Hunter Of My Heart

A man with half his wits could lose himself in her incredibly beautiful eyes, but he had his faculties and disliked caving in to her demand. Moreover, if he refused, he would never learn what she was thinking... or scheming. “Even if I wanted to postpone consummating our marriage, that’s impossible.”

“Have you no compassion? We’re strangers. Is it that easy for you to bed a woman?”

“Do you want your grandfather standing over us? He promised to do just that if our sheets are clean. Would you like an audience?”

She flushed crimson from her cheeks to her neck. “Of course not.”

When she lowered her head, Hunter thought she would succumb, but then she jabbed her fist in the air. He caught her wrist, but she twisted it from his hold.

Fury blazed in her eyes. “Impotent! That’s what you are! If you were man enough to stand up to him, you’d think of a way to avoid this! You don’t want me any more than I want you.”

The accusation hit his gut like a lead ball and whipped his temper like nothing else she’d said or done. He quickly realized he disliked her rejection of him. After all, he possessed a title and wealth. Considering the situation, what more could a lady want? She might think he was doing nothing to strengthen his stance, but hell if he’d tell her his plans. He glared at her hard. “So you think me impotent, do you?”

She bumped up her chin. “Yes, I do.”

In a lightning movement, he clamped his hands around her shoulders and crushed her lips with his own. Her sweet taste beckoned. Abruptly he released her. She took a gulping breath of air. He couldn’t let her soft lips lure him beyond his anger. With a swift flick of his wrist, he yanked her collar off her shoulders. Her eyes grew wide. The crocheted buttons bounced on the floor. “Get undressed. When I come back, you’d better be in my bed.” Turning, he opened her door and slammed it behind him.

Hunter flew down the stairs, grabbed a lantern from the foyer. When he opened the door, Gavin stood on the other side.

“Bloody hell! Where are ye going?”

“To the conservatory.” He motioned Gavin to join him and asked what Jonathan had learned. His solicitor had confirmed what Sadlerfield told him, but would need time to investigate the debt and Sabrina. In turn, Hunter explained the events during Gavin’s absence.

The moonlight revealed Gavin’s grim look. “Blasted! Ye sacrificed yourself. Why are ye going to the hothouse? Ye should be talking your scheming bride into bed.”

“Looking for a red dye.”

Gavin’s blue eyes widened in understanding. “Ooh. Wouldn’t it be simpler if ye just pricked your skin?”

“They’ve already stolen my life. Why should I give her my blood? Besides, that smacks of honor, and the last thing I feel is noble.” Impotent! He snarled.

“Ye’ve the right. Just take her.”

Hunter’s blood ran cold. “A willing bride appeals to me more. If a few days will make her more agreeable, I won’t have to live with guilt. Besides, I want to find out what she’s planning. She ran away, and now seems almost...biddable.”

“Aye, something doesn’t quite ring true.”

A few moments later they entered the conservatory. A rush of hot, humid air, smelling moldy and fragrant, hit Hunter in the face. The housekeeper cared for his mother’s flowers, but they still looked neglected. Nostalgia wrenched his heart. How often had he watched his mother tend her plants and explain which ones provided good dyes for her paints? Shaking away the memories, he scooted around the wooden benches. Now wasn’t the time to bask in her warmth.

“Damnation. Do you remember which one had sap that resembled blood?” Hunter scratched his head.

“Bloodroot?”

“Yes. Help me find the damn thing.” As Hunter searched and pinched, he realized he’d accumulated a nosegay.

“Found it!” Gavin handed him the pot.

Taking the sprigs, Hunter added them to his bouquet. “She wants Lord Byron. She’s going to get him.” He paused. “I plan to give her a well-deserved lesson.”

Kenilworth was torturing her with his absence. Sabrina sensed she would pay for her impulsive words. Would he demand his rights as a husband? She glanced at her cotton nightgown, one with ribbons lacing the front. With trembling hands, she tightened the bow at her neck.

She’d never seen a man in such an angry state. Beneath his fury, passion simmered. The taste of him lingered on her lips and made her tremble again.

She had no choice.

Without a doubt, she knew Lord Sadlerfield would hover over them as they...

Closing her eyes, she willed away the horrid image of such a spectacle. If she agreed to the consummation, her...husband might let her return to London with Marga. She had to believe he would be more agreeable once they finished the union. Dread and anticipation dampened her skin. She’d try to talk to him first. If all else failed, she would succumb.

Slowly she entered his bedchamber, which smelled of his clean scent. She glanced at his bed, rising like a blue sphinx in the room. Sheraton furnishings carved from mahogany graced the room. Stopping in front of a cheval mirror, she regarded her nightgown again. One powerful grip and he’d split the cloth from neck to toe. The image sent a tremor down her spine.

A creak in the hallway made her dash for the bed. She burrowed beneath the covers, and with only her nightgown hugging her, she searched for her rainbow. Unfortunately, nothing surfaced amid her surroundings. Kenilworth’s clean scent clung to the bedsheets, a clear reminder of the man who could, with a touch or word, send her senses and emotions into a whirlwind.

Suddenly the door swung open and a mixture of fragrances filled the room. Stifling a cry, she pulled the counterpane to her chin. Kenilworth’s flash of white teeth glowed brighter than the sconces lighting the room. She clung to the sheets.

“No need to look like a mummy.” Closing the door, his gaze traveled from her feet to her hands and then to her face.

“The air’s chilly.”

“We’ll warm the bed.”

She forced herself to breathe. “I want to wait to consummate the marriage.”

“Let’s see if I can ease the situation.”

“Does that mean you will?”

“I brought you some flowers.” With a light step, he strolled to the bed and presented her with a courtly bow.

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Plucking a flower from his hand, he tucked it behind her ear. “Let go of the sheets.”

When she ignored his command, he yanked the bed linens and dropped them at her feet. Alarm shot through her as she covered her bosom with her hands. A corner of his mouth curved. As he sat, his hips pressed against her thigh, their clothing forged a bridge between their flesh.

Fighting for a calm look, she tried to scoot away, but he planted his left hand on her other side. “Why did you bring me flowers?”

He placed the bouquet on his lap. After selecting a carnation, he stuck the stern through a lacing hole of her nightgown. “I’ve always liked it when a lady smells sweet.” He bent and sniffed.

His face was so close to her breasts that she knew one movement would cause them to meet. She dared not breathe, but his warm breath filtered through her gown and a prickly sensation moved across her skin. When he straightened, she drew a quiet gulp of air. “Do I look like a vase yet?”

A slow grin broke the angled lines of his jaw. “Not quite.”

She pursed her lips. “Why are you decorating me in flowers?”

“Smell this one.” He pulled a lily from his lap and waved the petals beneath her nose.

The heady scent thickened the air around them. Taking her hand, he wrapped her fingers around the stern and held them in place. He brought the flower to his nose, looked down at her with half-lowered lids. Trembling, she desperately tried to hide her fear.