Helen Dickson - The Property of a Gentleman

‘I—I must go back,’ she said, thrown into sudden panic, biting her lip nervously and keeping her face averted from his. She wanted to escape, to run away, and yet, at the same time, she could not move. ‘My friends will be wondering what has become of me.’

Marcus reached out and placed his fingers under her chin and turned it round to face him.

‘Look at me.’

She glanced up at him, breathing rapidly from between parted lips so moist, so soft, her wonderful liquid eyes wide and luminous, her small breasts thrusting against the bodice of her dress. She was the perfect picture of alluring innocence, but Marcus was not to be deceived. To a lustful man those magnificent eyes were proving to be far too alluring and inviting.

‘You know it’s wrong to be alone with me—that no decent young lady would dream of taking a walk with a total stranger. What makes you think you are safe?’

Eve flushed, her glorious violet eyes mist bright, knowing that now was the time she should tell him who she was, that she had never intended things to go this far, but somehow she couldn’t. She found his presence vaguely threatening and just hoped he would allow her to leave and return to the others, and in so doing forget all about her. But his eyes had taken on a whole new look, one she neither recognised nor understood, one which seemed to scorch her with the intensity of his passion, making her wonder if she was strong enough to withstand him. They burned into her, stopping all motion.

‘Clearly I am not one of the decent, well-bred young ladies you are acquainted with,’ she said, her voice quavering. ‘You already know by my forward behaviour when I asked you to dance that my knowledge of protocol is negligible. I—I assumed that because of who you are—your elevated position— I would be safe. This has all been a terrible mistake,’ she said lamely, alarm bells beginning to scream through her head. ‘I—I must return to my friends. I should never have come. I—I don’t know why I did.’

Eve watched in wary alarm as Marcus moved closer, driven by an uncontrollable compulsion to possess her, her behaviour from the very start telling him that the last thing she wanted was to return to her friends just yet. ‘Don’t you? You’re here with me because you want to be. You want what I want. Don’t deny it because I will not believe you—and don’t be too eager to run away back to your friends.’

Marcus should have seen the panic in her eyes, heard the slight catch in her voice, but all he could think of was her lips and how soft and inviting they looked. Sweeping the tangle of her hair from her face, he took it firmly in both his hands and lowered his head, feeling an explosion of passion the moment he touched her. His mouth clamped down on hers, snatching her breath from between her lips before she could protest, feeling the blood pounding through his veins with the scorching heat of desire.

Eve was too stunned to do anything except let him kiss her, but when he did not feel her respond he raised his head and frowned, puzzled, slipping his hands about her waist and pulling her close, their bodies touching full length.

‘I want no chaste kiss, lady,’ he said, his voice low and husky. ‘I think you know how to do better than that.’

His hand slipped behind her neck as again he lowered his head, and with tantalising slowness he caressed her lips with his own before kissing her deeply, surprising, but not shocking her. Naïve and inexperienced, she acted purely on instinct, responding naturally to his tender assault on her lips—and it was not just her lips that began to open and respond, but her whole body as they clung to each other, becoming caught up in a wave of pleasure.

Eve was seduced by his mouth, becoming captive to his touch, his caress and the promise of things to come, secret, mysterious things that set her body trembling. She didn’t know what was happening to her. No one had told her what happened when men and women were intimate together. An inexperienced girl could not have imagined such a kiss. She had never been kissed by a man in her life, and to be kissed like this for the first time was devastating. The feelings he aroused in her, with his lips, his touch, his eyes, were irrational, nameless. But she was not so overcome with passion to know that what she was doing was wrong, very wrong, and she must put an end to it.

‘Please—you must let me go,’ she whispered, her lips against his. ‘You must not do this.’

Marcus seemed not to hear her plea and continued to seek her lips, his inquisitive fingers caressing the soft swell of her breasts. She pushed her hands against his chest and stood back, breathless, gazing up at him in helpless appeal, while wanting what he had to offer with a physical intensity which was like no other need she had ever known or imagined.

‘Please—this is not right—we shouldn’t. If anyone should find out that I’ve been alone with you—the—the proprieties—the conventions…’

Jolted back to his senses, Marcus stared at her. ‘What the devil are you talking about? Why should rules of social etiquette affect you—a doxy?’

Eve’s cheeks burned at the insult. ‘How dare you! I am no doxy.’

‘You gave a pretty good imitation of one.’

‘I am not,’ she flared, trying to still the wild beating of her heart.

‘Then who the devil are you?’

For a brief second Eve considered telling a small lie but thought better of it, knowing she would be found out—besides, she did not tell lies, preferring to tell the truth no matter what the situation. She turned as if to walk away but fury and dread at what she might tell him made him reach out and pull her round to face him. She tried to shrink away, but he held her firmly.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded coldly.

Taking a deep breath, Eve met his gaze squarely, all coquetry gone as her spirit rose to grapple with this unpleasant turn of events. The air between them had become tense and charged with an entirely new kind of emotion.

‘I—I am Eve Somerville,’ she whispered, forcing herself to look directly into his eyes. ‘Sir John Somerville’s daughter.’

Marcus stared down at her as though he had been felled. His jawline tightened, his eyes became steady and glacial, his face going as white as his neck cloth. ‘Dear Lord! What folly is this? Is this true? Are you Eve Somerville?’

She nodded dumbly, lowering her gaze, flinching before the exasperation in his voice and the cold glitter in his ice blue eyes. Never had she felt such humiliation.

‘Look at me,’ he demanded.

Unwillingly Eve raised her head and met his eyes, defiance and perturbation on her face. He glared down at her, embracing her in a look that was ice cold.

‘I never thought to meet Sir John’s daughter in a mad escapade of this kind—but it seems I was wrong. Have you no sense?’ he said, thrusting his face close to hers, the line of his mouth cruel. His hands shot out and clamped down hard on her shoulders and he shook her so forcefully that she thought her head would come off. ‘Can’t you see that it was the height of dangerous folly to embark on such a madcap scheme as this?’ he admonished severely.

‘It was a mistake,’ she said desperately, wishing he would release his vicious hold on her.

‘A mistake of your doing. The responsibility for your being here is your own. What made you seek me out?’ he demanded. ‘Come—don’t keep me in suspense.’ He fumed with growing impatience, thrusting her away from him and raking his hand in sheer frustration through his hair. ‘Why did you not tell me who you were?’

Full of shame and mortification Eve wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Never had she felt so wretched. He watched her with a deadly calm.