Vane drew a not entirely steady breath, and forced himself to step back. The conqueror within him roared-and fought to reach for her, to haul her into his arms and take her, storm her castle and force her to acknowledge that she was his-only his. Fists tightly clenched, he forced himself to take a different tack. Slowly, as he had once before, he circled her.
"Why?" He asked the question from directly behind her. She stiffened; her head rose. Eyes narrowed, he watched one golden curl quiver by her ear. "I think, in the circumstances, I'm entitled to know that much."
His voice was low, sibilantly soft, lethally restrained; Patience shivered. "I've decided against marriage."
"When did you make this decision?" When she didn't immediately respond, he suggested, "After we met?"
Patience wished she could lie. Instead, she lifted her head. "Yes, but my decision was not solely an outcome of that. Meeting you simply clarified the matter for me."
Tense silence again descended. He eventually broke it. "Now how, precisely, am I to take that?"
Patience sucked in a desperate breath. She tensed, and would have whirled to face him, but his fingers on her nape, just the lightest touch, froze her.
"No. Just answer me."
She could feel the heat of his body less than a foot away, sense the turbulence he held leashed. He could let the reins fall at any minute. Her wits whirled-giddiness threatened. It was so difficult to think.
Which, of course, was what he wanted-he wanted her to blurt out the truth.
Swallowing, she kept her head high. "I have never been particularly interested
in marriage. I've grown used to my independence, to my freedom, to being my own mistress. There's nothing marriage can offer me that I value as highly that would compensate me for giving up all that."
"Not even what we shared in the barn this morning?"
She should, of course, have expected that, but she'd hoped to avoid it. Avoid facing it. Avoid discussing it. Avoid tarnishing the silver and the gold. She kept her chin high, and quietly, evenly, stated, "Not even that."
That, thank heaven, was true. Despite all she'd felt, all that he'd made her feel, all that her body now yearned for, having felt the power of that gold and silver emotion-love, what else could it be?-she was even more sure, even more certain, that her course was right.
She was in love with him, as her mother had loved her father. No other power was as great, no other power so fateful. If she made the mistake of marrying him, took the easy road and gave in, she would suffer the same fate her mother had, suffer the same lonely days and the same endless, aching, soul-destroying, lonely nights. "I do not, under any circumstances, wish to marry."
His fury escaped him; it vibrated around her. For one instant, she thought he would seize her. She only just stopped herself from whirling and stepping away.
"This is insane!" His anger scorched her. "You gave yourself to me this morning-or did I imagine it? Did I imagine you naked and panting beneath me? Tell me, did I imagine you writhing wantonly as I sank into you?"
Patience swallowed, and pressed her lips tightly together. She didn't want to discuss this morning-not any of it-but she listened. Listened as he used the golden moments to flay her, used the silvery delight like a lance to prick her to say yes.
But to agree would be stupid-after having been warned, having seen what would happen, to knowingly accept misery-she'd never been that witless.
And it would be misery.
That was borne out as she listened, listened carefully, as he reminded her, in graphic detail, of all that had passed between them in the barn. He was relentless, ruthless. He knew women too well not to know where to aim his barbs.
"Do you remember how you felt when I first slid inside you?"
He went on, and desire rose, flickering about her, within her. She recognized it for what it was; she heard it in his voice. Heard the passion rise, felt it, a tangible force as he appeared again beside her, looking down into her face, his features craved granite, his eyes burning darkly. When next he spoke, his voice was so deep, so low, it grated on her skin.
"You're a gentlewoman, born and bred-the position, the requirements, are in your blood. This morning you spread yourself for me-you wanted me, and I wanted you. You gave yourself to me. You took me in-and I took you. I took your maidenhead, I took your virginity-what innocence you had, I took that, too. But that was only the penultimate act in a script carved in stone. The final act is a wedding. Ours."
Patience met his gaze steadily, although it took all her will. Not once had he spoken of any softer emotion-not once had he alluded to even the existence of love, let alone suggested it might live in him. He was hard, ruthless-his nature was not soft. It was demanding, commanding, as unyielding as his body. Desire and passion were his forte; that he felt both for her was beyond doubt.
That was not enough. Not for her.
She wanted, needed, love.
She had long ago promised herself she would never marry without it. She'd spent the hour before dinner staring at a cameo portrait of her mother, remembering. The images she'd recalled were still vivid in her mind-of her mother alone, weeping, lonely, bereft of love, dying for want of it.
She lifted her chin, her eyes steady on his. "I do not wish to marry."