Midnight's Wild Passion

Forcing back the banging drums in his head, he bent over her. She couldn’t sleep in that chair all night. With a gentleness he refused to categorize as care, he slid his arms under her and lifted her high against his chest.

She was tall, but slender. Normally carrying her would take little effort. His head swam and the room whirled around him. Briefly he wondered if they’d both end up toppling to the rug. Since she’d knocked him out, he wasn’t up to carrying slumbering dragons.

She murmured something incomprehensible that might have been his name—he was sure it couldn’t be—and curled into his body. His hold tightened and something shafted through him that in another man he might call possessiveness. He stood still, relishing her warm weight for all that his knees threatened to give out under him.

Her familiar scent teased his nostrils. He still couldn’t place it, although it made him think of everything that had no place in his life. Innocence. Joy. The open beauty of the countryside. Spring flowers. Rain. As if to confirm the thought, rain dashed against the windowpane, rattling the frame.

He stared down at her, transfixed by how lovely she was. In this moment, Antonia seemed as young as Cassie Demarest and much more vulnerable. If he had any drop of pity, he’d let her go. He’d only end up destroying her.

It was too late. He wanted her and he’d have her. She wanted him too, although he couldn’t imagine her admitting that this side of Hades.

The short distance to the bed felt like miles, but strangely it never occurred to him to wake her and make her walk. Carefully he laid her upon the sheets so when the maid arrived in the morning, Antonia would be where she was supposed to be. Just for tonight, he didn’t want her suffering for his reckless invasion. He’d already caused her trouble. He didn’t miss the signs of sleeplessness and strain on her face, even in repose.

He should take her gown off. But he didn’t trust good intentions that far. She’d have to invent some excuse about dropping off half dressed.

Reluctant to release her, but knowing he must, if only because the urge to hold her was so strong, he slid his arms free. She settled upon the mattress with another of those damned arousing sighs.

He must go. The servants would be about soon. Already he’d have to take care not to alert the stable hands to his presence. And he still had to accomplish a climb in the rain with a head that ached fit to explode.

She sighed again and her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes were ice blue like the sky on a clear January morning.

He shouldn’t be shocked. From her pale, silvery hair to her white, white skin, hers was a wintry beauty. But the purity of that unaware glance cut like a knife. His hands clenched at his sides.

“Nicholas . . .” A drowsy smile cu

rved her mouth.

He knew she still drifted in slumber. But he couldn’t stop himself leaning down and whispering. “Sleep, Antonia.”

She turned her head and pressed her lips to his briefly. The sweetness pierced him to the bone. He endured the kiss without deepening it, although his gut lurched at the silent invitation.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he forced from a constricted throat. Unable to resist one last taste, he brushed his mouth over hers in a kiss hardly less innocent.

If he didn’t go now, he wouldn’t go at all. He hoped to hell he made it down the tree. After the wet night, it would be as slippery as a greased pig. If he fell on his arse, Miss Smith would still have explanations to make, however he’d tried to protect her reputation.

Slowly he straightened and cast her one last, lingering look. He wanted to imprint this Antonia on his memory, to hold against next time he saw her decked out like a damned scarecrow.

He turned and prowled toward the window.

Antonia opened her eyes to a sunny morning. She lay in her black bombazine dress on top of her bed. There was no disorientation. She remembered exactly what had happened, although details toward the end turned fuzzy. Strangest of all, she had a vague memory of Lord Ranelaw kissing her tenderly before leaving.

She must have conjured that from her imagination. Even if every other unbelievable event was real.

Groggily she sat up and pushed tangled hair away from her face. Exhaustion weighted her limbs. A cup of chocolate sat congealing on the bedside table. She’d been so deeply asleep, she hadn’t heard the maid. An unusual occurrence for Miss Smith, who usually bustled around the house well before breakfast.

A soft knock before Cassie dashed in, wearing a muslin dress the color of sunshine. “Toni, you slugabed. I’ve been up for hours.”

Antonia placed her feet on the floor and struggled to force her tired mind to function. “Good morning, Cassie.”

Antonia’s focus remained on last night. Was Ranelaw all right? She hoped the poker hadn’t done serious damage. What did he make of her this morning? She wasn’t optimistic enough to imagine he’d disregard what he’d learned. He was too clever for that, blast him.

“And you didn’t even get undressed.” A frown crossed Cassie’s pretty face. “Am I working you too hard? You never sleep in.”

Antonia started to shake her head, then decided weariness might excuse her uncharacteristic behavior. “I’m unused to so many late nights. I’m not a young sprig like you.”

Cassie gave one of her snorts. “Yes, at twenty-seven, you’re in your dotage. Are you up for the trip to Surrey?”