‘The game of love has many different aspects,’ he suggested.
‘But we’re not talking about love,’ she whispered. ‘This is a different game altogether.’
It was a game that made her pulses race and her whole body sing from the close contact with his. Reason argued that her physical excitement was due to the movement of the dance, but reason fell silent before the pleasure of his clasp about her waist and the awareness of his mouth near hers.
‘What do you call the game?’ he whispered.
‘I’m sure we each have our own name for it.’
‘Tell me yours.’
She glanced up, murmuring, ‘I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.’
‘I asked first.’
This time she didn’t reply, but her look was full of mischief.
‘You’re going to tease me, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You’re a wicked woman.’
‘I know. I work at it.’
‘No need. I reckon a certain kind of wickedness comes naturally to you.’
‘True. It’s one of the great pleasures of life.’ Exhilarated, she provoked him further. ‘Almost as much fun as cat-and-mouse.’
A gleam of appreciation came into his eyes. ‘Cat-and-mouse; I wish I knew which one I was.’
‘I’ll leave you to work that one out.’
He gave a shout of laughter that made everyone stare at them, and began whirling her fast again until they spun out onto the terrace, where she broke from him and darted away, running down the steps and under the trees. She was high on excitement, and the sound of him pursuing her was a delight. She ran faster, challenging him to follow her, and he accepted the challenge.
‘Woman, are you crazy?’ he demanded, winding his arms around her waist in a grip of velvet and steel. ‘Just how much do you think a man can take?’
She responded not with words but with laughter, that rang up to the moon until he silenced her mouth with his own. Somehow the laughter continued, because it was there in the kiss, passing from her to him and back again. It was there too in the skilful movements of his hands that knew how to coax without demanding, persuade without insisting.
He had the gift which so many men lacked, of kissing gently. Her return kiss was joyful, curious, teasing just a little.
‘I’m not crazy,’ she whispered. ‘And perhaps a man should exercise a little self-control.’
‘Not while you’re making it hard for him,’ he growled, moving down her neck.
She was unable to say more, because his lips had found the spot where she was most sensitive. Shivers went through her, defying her efforts to control them as his mouth caressed the hollow at the base of her throat, touching it softly again and again while she clung to him and her head whirled.
He was wicked. Even with all her nerves shouting warnings, he could still make her want him. Her hands had a will of their own. They clasped his head, drawing him closer against her so that his lips continued their skilled work. She should push him away, but, just another minute…
She felt the ground beneath her. She didn’t know when he’d drawn her down, but suddenly she was lying in his arms, and he was looking at her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t see through the darkness.
That was so like him, she thought feverishly-always keeping one part of himself a secret. And right now she wanted to know his secrets, wanted to know everything about him, to feel his hands on her body, all over, wanted everything there was to want.
His fingers were at the neck of her dress, trying to draw it lower. When it would go no further, he drew the shoulder down and laid his lips against it. Now she could feel his hair brushing her face and she ran her hand deliciously through it, sighing with satisfaction.
But then she heard something that froze her blood: laughter, soft and merry, coming from a little distance away. The family was appearing in the garden, getting nearer.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘DANTE,’ she hissed. ‘
Frantically she pushed at him and he drew back, frowning.
‘They’re coming,’ she said. ‘They mustn’t find us like this.’
Muttering a curse, he wrenched himself away and got to his feet, drawing her up with him. He would have run, but Mark’s voice came through the trees.
‘Ferne, Dante, are you there?’
‘I’m going to murder that boy,’ Dante muttered. ‘He’s doing this on purpose.’
‘Don’t be paranoid.’
‘I’m not paranoid,’ Dante said in a soft, enraged voice. ‘He fancies you.’
Despite her jangling nerves, she nearly laughed.
‘Nonsense. His heart’s given to his dancing-girl friend.’
‘He’s twenty,’ Dante snapped. ‘He forgot her the minute he left England.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Of course I know. I’ve been twenty.’
‘So
Dante flung her the look of a man driven to madness.
Now the others were calling them. There was no choice but to walk back into the light, looking as cheerful and natural as possible. Ferne had a worrying feeling that her voice was shaking and she was sure that her smile looked unnatural.
But, more than that, she was shaking inside. She felt like someone who’d found herself unexpectedly on the edge of a cliff, and had backed off without knowing how she’d got there.
The family settled down for final drinks under the stars. Mark tried to get close to Ferne but was deterred by a scowl from Dante. If Ferne’s nerves hadn’t been jangling, she might have felt flattered and amused.
Hope ordered a pot of tea and Ferne drank it thankfully, feeling the warm liquid soothe her. Hope was looking at her kindly, and her eyebrows raised in surprise when Ferne took four sugar-lumps instead of her usual one. She needed them.
‘I’m feeling a little tired,’ she said as soon as she decently could. ‘You won’t mind if I go to bed?’
‘I’m tired too, after the flight,’ Evie said, and the party began to break up.
Ferne escaped upstairs, unable to meet Dante’s eyes. Once in her room, she plunged into an icy-cold shower. That would soon put her right.
It did, to the extent that it cooled down her flesh, but her mind remained as disturbed as before. She was accustomed to thinking of herself as calm and collected. Even in the throes of passion for Sandor she’d felt in command-something which their grande finale had surely proved.
But Dante had upset that unruffled composure, making her wonder if it was really such a virtue. Had she perhaps become a trifle smug? If so, he was rescuing her from that danger, surprising her again and again.
He insisted on haunting her mind, despite her stern orders for him to depart. But that was Dante: awkward. When she stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, he seemed to be there, eyeing her nakedness longingly, making her regret that she hadn’t allowed him to see her, because he would have liked her so much.
She pulled on her nightdress and in her mind’s eye his face fell.
‘Get out!’ she told him. ‘Go away and leave me alone.’
He obeyed, but not without a final glance over his shoulder.
There was a soft knock at her door.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me,’ said Dante.
