“I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”
“No, you’re not. If I had to assess your condition, I’d say you’re irked to have been caught. Now we’re finished talking about this, and you have to leave.”
His scowl deepened, his mind frantically whirring as he sifted through possibilities that would placate her, but she couldn’t imagine how he could persuade her to relent.
“What if . . . if . . .” He cut off, his bewilderment clear. Then he tried again. “What if I . . . ah . . . pass on the betrothal to Penny? What if I speak to Lord Roland and tell him I need more time to think about it?”
“How long would you claim to need?” She didn’t care about any delay and wouldn’t encourage one, but she was curious about what number he’d select.
“How about a year? I’ll declare that I’m too busy at the moment, what with straightening out the financial mess my brother left me. I could insist I’m not ready.”
“You’d force Penny to wait a whole year? Are you that sure of her devotion?”
“No, but I’m willing to risk it—for you. During that interval, I wouldn’t pursue an engagement with her or anyone, and I’ll focus all my attention on you. Would that bring you down off your moral high horse?”
She sighed—with amusement and disgust. “I would never consent to that. As you mentioned, you’re thirty. You’re an aristocrat, with a title and an estate to protect. You have to get your future in order. You have to choose a bride and marry her, and I refuse to be an impediment to that swift conclusion.”
His face was so expressive, his emotions plainly visible. “So just like that, it’s over?”
“We never really started, so how could it be over?”
“If you never saw me again, you’d be fine with that ending?”
“I’d miss you,” she admitted, “but I’ve had a life of goodbyes. They’re not that difficult for me.”
He stood and stepped over to where she was hovering by the bed. She was still holding the glass of wine he’d poured when he’d first sat down. He yanked it away and gulped the contents, then smacked it onto a nearby table so hard the stem snapped off.
“Have I told you, Libby Carstairs,” he said, “that you are the most absurd female I’ve ever met?”
“I don’t recall that exact insult, but if you’ve leveled it, I’m not surprised. You’re a spoiled bully, and you’re anxious to pressure me into an affair, but you can’t.”
“You’re not absurd because you won’t obey me,” he ludicrously said. “You’re absurd because your thought processes are absolutely convoluted.”
Before she knew what he intended, he grabbed her by the waist and tumbled them onto the bed. They landed in a tangle of legs and petticoat, and he rolled them so they were stretched out with him on top and her on the bottom. His much larger male body crushed her much smaller female one into the mattress.
She’d never found herself in such a scandalous position, but she wasn’t alarmed as a less worldly young lady might have been. He wouldn’t hurt or ravish her. No, he’d expect he could use seduction to erode her defenses so, eventually, she gave him what he wanted.
The pathetic problem with that scenario was that he was probably correct.
He glared down at her and decreed, “We’re not parting, and you’re not leaving Roland, so toss those insane notions out of your head.”
“You’re mad, Lucas Watson.”
“Yes, I am, and I believe I’ve clarified that it’s all your fault. You have driven me to lunacy. Will you please stop complaining? I can’t listen to another word from you.”
With that, he began kissing her, his lips capturing hers in a wild, reckless way. It seemed as if he was drinking her in, gobbling her up. He’d been wandering in the desert, and she was the oasis he’d been struggling to find.
His tongue was in her mouth, his fingers in her hair, and he was touching her all over, his hands roaming everywhere, learning her shape and size.
She’d meant to lie stiff as a board and pretend she wasn’t enjoying herself, but just as he was totally obsessed with her, she was totally obsessed with him. The fact that he was out of reach and could never bind himself didn’t deter her in the least. She yearned to try to make him her very own. She yearned to keep him forever.
She jumped into the embrace with a great deal of enthusiasm, her hands busy too. Depending on where she caressed him, he would tense or purr or sigh, and as always when they were together, the tryst quickly spiraled out of control. They couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t hold each other tightly enough. They wrestled, scratched, and bit, going at each other like two cats trapped in a sack.
Who kissed like this? Who carried on with such feral abandon? It felt as if they’d tumbled off a cliff, and they were falling down and down and down. Where would they be when they hit bottom?
A rhythmic noise intruded. At first, she assumed it was the frantic beating of her heart, but as it grew more incessant, it dawned on her that someone was out in the hall and knocking on the door.
She jerked away, and he frowned, confused over why they’d halted. He would have asked what was wrong, but she pressed an angry finger to her lips, warning him to silence. Then she dug into his pocket and retrieved the key.
She slid out from under him and hurried to the sitting room, calling, “Yes? It’s Miss Carstairs. May I help you?”
“Miss Carstairs! I’m so glad you answered me! It’s Lady Penny.”
Libby swallowed a gasp, and she peered over her shoulder at Luke, her eyes wide and furious, eager for him to see how irate she was that his irresponsible conduct had placed her in such an untenable predicament.
She shut the bedroom door so he wouldn’t be observed loafing exactly where he never should have been, then
