He dragged his mouth from hers. His breathing was ragged. "I
'
m not forcing you,
"
he said.
Annabelle smiled. She thought it would be easier to part the Red Sea as deflect the man from his purpose. "No, you
'
re not forcing me,
"
she murmured.
He kissed her again.
He grew impatient with the restriction of their clothes. He pulled her up to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt before her, slowly, sensually, peeling the silk stockings from her legs, then removing her gown, her stays, and her chemise. When she was bared to his eyes, she felt suddenly shy, and even more shy when he stripped off his own clothes. No man had ever seen her naked before. Nor had she ever seen a naked man. She did not know where to look, and she veiled her gaze with her lashes. "David, the candles,
"
she whispered.
There was no response. She chanced a look at him. He was totally absorbed, his eyes slowly traversing her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Without thinking, she shook her hair forward like a curtain shielding her body.
"Not this time,
"
he told her, and brushed her hair back. "That one time I had you, in the Palais Royal—it always
seemed like a dream. I
remember so little. This time I
won
'
t be cheated of anything. And neither will you.
"
Slowly he straightened. "Annabelle, sweetheart, don
'
t turn your head away. Look at me. I
'
m only a man. Don
'
t be afraid.
"
She looked her fill, and little tremors began to shake deep inside her. He might be only a man, but he was a formidable animal. So much strength and power in that hard, masculine body! She felt the tiniest flame of fear, something primal and entirely feminine in nature. He was the male animal, dominant and infinitely more powerful than she.
"No,
"
he groaned, and came down beside her, covering her protectively. "I
'
m harmless, I swear it! You
'
re the one who
'
s in control. You
'
re the one with all the power. I won
'
t take a thing you
'
re not willing to give.
"
She touched him, shyly, boldly, and desire shimmered through her. She
'
d never felt more of a woman in her life. With mouth open, she drew his head down, and claimed him with her kiss, playing his game, tongues mating, surging, receding. She laughed deep in her throat. It was easy to love him. Almost as easy as it had been in the Palais Royal when he
'
d been dazed and sedated with laudanum. How curious that she should think that he would be more man than she could manage. He was a perfect dear, tender, gentling her of her fears. She loved the way he cradled her in his arms; loved the whisper of his breath at her throat, her eyes, her temples; loved the way he made her feel like the most precious, fragile porcelain. Recklessly, with more abandon, she lavished him with affectionate, grateful kisses, and all unknowingly, tested the limits of his self-control.
She heard the hiss of his breath, and suddenly his hands were everywhere at once. He shifted, and his tongue followed the path of his hands, playing at the pulse in her throat, the hollow of her shoulder, slowly, excruciatingly bathing the heavy, swollen buds of her nipples before his lips closed over them, teasing, wooing and then devouring.
"David… I…
"
He didn
'
t give her time to think. His hand brought her leg up. He cupped her, stroked her, and probed gently through the delicate folds of her femininity to her secret core. He felt her
body shudder, heard her moan. When she arched against his fingers, he stopped trying to control his breathing.
"Yes, love, like this,
"
he coaxed. "I
'
ve thought of you so many times like this. Wild and sweet for me. And wet with wanting me.
"
"David, I can
'
t think when…"
He eased his fingers deeper, nudging her legs further apart. Her sweet woman-scent drove him to breaking point. He heard the change in her breathing, the involuntary whispers that stole from her lips, and he grunted his satisfaction. He
'
d never wanted anything so much in his life. Not her woman
'
s body, but her response to him. Unfettered. Uncontrolled. Her female to his male.
Abruptly he scooped her up till their positions were reversed. He grasped her shoulders to keep her from falling. Her eyes were all pupil, dark and unfocused, her gloriously dark hair cascading like a waterfall about them both. Her hands clamped around his arms to steady herself.
He saw everything he wanted to see; everything he hoped for; things she would try to conceal from him in her saner moments. She was such a joy to him, this innocent, vulnerable, fiery virago who had to be always in control. There was no sign of that control now. In his arms, she turned wanton. He wondered if she would forgive him for it in the morning.
He hadn
'
t meant to take her again before their wedding night. For weeks he
'
d endured the bite of his ardor; stifled it, mastered it. The prize had been too precious to jeopardize by taking unnecessary risks. Everything had changed the moment she had tried to give him back his ring. He was angry with himself. And more angry with her. He felt shaken. Honor meant nothing to him when he thought of the emptiness she meant to consign him to. Once, he thought he might survive without her. But that was months ago. He couldn
'
t live with her on her terms. But he wouldn
'
t give her up without trying every trick he knew. He was doing it as much for her as he was for himself. It was the truth. It was a lie.
