he rasped. ‘Call me Bane.’

But she couldn’t speak, because his mouth had taken hers in a ravening kiss and, lord help her, she was kissing him back, running her hands over his shoulders, tangling her fingers with his hair. He lifted her on to his lap and she felt his strong thighs beneath her bottom. The way he rocked lightly into her, and the deep groan from his throat, stirred her blood and made her heart beat too fast.

It felt as if his hot mouth was all over her and her skin was on fire from its touch.

‘Marry me, Mary,’ he whispered against her throat. ‘Marry me,’ he said, undoing the buttons of her coat and pressing his lips to her clavicle.

The carriage jolted, swaying over to one side, and he grabbed her around the shoulders to prevent her from falling. Then it came to a halt.

Bane cursed softly. ‘We will continue this conversation later.’ He lifted her off his lap and set her back on the seat.

The hard cold man was back. The man she recognised. And as she did up her buttons and straightened her hair, she could not help but wonder how much the passionate man was really him.

The groom opened the door. Bane picked up his gloves and his hat and stepped out. He reached up to help her down. His glance was swift and assessing. His brief nod assured her that she did not look as if she’d been ravished, though her lips still tingled from his kiss and her cheeks glowed from the scratch of his jaw.

And then the noises assaulted her ears.

A constant thumping she could feel vibrating under her feet and pounding through her head.

His lordship shook hands with Mr Trelawny, who was standing waiting for them. The poor man’s eyes widened when they rested on her,