up, forcing her eyes from his. She slapped his cheek with a force made strong by her confusion. The sharp crack seemed to echo in the evening silence.
She had expected Devereux to step back, but he didn’t, nor did he acknowledge the blow. Instead, his face came closer to hers and his arms pinned her to the wall. She felt like a trapped rabbit as his lips moved down, toward her own with dreadful purpose.
Meredith tried desperately to squirm away, but he had trapped her, his body tense against hers, and her own was responding in some strange unfamiliar way.
“No,” she cried.
“Yes,” he said simply, implacably, his eyes riveting yet completely unfathomable. His mouth touched her lips in a slow exploring way, and Meredith felt flickers of fire flame deep inside as she sought to remain stiff and cold.
His lips probed and teased and demanded while one hand held her in place and the other tumbled her hair, releasing it from the pins that held it in tormented fashion.
There was nothing tender about his kiss. It was searching and savage and demanding, and nothing in Meredith’s life had ever prepared her for it, or for the feelings his touch aroused.
The kiss deepened and his lips gentled only slightly as they worked to open her mouth. And then his tongue slipped in, intrusive, questing, arousing. Without will, Meredith responded in the most primitive and instinctive way, her own tongue seeking to inflict as much painful exquisite sensation as he did, even though she didn’t understand her own reactions. Something new and exciting and terrifying had taken over her body, and it was not the control that Meredith had honed to a fine art.
His mouth finally withdrew and he leaned back, his eyes almost black in the now deep dusk of evening. There was a questioning look on his face, for he had seen the flashes of fire in eyes usually void of any kind of passion, and there had been unexpected responses in her body. Who are you? he wanted to ask, but except for the tumbling hair there seemed nothing but a wood figure in front of him.
His eyes are what the devil’s must be like, Meredith thought. So dark they were almost midnight black. And haunted in some strange way. She had not seen that before, but it was there now, lurking behind the curtain. She felt herself trembling and hated the weakness in her that caused it. He was her enemy. She had known it from the first moment she had seen him again. And yet something inside her was terribly drawn to him. What terrible flaw in her made her this way?
“How dare you?” she finally managed in a low furious voice, outraged at him for making her feel this way, enraged at herself for being so vulnerable to him.
Devereux bowed low, mockery in every movement, in the amusement in his face. “My pardon, Miss Seaton. Your charms seem to have overwhelmed me.” His hand once more caressed a curl, bringing it to his lips and allowing them to caress it.
Even as anger foamed inside her at his obvious derision, another part, a detached analytical part, wondered why he always wore gloves. An affectation? His eyes narrowed slightly as he saw her staring at the glove. She caught his surprise, and she knew he had recognized the speculation and didn’t like it.
But he merely smiled, a smile that touched nothing but his lips. “You didn’t answer, my dear Miss Seaton. Do I have your pardon?”
Meredith thought about a number of things she could say, but withheld each one of them. She condemned herself bitterly because she had, at the end of the kiss, participated as much as he. She wished she didn’t have so strong a thread of honesty running through her. It often warred with the other things she felt she must do.
She drew herself up indignantly. “You took advantage,” she accused.
“So I did,” he said lazily, his hand still playing with the curl. “I wanted to see your hair down. I did not expect it to be quite as…irresistible. Now I know you should find a new maid.”
The
She had expected Devereux to step back, but he didn’t, nor did he acknowledge the blow. Instead, his face came closer to hers and his arms pinned her to the wall. She felt like a trapped rabbit as his lips moved down, toward her own with dreadful purpose.
Meredith tried desperately to squirm away, but he had trapped her, his body tense against hers, and her own was responding in some strange unfamiliar way.
“No,” she cried.
“Yes,” he said simply, implacably, his eyes riveting yet completely unfathomable. His mouth touched her lips in a slow exploring way, and Meredith felt flickers of fire flame deep inside as she sought to remain stiff and cold.
His lips probed and teased and demanded while one hand held her in place and the other tumbled her hair, releasing it from the pins that held it in tormented fashion.
There was nothing tender about his kiss. It was searching and savage and demanding, and nothing in Meredith’s life had ever prepared her for it, or for the feelings his touch aroused.
The kiss deepened and his lips gentled only slightly as they worked to open her mouth. And then his tongue slipped in, intrusive, questing, arousing. Without will, Meredith responded in the most primitive and instinctive way, her own tongue seeking to inflict as much painful exquisite sensation as he did, even though she didn’t understand her own reactions. Something new and exciting and terrifying had taken over her body, and it was not the control that Meredith had honed to a fine art.
His mouth finally withdrew and he leaned back, his eyes almost black in the now deep dusk of evening. There was a questioning look on his face, for he had seen the flashes of fire in eyes usually void of any kind of passion, and there had been unexpected responses in her body. Who are you? he wanted to ask, but except for the tumbling hair there seemed nothing but a wood figure in front of him.
His eyes are what the devil’s must be like, Meredith thought. So dark they were almost midnight black. And haunted in some strange way. She had not seen that before, but it was there now, lurking behind the curtain. She felt herself trembling and hated the weakness in her that caused it. He was her enemy. She had known it from the first moment she had seen him again. And yet something inside her was terribly drawn to him. What terrible flaw in her made her this way?
“How dare you?” she finally managed in a low furious voice, outraged at him for making her feel this way, enraged at herself for being so vulnerable to him.
Devereux bowed low, mockery in every movement, in the amusement in his face. “My pardon, Miss Seaton. Your charms seem to have overwhelmed me.” His hand once more caressed a curl, bringing it to his lips and allowing them to caress it.
Even as anger foamed inside her at his obvious derision, another part, a detached analytical part, wondered why he always wore gloves. An affectation? His eyes narrowed slightly as he saw her staring at the glove. She caught his surprise, and she knew he had recognized the speculation and didn’t like it.
But he merely smiled, a smile that touched nothing but his lips. “You didn’t answer, my dear Miss Seaton. Do I have your pardon?”
Meredith thought about a number of things she could say, but withheld each one of them. She condemned herself bitterly because she had, at the end of the kiss, participated as much as he. She wished she didn’t have so strong a thread of honesty running through her. It often warred with the other things she felt she must do.
She drew herself up indignantly. “You took advantage,” she accused.
“So I did,” he said lazily, his hand still playing with the curl. “I wanted to see your hair down. I did not expect it to be quite as…irresistible. Now I know you should find a new maid.”
The
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