Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,88

would have preferred over me, without a doubt.’

Proclivities? She didn’t think she wanted to know. ‘But how would my death benefit him, when it is you who stands in the way of the title?’

He looked at her for a long moment, as if debating with himself as to what to reveal. He took a deep breath. ‘If you die and I am found guilty of your murder, he will inherit.’

The air left her lungs in a rush. If this was true, then neither of them was safe. She paced to the window and back. ‘Do you have reason to suspect him?’

‘I saw him near the brewer’s dray moments before the barrel broke lose. Someone in this house was making those noises in the room above your chamber and he and Gerald hung around the mine as lads enough to know it better than most.’

When she looked at him, she saw there was trepidation in his eyes, as if he feared she would not believe him. Did she? Her heart certainly wanted to. But her mind was a whole other matter.

It sounded logical. But only if he had not wanted her dead. She wanted to believe it, but—

‘I think news of our impending wedding made him desperate,’ he said.

There was something in his tone which gave her pause. He was looking at her so intensely a hot shiver raced down her back. In two quick strides he was across the room. His fingers formed a cage for her cheeks and they were trembling. His expression was dark, almost murderous.

‘Bane?’ she gasped.

‘I looked into the abyss, Mary. Right into the bowels of the earth. It was impossible that you did not fall to your death.’

The strain in his husky voice was a tangible thing. It swirled around them like the dark centre of a storm as if he held some deep emotion under terrible control.

‘Yet here I am,’ she said lightly, for it was light that was needed. Something to chase away this terrible darkness.

‘Yes. Here you are.’ Slowly he lowered his head, his eyelashes shielding his eyes, his mouth hovering above hers, waiting for permission.

And wanton that she was, she wanted to feel the pressure of his lips against hers, to experience the wild sensations his kisses sent rippling through her body. And why should she not kiss her fiancé?

She lifted her mouth to his and he brushed her mouth with parted lips, soft, warm, pliable, wooing. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back, hard and demanding, exploring his mouth with her tongue as she had learned so very recently. He growled low in his throat and her pulse jumped.

She clung to him, tasting, exploring, giving in to riotous sensations. It all felt new again. Exciting. Novel. Not different, but fresh. His hand wandered her back in slow widening circles, while her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape.

The warm caressing hand stroked her ribs, her buttocks, and the hand at her waist moved to capture her breast, the thumb gently grazing the nipple through her gown until she thought she would go mad with the tension building inside her.

He was everything she had missed in her life, though she hadn’t known it was lacking. Male heat. Masculine strength. He had the power to stir up all the feminine urges she’d denied. He made her flush with heat from her head to her heels. To feel the blood pumping in her veins and her body thrum with desire was exhilarating.

It was a kiss that lasted for ever, yet was over too soon. Their lips seemed to cling and on a groan, he tasted her jaw and nuzzled into her neck.

‘Once we wed,’ he whispered, ‘you will know nothing but pleasure, I promise.’

A promise that made her insides clench.

‘Right now, though,’ he breathed gently, ‘you need to rest. I will sit here in the chair and watch over you.’

‘To make sure I do not leave?’ She could not help the bitterness in her voice.

He grimaced. ‘To bed, Mary. Now. Or I cannot be responsible for what I do. I will give you five minutes to prepare and no more.’

His tone was so dark, so fierce, she undressed quickly and hopped into bed.

* * *

A scream. The sound of it echoed in his head. Filled the darkness. He couldn’t see, couldn’t get to her, but he knew they were hurting her.

‘No,’ she cried out.

He struggled wildly in the folds of his coat, which they had pulled over his