He began to murmur all sorts of loverlike endearments. He meant every word. She was like sunshine to his dark soul, he told her as his lips skimmed fleetingly over her face. She
was
sweet, so unbelievably sweet, and soft and feminine. He claimed those things for himself and dared her, on pain of death or worse, to reveal them to any other male.
Incredibly, she answered him in kind, returning kiss for kiss, touch for touch. He thought his heart would burst with happiness.
He eased her astride his thighs. Her openness and vulnerability to him was more intoxicating than the sweetest wine. A frantic hunger to possess her tore through him. Roughly, urgently, he covered her shoulders and breasts with
kisses, and she flung her head b
ack. His fingers found her, delved, and began a rhythmic stroking. She brought her head down to his shoulder to muffle her cry.
Panting, she gasped, "David
…
please, I
'
m not myself.
"
"You
'
re more yourself than you know. Passionate, giving, my woman, Annabelle.
"
Deliberately, fiercely, he murmured dark, sensual words in her ear. He sensed the moment her crisis was upon her even before he felt her hands clutching convulsively at his shoulders.
He surged into her, taking her cries into his mouth, cupping her buttocks, compelling her to his rhythm. Again and again he filled her with himself, spilling his seed deep in her body. He heard her sigh as she stilled, and again he thrust deeply, emptying himself.
With heart clamoring, he held her to him for long moments, savoring her closeness. Tenderly, reverently, he unwrapped the silken tendrils of hair from his neck and arms and laid her on the mattress, half covering her with his body. He pulled the coverlet over her shoulders. They dozed in each other
'
s arms.
Annabelle sighed. Languidly, like a lazy kitten, she stretched. Wide-eyed, she turned her head to look at her lover. "Are you all right?
"
she asked softly.
Dalmar raised on one elbow and reached out to smooth back the tangle of her hair. In the aftermath of love, she didn
'
t look a bit like the Annabelle Jocelyn who terrorized the ton and ruled Bailey
'
s with an iron fist. My woman, he thought again, and smiled slowly. They would have a wonderful life together. Nothing could convince him otherwise. "Why shouldn
'
t I be all right?
"
he asked.
Her lashes lowered though she returned his smile. "It
'
s not important,
"
she said.
He raised himself farther. "What
'
s not important?
"
She pulled herself to a sitting position. Uncertainly she stamme
red, "I said things… look…
I just want you to know I
'
m sorry about what happened tonight and what I said. All right?
"
Impatience started to build in him. "Are you saying that
'
s why you came with me tonight without a murmur? That you felt you owed me something?
"
She could not understand why he was being so difficult. "I wanted to make it up to you,
"
she temporized. "And talk to you. You were so
…
"
Her voice tapered off. "I wanted to come with you,
"
she said simply.
His eyes searched her face. "And am I forgiven for becoming your partner at Bailey
'
s, uninvited?
"
"Oh no,
"
she said, serious for all the playfulness in her manner. "I may have played the good Samaritan for you tonight, but when it comes to business, you
'
ll discover that I
'
m a veritable shark. Be warned, Dalmar! In spite of your consequence, in my world you
'
re just a little fish. And I eat little fishes for breakfast.
"
He swore under his breath. She had given him his title and not his name. He was inclined to take that carelessly spoken "Dalmar
"
and blister her backside with it. Instead, he seized upon the more telling slip of her tongue. "Good Samaritan? Is that what you thought you were? And I suppose that would make me the object of your charity?
"
Wordlessly she stared at him. She shook her head.
His hands reached for her and wrapped themselves in her hair. He pulled her face down till her lips were only inches from his. "As I remember, the Good Samaritan was generous to a fault. Correct me if I
'
m wrong.
"
She swallowed. "Very generous,
"
she whispered.
"Show me,
"
he commanded.
She discovered that his need was like a bottomless pit.
He learned that her generosity was like an everlasting fountain. He slaked his thirst but could not get enough. He wanted to drown in her.
Chapter Thirteen
A
nnabelle did not break her engagement to the Earl. Though she had some misgivings about how she would manage such a strong-willed gentleman after their nuptials, she did not dwell on them. Her waking thoughts were filled with the vivid memories of the hours they had spent in the little house in Kensington. She remembered the texture of his hair and skin under her fingers; she thought of his whispered endearments as he had kissed every naked inch of her; and most of all she recalled the look in his eyes as they had blazed from tenderness to passion. Even the memories made her heart begin a rapid beat. She could not wait to repeat the experience and had no notion now of holding herself from her lover for the six or seven weeks that remained till they could be married by her father in York. In short, at thirty years old, Annabelle was a woman newly awakened to passion and, like a child offered carte blanche in a sweetshop, she was impatient to sample all of its delights.
