"Kew Gardens?"
"No. It is a special place. A place I fancy that you will long remember. Are you ready?"
She smiled at him. "Lead on, my lord."
He did, and twenty minutes later they were in a small, very isolated glade that bordered on a narrow stream. Lyonel dismounted and tethered his stallion. He walked to Diana and lifted her down. He was very aware of her scent, of her softness. He quickly moved away from her.
They walked to the edge of an incline that led down to the water's edge. "Not too close," he said. "The grass looks slippery. It must have rained here earlier."
Diana drew in a deep breath. "Thank you for bringing me here, Lyon, 'tis beautiful. It is so different from home, you know."
"Are you still cold all of the time?"
"Rarely now. I think it is because Aunt gives me that you-are-a-weakling look if I say anything."
"You don't like to be thought a weakling, do you, Diana?"
"Does anyone?"
"A man doesn't. As for a woman, who can say?"
"You will not provoke me, my lord."
"Excellent. Come here." He had seated himself on a large rock and was smiling at her.
Diana walked toward him, her face filled with honest enjoyment, damn her. "Truly, thank you for bringing me here. I am pleased you wanted to show it to me."
"Oh, there is much I intend to show you."
He grasped her suddenly about her waist and in one graceful movement hauled her over his thighs. Diana, stunned, was quiet, but just for a moment. She arched upward, turning her face upward. "Lyonel! What are ---"
"Listen to me, Diana Savarol," he said, holding her down. "I told you once that I would beat you. What you did deserves more, but a good thrashing will just have to suffice, for the moment."
Her jaw dropped. "You mean you planned this?"
"Exactly. Quite well, as you now realize."
"But you cannot! It is ridiculous. Let me up at once!" She lurched wildly, and he realized he had quite a job cut out for him. He applied more strength, halting her wriggling. "Go ahead, yell, curse me, whatever you wish, you damned chit. It will do you no good."
It was no easy task, but he finally managed to pull up the heavy velvet riding skirt. Lord, she was strong, he thought, now using all his strength to hold her down. He got the skirt and petticoat up to her waist and stared down at her flailing stockinged legs: the white garters that held them up were just above her knees, the smooth expanse of white thighs above. Her only covering was a thin cambric chemise. He brought the flat of his hand down on her buttocks.
Diana yelled and cursed him, and he laughed, bringing his hand down again. "Never again will you do such a despicable thing. Do you understand me, Diana?"
"I will throttle you, Lyonel Ashton! I will! Ow!"
He growled and jerked up the chemise, tearing it. He brought his hand down on her bare buttocks.
Diana felt the cold air on her bottom, realized that she was bare as the day she was born, and howled, in fury, humiliation, and pain. She arched her back up and kicked with her legs. His grip didn't loosen. "Stop, you damned bastard!"
Again he brought his hand down. Suddenly, his hand raised, he looked at her, really looked. Her bottom was beautiful, soft, and very white, save for the red imprints of his hand. He brought his hand down again, but this time he didn't hit her hard. His fingers rested against her soft flesh, then caressed her, cupping her and gently easing inward between her slightly parted thighs. His fingers brushed her woman's flesh.
Diana froze. Then she twisted frantically, a frightened cry bursting from her throat.
Lyonel came to his senses. He saw his hand, as if it were another man's hand, caressing her buttocks and thighs. He cursed, pulled down her chemise, and hauled her upright. He was breathing hard.
He jerked her around to face him. Her face was white, her eyes mirroring both confusion and outrage. She was furiously yanking her riding skirt down her legs.
"Damn you," he said, and pulled her against him. He kissed her, hard, then immediately gentled the pressure against her lips.