“And I have made over the house in Skipton to Miss Cole as a place where she and her baby may live in future,” she finished.
Miles was shaking his head. “Alice, you really are the most infuriating woman-”
“It is
Miles looked at her. “I would be less than human-or lying-if I denied it.” He ran a hand over his hair. He was aware of feeling furious and frustrated but at the same time of a perplexing admiration for her and what she had done.
“Devil take it, Alice…” He ground out. “We shall
“Well, I was not to know that you were so desperate that you would want all the eighty thousand and all the interest, as well,” Alice pointed out. “Blackmailers deserve a few unpleasant surprises,” she added trenchantly.
Miles reached out and pulled her angrily into his arms. “I am furious with you,” he said, his cheek against hers.
She glanced up at him, and the softness of her cheek moved against the rough stubble on his skin. “You are greedy,” she said huskily.
Miles shook her a little. “I want everything.”
“You cannot have it.” She slanted her head and gave him a look of challenge. “Are you going to jilt me now that I am not as rich as you thought?”
A wave of desire took Miles so hard it almost floored him. “No,” he said. “I will have you, Alice. Perhaps you are not quite as rich as I had hoped but I will have you all the same.”
She sat back, out of his arms, and gave him another look of challenge that made him burn. “You forget that there are still two months of our courtship to run,” she said. “Free me from the blackmail,” she added suddenly. “Let me make my own choices.”
Miles thought about it. Surprisingly he found it more difficult to refuse her than he had expected. There was something about Alice’s shining honesty that demanded an equal integrity in return. But the risk was too great. He could not gamble on losing Alice or her money and anyway, it was a long time since he had prided himself on his integrity.
“No,” he said. “I cannot.”
Her expression did not alter. She did not even look surprised, rather as though she had not expected it of him anyway. He supposed that he had not disappointed her because by now she had no illusions about him.
“I do not like to be coerced,” she said evenly.
“None of us do,” Miles said. He drew her close again and tilted her face up to his. She met his gaze fearlessly but he could feel the tension in her. “I am not going to risk losing my advantage,” he said, against her mouth. He kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue, delving into the sweetness of her mouth, demanding a response. She was still beneath his touch as she had been before when he had comforted her, neither withdrawing nor engaging. He closed his teeth about her lower lip and bit down just hard enough to force a gasp from her.
“Respond to me,” he said, taking her mouth again, his hand coming up to palm her breast. The rough silken slide of the velvet bodice skimmed under his fingers and she gasped again at the friction.
“That is one thing you cannot make me do,” she whispered. Her lips were damp and parted, tempting him unbearably. He wanted to kiss her senseless. “You said earlier that I would come to you of my own free will,” she said. “You were wrong. You may be able to blackmail me into marrying you, but you cannot force me to respond to you.”
Miles knew it was true, but all his frustration at her damned independence and her refusal to break suddenly went into the kiss, and he pushed her down on the sofa and plundered her mouth until she was helpless and quiescent in his arms. She offered no resistance to him but neither did she return his embrace, which only angered him the more. The need to command a response from her, to make her acknowledge her desire for him, roared through him. He held her head still so he could take her mouth in kisses that were deeper still and loosed the gown from about her neck to expose her tender skin to the questing exploration of his lips and hands. The demands he made on her were merciless; the pale skin of her throat and shoulders was pink and ravished from his touch and her nipples peaked hard against the velvet of her bodice. And at last he felt the answering desire in her and the triumphant masculine possession flared in him-until he drew back, saw the look in her blue eyes and knew her spirit was far from broken. For a moment they stared at each other like gladiators, and then Miles remembered all the things Alice had said about taking by force. It was like a shower of icy water. He let her go with a savage oath, gathering her close in his arms, feeling the instinctive resistance in her and hating himself for causing it.
Gradually her tense breathing eased and she relaxed against him and he pressed his cheek against hers in apology and penance.
“I am sorry,” he said. “My desire for you almost made me a liar.”
She moved against him a little, her body soft and yielding against his now. “And I would be lying, too, if I pretended I did not want you,” she said, “but I will not give in.” She put a hand up and touched his lips gently. “Miles. I hate what you are doing to me. I cannot concede.”
“I know,” Miles said softly. “You cannot capitulate but neither will I.”
He was wrenched with a sudden deep regret. He could not risk losing her and yet more than anything he wanted her response to be freely given. The conflict tightened deep within him.
“Do you know what happens when you deny yourself something that you want very badly?” he murmured.
Alice’s eyes met his, deep lavender blue in the lamplit room. “You develop exceptionally good self-discipline?” she said.
Miles smiled. “No,” he said. “You just want it all the more.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“WAS IT YOU?” Lydia, panting and crying, threw herself into Tom Fortune’s arms. “Did you do it, Tom? Did you try to kill Alice?”
She had run all the way from Spring House across the snowy meadows to the ruins of the old priory where Tom was currently encamped. She had been waiting all day for word from him, growing steadily more anxious and upset, and now she could not seem to stop the tears or stop the shaking in her body.
Tom swung the cellar doors closed behind them and drew her into the shelter of his arms. He held her close, soothing and petting her and speaking softly to her, Lydia thought, much as he would calm a skittish horse. And surprisingly, it was comforting. The sobs that racked her body died away and she felt strangely at peace. Except that he had not answered her question.
“Well?” she demanded. She could not see his expression clearly because the wick on the candle had already burned so low, but she thought that he was smiling at her.
“Of course not,” Tom said. “Why would I wish to kill Miss Lister?”
“I don’t know,” Lydia said, shivering, “but someone did.”
Tom drew her down to sit beside him on the floor. The cellar was surprisingly warm in comparison to the frosty night outside but it was scarcely welcoming. Tom’s pitifully small collection of possessions were scattered about: a bag, a cloak, a pistol. Lydia shuddered to see it.
“Whoever shot at Miss Lister had a rifle,” Tom said, following her gaze. “I heard the tales in the tavern.” He unstoppered a bottle and tilted it to his lips. “Elder-flower champagne,” he said. “Mrs. Anstruther keeps her wine down here. Would you like some?”
“I don’t think you should steal it,” Lydia said primly.
Tom’s lips twisted. “It is only one more thing to add to the list against me. I know they will be looking for me twice as hard now they think I tried to kill again.”
“It isn’t safe for you here,” Lydia said. “Dexter Anstruther is a bare hundred yards away in the Old Palace, and Miles Vickery is staying at Spring House.”
“I know,” Tom said. He leaned forward and kissed her. He tasted of champagne and smelled of musk and
