Midnight's Wild Passion

His lips curved in a delighted smile. “So I have you until tomorrow?”

Banked fire lit his eyes. Antonia battled to cling to reality. She told herself this affair meant nothing to him, beyond transitory hunger. And perhaps the urge to dominate a woman who defied him. She was nothing special.

Her stupid, foolish heart refused to believe it.

Her stupid, foolish heart believed the next hours were as significant for him as for her. When he’d saved her from disaster at the ball, every barrier against him splintered. She hated her defenselessness even as she yielded. Because along with ruin, he promised limitless sensual satisfaction.

She wanted him as she’d never wanted another man. She was fatalistically aware that she’d never want another man this way again. Tonight would scar her soul. More deeply than her childish capitulation to Johnny’s flattery and good looks. More deeply even than that titanic encounter at Pelham Place.

“Antonia?” His thumb stroked the back of her gloved hand with a rhythmic insistence that made her restless. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll let you go. I shouldn’t have pushed you last night.”

His eyes were soft as they studied her face. She bit back a surge of shame at what this man knew of her. But she read no condemnation in his expression, only concern for the woman who had cried in his arms. Concern and desire.

She was free to go, free to stay. Doubt and self-hatred receded. They’d return to savage her, she knew, but she wouldn’t allow them to spoil her last night with Nicholas.

“You aren’t forcing me to anything,” she said softly.

He shot her a glittering, obsidian glance. “So I don’t have to carry you away like a demon stealing your soul?”

She didn’t sm

ile. “Would you?”

He shook his head, suddenly somber. “No. I’ve had you willing. I want you willing again.”

“I’m willing.” She tried to sound teasing, amused. But it was impossible. Every breath she drew spelled the end of the world.

“Thank God,” he said equally softly and pressed his mouth to hers again. She tasted yearning and arousal. He paused, and another shadow crossed his face. She tried to interpret the expression but it vanished too fast. “You ran away in Surrey.”

With anyone except Nicholas, she’d imagine her precipitate departure from the summerhouse had hurt him. But of course no woman could hurt the Marquess of Ranelaw. Even so, she touched his angular jaw. “I ran like a startled rabbit. I was frightened.”

He lifted one hand to press her palm against his face. “Not you. Nothing frightens you.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Everything frightens me.” She swallowed and risked honesty. “You most of all.”

He frowned. “I don’t want you afraid of me.”

“I’m afraid of what you make me feel. I’m a woman with better reasons than most to tread the straight and narrow.”

“You’re a woman made for love.” For an electric moment, his final word hovered between them like a drawn sword.

“I’m a woman made for ruin,” she said bitterly.

When they’d met, she’d believed him a man without a shred of empathy. Now she couldn’t mistake the compassion darkening his face. “Oh, my dear,” he said softly. “Your sin wasn’t so great.”

“You don’t know,” she whispered.

“Actually I think I do.” He leaned forward to brush a piercingly sweet kiss across her lips. “We must go.”

He released her and arranged her hood to shadow her face. The action conveyed a care that made her heart constrict.

She didn’t deceive herself. He’d never place another person’s needs above his own. She doubted he’d ever loved anyone. He certainly hadn’t revealed any affection when speaking of his family. Were her occasional glimpses of a better man the result of her wishes outstripping her common sense?

Catching her hand, he led her toward the gate through the tangle of cow parsley and buttercups choking the graves. In the alley a nondescript carriage waited. She credited Nicholas’s discretion. Again she struggled for an ounce of detachment. She reminded herself he was the veteran of years of intrigues, and discretion was second nature. Poignant emotion stifled the cynical thought.

It was like her lover was two separate men. The notorious rake Ranelaw. And Nicholas, who paused to adjust her hood so she wasn’t exposed as the wanton she was.

Still without speaking, he opened the door for her to step inside. Her heart crashed against her chest as she climbed into the carriage. She entered Nicholas’s dominion. She’d emerge a different woman. Already she knew that.