Having admitted as much to herself, she waited for the first pangs of conscience to strike. Nothing happened. She delved a little deeper. Though she discovered her conscience to be as lively as ever it was in most matters, on the subject of Dalmar it was surprisingly (and thankfully) mute. She delved no further.
With Dalmar it was otherwise. His conscience scourged him. He
'
d taken Annabelle first in the Palais Royal when he had assumed she was fair game. There had been some excuse for his misconduct then. In the weeks since he had been
courting her, however, it had been borne in upon him that in spite of her worldly airs and previous marriage, Annabelle was as unfledged and untried as a newly hatched nestling. And he had played on that inexperience, awakening her dormant sensuality with stolen kisses, bold caresses, and words that would have brought a blush to the cheeks of a hardened rake, till he had her panting for their marriage bed. He
'
d done it deliberately, exploiting the one hold he knew he had over her. Annabelle was attracted to him. He courted that attraction, fed it, fanned it, and counted on it to overcome any and every objection to the estate of matrimony his misguided lady might entertain. He
'
d never meant to go so far as to anticipate their wedding night.
Yet he
'
d seduced her. Worse he
'
d taken her in a house and on a bed where other females, not fit to touch the hem of Annabelle
'
s gown, had played out their carnal lusts for monetary gain. Annabelle deserved so much better than that sordid little house in Kensington.
But he
'
d been helpless to stop himself once she had spoken the fatal words that would sever their relationship. Hurt, fury, desperation, and a host of other emotions had made him their victim. He
'
d felt compelled to reestablish his hold over her in a thoroughly primitive and masculine fashion. Lust had nothing to do with it. He had wanted to dominate her, impose his will on her, force her to submit to his claims. Nothing short of total and unconditional surrender was acceptable in that moment when she had tested him to his limits.
In his saner moments, he could scarcely recognize himself in the man who had used her so unscrupulously. His own frightful background where a brutish father had wreaked his will on his defenseless family had shaped him to a different course. He was sure that no woman before Annabelle could claim that he had ever been wanting in consideration. By and large, he treated the softer sex with chivalry. Only Annabelle brought out the worst in him as well as the best.
With respect to their business relationship, he felt on a firmer footing. Annabelle had laid down the rules and it suited his purpose to make her play by them. He did not imagine for a minute that he would have everything his own way. But on
some things, he was determined not to give ground.
In such a frame of mind, he entered Bailey
'
s to meet with his betrothed for the first time since the night of his ball. Though outwardly he was the epitome of self-confidence, inwardly he felt as nervous as a thoroughbred. He did not know how he should answer Annabelle if she met him with a litany of reproaches for what he had done to her.
He found her at her desk. She looked up at his entrance. Her eyes were soft and dreamy, her smile shy; a faint blush lay across her cheekbones. Dalmar almost groaned his frustration. He could take her anytime. That much was obvious. Silently he cursed the fates for the gross injustice of making the woman he desired above all others available to him when he had made up his mind to play the gentleman. Hardening his resolve, he adopted a brusque air.
Annabelle noted the strangely sober expression, the offhand tone, the impersonal greeting, and gradually her smile died. She
'
d heard often enough that gentlemen despised foolish women who yielded themselves too readily to their advances, but logic had always rejected that myth as pure fiction. By her reckoning, it was the woman they had wronged who had the right to complain of it.
In quick succession, hurt, bewilderment, and mortification unfurled in her breast. Pride soon held sway. It made her a little reckless. By the time she had responded to the Earl
'
s greeting, she had reverted to her habitual worldly pose.
She poured two cups of tea and held one out to Dalmar. "Now that we have dispensed with the amenities,
"
she said pleasantly, "tell me, what brings you to Bailey
'
s?
"
She had a good idea what it was, and wanted only the opportunity to put the man in his place.
"You mean, apart from the fact that I
'
m half owner and can walk in here anytime I choose?
"
She inclined her head in acknowledgment of the mild reproof and kept her tongue firmly between her teeth.
"For a start, it would be more professional, when we are at Bailey
'
s, if you would address me as Lord Dalmar, Mrs. Jocelyn.
"
He wanted everything that happened between them in the business arena to be completely divorced from their
private lives. He would not permit Annabelle to transfer, outside the walls of Bailey
'
s, the anger and frustration he was sure he was about to provoke.
