a handbreadth away.
He looked at her lips, then lifted his gaze and met her eyes. “I want you. You know I do.”
She did; his desire for her screamed, not just from his eyes, not just in the deepened, roughened tone of his voice, but from the tightly leashed tension that invested every muscle in his large lean body. If that wasn’t evidence enough, his erection rode against her hip, rampant and rigid.
Moistening her lips, she kept her eyes on his. “Why, then?”
“Because…” He searched her eyes. “You’ve offered yourself to me twice. Twice, I’ve given you the chance to step back, to retreat to safer ground.” His gaze lowered to her lips, then again returned to her eyes. “To escape me, and the demands I’ll make of you if I make you mine.”
Her body was still throbbing with the aftermath of what he’d wrought; between them, she could feel not only her own heart, but his, too, thudding. Pounding. “Do you want me to escape?”
His lips lifted, but it wasn’t in a smile. “No. I want to have you.” His head lowered, his lips brushed hers. “But what I want, what I’ll demand and take if you surrender yourself to me, might be more than you’re prepared to give.”
The words feathered over her lips, promise and warning combined.
She met his eyes again, felt herself drowning in their depths. “What, exactly, would you demand of me?”
“Everything. All of you.” He shifted, looking down; his hand brushed the side of her breast, instantly stirring her body to life. “What I’ve taken so far is much less than I want. I want every scintilla of passion you have in you, every iota of desire you have to give.” He paused, then raised his lids and again met her eyes. “I want to, and will, possess you utterly.”
About them, all was silent and still; between them, passion arced, desire burned. The predator in him was starkly evident, in the lines of his face, in the intensity of his gaze.
She knew what she wanted. She opened her mouth-
He kissed her. Kissed her with all the passion he’d held back, ravished her mouth and her senses, plundered and took, giving her a taste-just a taste-of his ravenous hunger, then he pulled back.
“Be in no doubt.” His voice grated, a sexual rumble that rasped her senses. “If you offer a third time, I’ll take, and there’ll be no going back. I won’t play the gentleman and turn you away. I want you-if you tempt me again, you’ll be mine. Every inch of you. With every gasp, every moan, every heartbeat, you’ll be mine.”
Straightening his arms, he lifted himself over her; looking down, he held her gaze. “Think about it.” His eyes searched hers. “If you decide you truly want that, I’ll be here. Waiting.”
Prowling. The energy that crackled beneath his skin was new. Something beyond his experience, as he was beyond hers.
Gerrard paced before the darkened windows of his bedroom, still aching, still driven.
One part of him, the primitive prowling part of him that now gave him no surcease, hadn’t wanted to warn her-had wanted instead to seize and be damned.
But he’d known better. The more sophisticated part of him that had evolved through the years, that had watched and seen and, it now seemed, absorbed, knew the price he was paying for warning her and letting her go- letting her go to make her own decision-was a bargain in terms of what he would gain.
Her. Committed by her own act, not swept into his arms by his more powerful libido.
He knew, to his bones, what he felt for her. Something he’d never expected to feel. He now understood what he never had before-the driven quality behind the protective possessiveness of the Cynster men, especially Devil and Vane, the two whose marriages he’d most closely observed. Devil, being Devil, was forever arrogantly blatant, while Vane was quieter, stubborn and immovable, yet the force driving their behavior was the same. He hadn’t expected to feel the same compulsion, but now he did…his approach would be more subtle.
He knew women, had interacted more closely with them than most-he knew enough to cloak his driving need, to veil his vulnerability by insisting Jacqueline make her own decision to give herself to him, to commit herself through her own, considered act.
Now he’d chosen, fought and succeeded in following that tack, when the time came, she would view the consequences of becoming his as something she’d invited, and, he hoped, accept them without complaint.
His plan was sound, well grounded. It would work.
Smothering an inclination to growl, he swung on his heel and paced across the room. His blood was still coursing too fast through his veins, desire still lashed and passion prodded-leashed, for now.
But not for long.
He was as arrogant as Devil or Vane, enough to feel confident of her decision-of what she’d choose. She’d choose to be his, and then he’d have her.
Without her knowing she’d been seized.
12
The following morning, with Gerrard in attendance, Millicent reviewed Jacqueline’s wardrobe. Jacqueline was unsurprised when her bronze silk sheath was declared most suitable for the Summer Hunt Ball; a present from her mother just before she’d died, it was her most sophisticated and revealing gown, but she’d yet to wear it-apparently, its time had come.
It was the middle of summer; in that corner of the world so distant from the capital, it was customary for the local families to entertain themselves and their youth with some event every few days. Today, Mrs. Hancock was hosting a picnic, or as she more grandly termed it, an “alfresco luncheon.”
They left the Hall at noon; by the time they reached the Hancocks’ house beyond St. Just, most of the guests had arrived.
Once again, Jacqueline found herself tensing as they emerged onto the Hancocks’ terrace and all eyes swung her way. Some of the guests had been at the Frithams’ yesterday, but there were others who had yet to assimilate their new direction. She held her head high, kept a smile of precisely the right, unconcerned degree on her lips, and followed Millicent, Gerrard and Barnaby’s leads. She was grateful for their support, especially Gerrard’s; as at the Frithams’, he remained by her side.
Somewhat to her surprise, Mrs. Elcott, the vicar’s wife, usually so severe, unbent enough to compliment her on her spring-green muslin. “I’m delighted to see that you’re not hiding yourself away. No doubt the discovery of poor Mr. Entwhistle’s body has caused you distress, but it never does to overindulge such passions. Facing forward is precisely what a young lady of your standing must do.”
Mrs. Elcott pursed her lips, as if holding back further comment, then surrendered to temptation. “Have you spoken with the Entwhistles yet?”
Jacqueline managed to look unconcerned. “Not yet.”
Gerrard smoothly cut in with a distracting remark. A minute later, he drew her away.
“She wanted to know so she could be first with the news.” She allowed him to lead her to the trestle table where refreshments had been laid out.
Reaching for the lemonade jug, he glanced at her. “True, but it seems she’s shrewd enough not to credit the killer’s whispers-or if she has in the past, she’s now willing to run with the truth instead.”
Jacqueline accepted the glass of lemonade he’d poured for her. “To give the devil his due-or in this case the vicar’s wife her due-I’ve never heard her gossip maliciously. She’s simply addicted to being up with the latest, to understanding what’s going on.”
She could relate to the impulse. Over the rim of her glass, she glanced at Gerrard; she wished she knew what, precisely, was going on between them. Last night…once she’d returned to her bed, she’d fallen deeply asleep. She’d assumed she’d have time today to assess his proposition, his veiled ultimatum. She was certain she ought to think before she allowed her, where he was concerned, too impulsive desire to sweep her into his arms. Especially now he’d informed her the step would involve irrevocable surrender, at least on her part.
Unfortunately, it was impossible to consider him and his lionlike propensities while he was beside her, or even in the vicinity, which meant there was nothing to be gained by attempting to think of such things now; she might as well enjoy the moment, and his company.
