He seemed totally unaffected by her increasing ire. “That would be unwise.”
She felt her temper rise; they’d kept their voices low, but there was no doubt which way the discussion was heading. Drawing herself up, drawing every ounce of haughtiness she possessed about her, she inclined her head. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“No.” Steely fingers closed about her elbow; he nodded across the room. “See that door over there? We’re going to go through it.”
She drew in a huge breath, held it. Carefully enunciated, “I realize your experience of the ton—”
“The ton bores me to death.” He glanced down at her, started unobtrusively but effectively steering her toward the closed door. “I’m therefore unlikely to pay much attention to its strictures.”
Her heart was thumping. Looking into his eyes—hard, faceted hazel—she realized she wasn’t playing with just a wolf, but a wild wolf. One who didn’t acknowledge any rules beyond his own. “You cannot simply…”
Abduct me. Ravish me.
The intent in his eyes left her breathless.
His gaze remained on her face, gauging, judging, as he expertly herded her across the crowded room. “I suggest we repair to a place where we can discuss our relationship in private.”
She’d been private with him any number of times; there was no need for her senses to leap at the word. No need for her imagination to run riot. Irritated that it had, she made a firm bid to take charge again. Lifting her head, she nodded. “Very well. I agree. Clearly we need to address our differing views and set matters straight.”
She wasn’t going to marry him; that was the point he needed to accept. If she emphasized that fact, clung to it, she’d be safe.
They reached the door and he opened it; she stepped through into a corridor running alongside the reception rooms. The passage was wide enough for two to walk abreast; one side was lined with carved paneling in which doors were set, the other was a wall of windows looking out over the private gardens.
In late spring and summer the windows would be opened and the corridor would become a delightful venue in which guests could stroll. Tonight, with a raw wind blowing and the promise of frost in the air, all the doors and windows were closed, the passage deserted.
Moonlight streamed in providing light enough to see. The walls were stone, the doors solid oak. Once Trentham shut the door behind them they stood in a silvered, private world.
He released her arm, offered his; she pretended not to notice. Head high, she paced slowly along. “The pertinent point we need to address—”
She broke off when his hand closed about hers. Possessively. She halted, looked down at her fingers swallowed in his palm.
“That,” she said, her gaze fixed on the sight, “is a perfect example of the issue we need to discuss. You cannot go around grabbing my hand, seizing me as if I in some way belonged to you—”
“You do.”
She looked up. Blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Tristan looked into her eyes; he wasn’t averse to explaining. “You. Belong. To me.” It felt good to state it, reinforcing the reality.
Her eyes widened; he continued, “Regardless of what you imagined you were doing, you gave yourself to me. Offered yourself to me. I accepted. Now you’re mine.”
Her lips thinned; her eyes flashed. “That is not what happened. You’re deliberately—God alone knows why—misconstruing the incident.”
She said nothing more but glared up at him belligerently.
“You’re going to have to work a lot harder to convince me that having you naked beneath me on the bed in Montrose Place was a figment of my imagination.”
Her jaw firmed. “Misconstruing—not imagining.”
“Ah—so you admit that you did, indeed—”
“What happened,” she snapped, “as you very well know, is that we enjoyed”—she gestured—“a pleasant interlude.”
“As I recall, you begged me to…‘initiate you’ was, I believe, the term we agreed on.”
Even in the poor light, he could see her blush. But she nodded. “Just so.”
Turning, she walked along the corridor; he kept pace beside her, her hand still locked in his.