through the house, so she could not get a moment’s reprieve from them? Damn all mistletoe, anyway. She was likely to see everyone else in the house put it to good use, but gain nothing by it herself.
She could hear steps in the hall, clicking on the marble at the far end. Tremaine, she thought, for there was the distinctive tap of his fine leather boots. But he was coming indecorously fast. What had started out at a measured pace on the marble was growing faster with each step. She ducked her head out into the hallway to see if she had guessed correctly.
At the sight of her, he sped up. And when he reached the rug that began at the entry hall, it was at a dead run.
She looked both ways, searching for the cause of the disturbance. ‘What is it? Is something amiss? Do I need-?’
In a moment he was upon her, pushing her back into the room, closing the door and yanking the destroyed plant from her hand. Then he pinned her against the doorframe, his hand twisted in her hair, the mistletoe crushing beneath it, and his lips came down to hers with surprising force.
It was just as wonderful as she remembered it from the first time they’d kissed: the smell of him, the feel of his hands, the warmth of his body near to hers. She opened her mouth, as he had taught her then, to find the taste of his tongue against hers was deliciously the same.
If she was not careful, the end result would be the same as well. He would kiss her, and then he would leave. So, no matter how much she was enjoying it, she gathered her will and pulled away from him, trying to appear shocked. ‘Tremaine, what the devil are you doing?’ she managed, before he overpowered her weak resistance and stopped her speech with another kiss.
Actually, there was no question of what he was doing. He was driving her mad, just as he had when she was young and foolish. She could feel her pulse racing to keep up with her heart, and felt the kiss from her mouth to the tips of her toes, and every place in between. It did not matter any more than it had the first time that this was wrong. She wanted it anyway.
He pulled away far enough to speak. ‘What I am doing, darling, is settling once and for all the location of the mistletoe. You have been standing under it for days, a continual source of temptation. I feel I have done an admirable job of ignoring the fact. But no longer.’
She struggled in his grasp, shocked to find that his other hand had settled tight around her waist, holding her to him in a way that was much more intimate than the brief meeting in their past. The situation was getting quickly out of hand. ‘I did not think it mattered to you.’
‘And I find I can think of nothing else.’ When he realised that he was frightening her, he relaxed for a moment, smoothed her hair with his hand and looked into her eyes. There was a softness in his expression, a tenderness that she had not seen since the day they had first met. Then he smiled, and was just as wicked as he ever was. He kissed her again, into her open mouth, before she could remember to stop him, thrusting with his tongue, harder and harder, until she gave up all pretence of resistance and ran her hands through his hair and over his body, shocking herself with the need to touch and be touched.
‘I suppose,’ she said breathlessly when he paused again, ‘that when someone catches us here you will insist that this is all my doing, just as you did before.’ She regained some small measure of composure and pushed at his hands, trying to free herself from his grip. But as she struggled against him she suspected that, despite the trouble it would cause, total surrender was utterly superior to freedom.
‘On the contrary. This time, if you wish, you may claim yourself the innocent victim of my animal lust.’ And he kissed her again, dominating her easily, to prove that any attempt to escape him was quite futile.
‘Really?’ She smiled, delighted, and stopped fighting. His head dipped to nuzzle her neck. ‘I have never been an innocent victim of anything before.’
He laughed against her skin. ‘I thought not. I expect once we are married you shall prove even more difficult to handle than Elise would have been.’
‘I have owed you a proposal for over five years. I assumed your answer would be yes.’
‘Never assume,’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘I would rather die an old maid than spend another Christmas as I’ve spent this one-as someone’s dutiful wife, cooking geese and tending to the ivy.’
He reached out and took her fingers, bringing them to his lips, drawing them into his mouth to suck upon the tips until she gasped. ‘If you marry me, your hands will never touch another Yule Log.’ He held them out, admiring the fingers and kissing each one in turn. ‘But they would look very attractive wrapped around the reins of a curricle in Hyde Park.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘You would let me drive?’
He smiled back. ‘We must see if you have the nerve for it. And you would have to be very good to me, of course. But if you indulge my every whim, how can I deny you yours? We will discuss that later.’ He tucked a sprig of mistletoe into his pocket and kissed her again, until she was quite breathless.
‘Later?’ She caught at his hand as it reached to touch her breast. ‘You are being quite wicked enough now, Tremaine.’
‘Not hardly,’ he answered back, then kissed her once more until she let him caress her. ‘You have led a most sheltered life, Miss Morley. And you are utterly unprepared to deal with a reprobate such as myself. But I will be only too happy to educate you in the ways of the world. For instance, I’m sure you will agree that this is much more shocking than a few kisses under the mistletoe.’ And his hand slipped beneath the neckline of her gown.
His fingers found her nipple and began to draw slow circles about it. He was right. Judging by the way it was making her feel, it was much worse than kissing. ‘You mustn’t,’ she whispered, and then arched her back to give him better access. ‘If someone finds us…’
He pinched her. ‘Then I shall be forced to marry you immediately.’ He sighed. ‘Which is just what I mean to do in any case. I cannot wait another moment. I must have you, darling. And I cannot very well remain under this roof and do what I wish to do with you. I have just left off trying to seduce Harry’s wife, and now I mean to ruin his sister? I must show some respect for the poor man. It is Christmas, after all. He deserves to be rid of me. And absconding with his hostess in the middle of a house party is a fitting gift, considering what kind of host he has been to me.’ Then he smiled. ‘But I have not given you a gift either, have I?’ And his other hand slipped beneath her skirts.
‘Tremaine, whatever are you doing?’
‘You will know soon enough, love.’ And she felt his hand caress the bare skin of her leg above her stocking. ‘Now, speak. Will you have me?’
She had wanted nothing more for as long as she could remember. But she was afraid he would stop trying to persuade her if she gave in too easily. Was it the knowledge that he was touching her so intimately, or the touch itself that was so compelling? She smoothed down her skirt, to hide what his hand was doing, and tried to appear uninterested. ‘I doubt my father will approve of you.’
‘Then we shall not tell him until it is too late to matter.’
His fingers travelled up, until they could go no further, and then gave a gentle caress that caused her to gasp in shock. She decided it was definitely the touch that was affecting her, for he had increased the speed of his stroking and was driving her mad with it. His fingers played in a gentle rhythm against her body, reaching places that she had never thought to touch, and creating a jumble of new sensations that made it much easier to feel than to think.
She could barely hear him as he said, ‘Now that the roads are clear, it’s Gretna for us, my love. And then to bed.’
‘I have never…never…never been to Scotland,’ she gasped, and grabbed his shoulders for support, trying and failing to hold on to common sense as the feelings built in her.
‘Then it will be a day of firsts for you.’
He held her in place against the wall, one hand tightening upon her breast and the other teasing between her legs. She was not sure what was happening, but she knew at any moment that she would have no choice but to say yes, most emphatically, to anything he might ask.
So she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. With her last strength she whispered, ‘Show me Pompeii, Tremaine, and I am yours for ever.’ And then she gave herself over to him, and dissolved in pleasure at
