Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“Prove what?” she said, backing away from him.

“Prove that you are indifferent to me. If you truly are, I will withdraw from your life, just as you wish. You don’t fear that your body will disagree with your ridiculous pronouncement, do you?”

She felt a tingle of fear. “You will leave me alone, then?”

Lor

d help me, he thought. “Yes.”

His dark eyes were caressing her face, and she could not seem to tear her gaze away. She thought that he would savage her, bruise her in his attempts to arouse her.

“Am I now to do my worst?” he said, smiling as if he knew what was in her mind.

She did not reply. Alex drew her toward him, as if he were her partner in a waltz, his left hand pressing at the small of her back, his right resting lightly on her shoulder. Her body was stiff, steeled against him. He kept his touch light and leaned down, not to kiss her mouth, but to nibble her ear. “When next we make love, Giana,” he said, his warm breath filling her ear, “you will feel no pain. I will lie beside you and caress you, like this.” His lips caressed her eyes and her cheeks, circling her mouth, without touching her lips. She felt his hands stroking her back and gliding around to her breasts.

“I remember how soft you are, Giana, when you want to be, how your breasts fill my hands. You will arch your hips to me, and we will move together, until you cry out for me.”

She stiffened against him, but when he gently cupped her breasts, she felt her nipples grow hard, felt them ache. “No. You will not seduce me with words, damn you.”

“No more words, then, love.” His breath was hot against her lips, and she felt his tongue glide gently over them. He closed his fingers around her neck, drawing her closer to him. She felt him hard against her through her petticoats, and whimpered, unable to help herself.

“Damn you.” She parted her lips to him, and when she felt his tongue touch hers, she wrapped her arms about his shoulders and pulled him down to her. He felt her shudder.

He kissed her deeply, and then drew back, studying her eyes, vague and dreamy in the moonlight.

“I am sorry, love,” he said, his voice a whisper against her hair.

She pressed her head against his shoulder until the painful ache eased, and broke into furious sobs.

Alex gathered her in his arms, rocking her body against him. “Hush, Giana.”

“God, I hate you,” she said. She pulled away from him and he let her go.

“How can you want me to make love to you one moment, and hate me the next?”

She gave him a defeated, desolate look. “The duke loves my mother,” she said. “You do not love me, nor do I love you. Just because my body shows the poor judgment to desire you, you expect me to forget all that you are, all that marriage entails, gaze at you with dewy eyes, and agree to anything you say.”

“It would be a nice conclusion,” he said, smiling, “but I know you well enough, Giana, to know that you will thwart that fond hope. Come now, I’m really not such a bad bargain, and you cannot think I am anything like your fortune-hunting Randall Bennett. I am even willing to overlook the fact that your new stepfather is a damned duke.”

“I will not sew altar cloths. I will not be a brood mare and sit around with other ladies watching the damned clock, wondering where my husband is, and talking about servants, food, and children.”

“You are obviously quite fertile, Giana,” he said, trying to repress his grin, “but you cannot be a brood mare without me. I have no wish to breed five or six children and have my wife pregnant until she is thirty. We could easily prevent conception, you know.”

“Yes, I know. But wives are kept pregnant, and husbands, damn them, feel it their god-given right to go find their wretched pleasure with mistresses. I will not do it.”

“How do you know about contraception?”

“In Rome. I asked. I wondered how the girls at Madame Lucienne’s kept from becoming pregnant.”

“Ah, your unusual education again. So you see, if you are not pregnant all the time, I will have little need to go elsewhere for my wretched pleasures.”

She felt color stain her cheeks. “That is not what I meant. Please, Mr. Saxton, you must listen to me, for I am quite serious. I will not marry you. I have plans for my life, and they do not include giving up my identity to a husband, pandering to his needs, or pleading for spending money.”

“It comes down to the fact that you don’t trust me.”

“Power corrupts, Mr. Saxton, and I have no intention of being its victim.”

“It would appear we have reached an impasse. Tell me what you intend to do, Giana. Your position is rather untenable, you know.”