Annabelle lifted her head a notch. "As you wish, Lord Dalmar,
"
she said, looking down the length of her intimidating nose.
"Furthermore, let me remind you of your promise not to confuse our professional and private lives. They
'
re quite separate, Annabelle, and I
'
m going to hold you to that.
"
"Mrs. Jocelyn,
"
she corrected.
"I beg your pardon?
"
"It
'
s more professional if you address me as Mrs. Jocelyn.
"
"Oh. Quite.
"
There was an awkward pause. It seemed to Annabelle that the Earl was gathering himself for something.
"About Monique Dupres
'
s diaries…
"
"Yes?
"
purred Annabelle.
"I
'
ve been giving the matter some serious thought
…
"
"What I think,
"
said Annabelle with relish, bestowing on the Earl a smile which he highly distrusted, "is that the covers should be in purple calfskin and tooled in gold leaf at each corner with the crests of the great houses represented by her lovers—nothing below a marquess, of course—Beaufort, Anglesey, Wellington
…
"
"As you very well know,
"
he cut in, "I
'
m here for one purpose only—to take those damned diaries away from you.
"
She bit back a furious retort and said with assumed calm, "I
'
m afraid I can
'
t allow you to do that.
"
His eyes bored into hers. "If you know what
'
s good for you, you will.
"
"Threats, Lord Dalmar?
"
she asked, and studiously went through the motions of drinking her tea.
"Be a good girl and just get the diaries for me.
"
Annabelle matched that patronizing to
ne exactly when she replied, "Y
ou
'
ve been laboring under a misapprehension, Lord Dalmar. The diaries don
'
t belong to Bailey
'
s. They
'
re private property.
"
"What?
"
He sat bolt upright.
She savored her moment of triumph. "They
'
re mine, Dalmar, paid for by my own money!
"
"I don
'
t believe it!
"
But even as he said the words, he remembered that the bank draft found among Monique Dupres
'
s belongings in the Palais Royal had borne the signature of Mrs. Annabelle Jocelyn. "What about patents, and so on? Doesn
'
t Bailey
'
s have the rights to publish the damned things?
"
"Now that was very remiss of me,
"
she said, smiling with cloying sweetness. "There was no rush that I could see. It was left in abeyance. Of course, the moment I discovered I had a new partner, I rushed down to the Patent Office and registered the copyright. It
'
s perfectly legal. I, Mrs. Annabelle Jocelyn, have the rights to publish the
damned
things if and when I want.
"
The gloves were off. Both sat like statues glaring at one
another.
"Annabelle, I
'
m warning you, I shall not permit you to publish them. I
'
m a full partner here, and I say that Bailey
'
s won
'
t touch them with a barge pole.
"
She made a show of examining her manicure. "There are plenty of jobbing printers who will be glad of the work.
"
"No!
"
he roared. "I absolutely forbid it!
"
"Anyone would think,
"
she said, "that you had something to hide. You
'
re not mentioned in them. What do you care?
"
He gave a start and looked at her queerly for a moment. But his expression soon hardened, and Annabelle wondered if she had imagined the look.
Reasonably, patiently, he explained, "You
'
ll make powerful enemies. There could be lawsuits. I
'
ve told you all this before.
"
"Yes,
"
she said consideringly, "but that
'
s not why you want to get your hands on the diaries.
"
His brows shot up. "What other reason could there be?
"
"I don
'
t know yet. But I mean to find out.
"
He was on his feet, looming over her like a huge bird of prey. "You
'
re talking nonsense. Understand this, Annabelle. One way or another, I
'
m going to get those diaries. You think you are onto every trick. My dear, you
'
re just a greenhorn pitting yourself against a seasoned campaigner. Give it up now and save us both a spot of bother.
"
"I
'
d be obliged if you would address me as Mrs. Jocelyn when we
'
re at Bailey
'
s,
"
she said calmly.
"You won
'
t like my methods,
"
he warned her.
"Tell me something I don
'
t know,
"
she needled.
"You
'
re asking to have your backside blistered!
"
he shouted.
"Lord Dalmar, that doesn
'
t sound very professional,
"
she pointed out, smiling gleefully at this show of temper.
"No. But I make no doubt it would give me a great deal of satisfaction.
"
He saw at once that Annabelle
'
s humor was intractable, and the subject of the diaries dropped. For the next hour, Dalmar shot a barrage of questions at Annabelle. She could not help but admit that in the preceding weeks he had made himself thoroughly (though covertly) familiar with every operation at Bailey
'
s. He won a reluctant admiration from her which she did not deign to articulate.