The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience

And heard herself whisper desperately, ‘No—please. No.’

He released her instantly, but he did not move away from her. She could feel the warmth of him through her thin shirt. He said quietly, ‘No to a kiss, ma belle? Or—no, I may not undress you, as I so much wish to do, and make love to you here in the sunlight?’

‘No to any of it. All of it.’ She stumbled over the words. ‘You mustn’t…I can’t…’ She added desperately, ‘Please take me home.’

There was a silence, thoughtful rather than laced with the anger she’d expected.

He stroked her cheek, then smoothed her hair back behind her ear, his thumb gently brushing the lobe. He said softly, ‘Are you a virgin, Alys?’

She stared wildly in front of her, not daring to turn her head and meet his gaze. She said huskily, ‘You have no right to ask me that.’

‘You think not? But between lovers it is a matter of some importance.’

‘We are—not lovers.’ Her tone had become a croak.

‘Not yet, perhaps. But one day—one night soon—it will happen.’ He added levelly, ‘As you know well, Alys. So do not let us pretend any longer, or play games with words. It follows that I need to know if you are truly as inexperienced as you seem.’

She still could not look at him. She spoke reluctantly, stumbling a little. ‘Then—no. I’ve had sex—before.’

‘Ah,’ he said meditatively. ‘You do not appear to recall it with pleasure.’

She bit her lip. ‘It was at a college party,’ she said at last. ‘In an empty bedroom with someone who’d never paid me much attention before. And nothing really changed, because it was awkward, uncomfortable, and thankfully over very quickly.’ She tried to smile. ‘Afterwards, I wanted to die of embarrassment. My only excuse, and I’m not proud of it, is that I’d had too much to drink.’

And I’ve never told anyone before—so why now? Oh, God, why you…?

‘What a terrible confession,’ Remy said, after a pause. He reached for the bottle and held it out to her. ‘Have some more wine.’

She gasped indignantly, turning on him, then halted. How could she have ever thought his eyes were cold? she asked herself dazedly. They were so alive and brilliant with laughter, mingled with something that might almost have been tenderness.

She mumbled, ‘It’s not funny.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not.’ He poured the rest of the wine on to the grass, and returned the empty bottle to the basket.

He said softly, ‘Let me tell you something, chérie. A man who chooses to make love to a girl when her senses are dulled with alcohol is a fool. When you come to me, Alys, I promise you will know exactly what you are doing at every moment.’

Her heart was battering her ribcage. She said thickly, ‘It will never happen.’

His brows lifted. ‘You doubt my resolve, Alys? Eh, bien…’

He reached for her almost casually, pulling her against him so that she was lying across his body. Then he bent his head, and his mouth took hers—slowly, but very surely.

She knew she should resist. The need to do so was imperative. Absolute. But she had no defence against the warm, mesmerising power of his kiss. And the complete absence of any kind of pressure was her undoing. His lips moved on hers with a tantalising gentleness wholly outside her experience. The tip of his tongue probed softly, coaxing her to open to him. To allow the caressing mouth to take her to a new and more sensuous level.

Almost imperceptibly Allie found her body relaxing against his, her breathing quickening unevenly as she yielded to the intimate exploration of the inner contours of her mouth, the delicate, provocative play of his tongue against hers.

And when at last he raised his head and looked down at her, the blue eyes grave and questioning, she breathed, ‘Remy,’ on a little sigh, and her arms went round his neck to draw him back to her again.

At once his kiss deepened, hardening into a new dimension of heated possession, and Allie responded passionately to his demands, her own mouth as eager—as seeking.

The blood seared her veins as she clung to him, her fingers gripping the strength of bone and muscles in his shoulders through the thin shirt as she tasted—breathed with desire—the erotic male scent of him.

His hand lifted to cup her breast, his thumb stroking its tender peak slowly and rhythmically, teasing it to quivering arousal until she moaned softly into his mouth, her body arching towards him.

Hunger was burning her now—melting her with the first real discovery of her own female physicality. Making her aware of the scalding rush between her thighs. Rendering her defenceless against whatever he might ask of her.

Slowly, almost lingeringly Remy took his mouth from hers, his hand from her body. Even moved back a little, pushing his hair from his face.

She looked up at him, her eyes half closed, drowsy with need as she began one by one to unfasten the buttons on her shirt. To offer herself.

Only to find his hand closing round hers, halting her.

He said huskily, his breathing ragged, ‘You taste of strawberries and wine, Alys.’ He paused, shaking his head almost dazedly. ‘But now I think—I know—that I should take you home.’

‘But I thought…’ The stumbling words were out before she could prevent them, their bewildered message unmistakable.

Oh, God, she thought, shamed to the bone. I’m pleading with him for sex when he’s already turned me down. Please—this can’t be happening to me.

Words slunk from the past to haunt her. Useless—stupid—frigid… All the taunts, the accusations, coming home to roost. Branding her for ever with their terrible truth.

Shocked blood rushed to her face as she realised, too, what she must look like, dazed with desire, her hardened nipples thrusting against the cling of her dishevelled blouse. Stunned, she scrambled away from him, clumsy in her haste. ‘Yes—yes, of course. I—I’m sorry. We should go. Tante will wonder…’

And then the words ran out on a little gasp, and she could only put her hands over her face, unable to bear the renewed humiliation of seeing the pity in his eyes when he looked at her.

Remy said something half under his breath, and his hands clamped firmly round her wrists, tugging them away.

‘You think, maybe, that I do not want you?’ The question was almost harsh. ‘But you are so wrong, Alys. I hesitate only because I do not wish you to think I am like that other man. That I ask only for the pleasure of the moment. For us, that can never be the choice, and we both know it. There must be more between us than just a meeting of bodies.’

‘Then—what?’ Somehow, Allie forced the question from trembling lips.

He sighed. ‘I think that I need you to trust me, mon ange.’

‘I do.’ Her protest was swift.

‘But not enough. Believe me.’ His tone was quiet but forceful. He cupped her face between his hands, the blue eyes intense. ‘How can you, when you hardly know me? When we hardly know each other?’ He shrugged, his smile crooked. ‘So—that must change. And I—I will have to learn patience.’

‘So will I.’ Her admission was shy. She turned her head, pressing a kiss into the warmth of his palm.

‘Ah, mon coeur.’ He took her back into his arms, holding her close for a few heart-stopping moments, releasing her with open reluctance. ‘We had better go now,’ he muttered roughly. ‘Before I am tempted beyond endurance.’

Allie’s glance through her lashes was mischievous as he helped her to her feet. ‘Isn’t that why you brought me here in the first place?’

‘Of course.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘But I am only human, Alys, and therefore allowed to hope—being no saint.’

‘I’m glad.’ She glanced round at the standing stones. ‘The local variety took a tough line with straying girls. Maybe he could have used a little humanity too.’

‘Perhaps we were right not to risk his anger?’ Remy suggested. Then, as she turned away, he halted her. ‘Wait, ma mie, I need to tidy you a little.’ She obeyed, standing demurely while Remy carefully rebuttoned her gaping shirt and brushed tell-tale fronds of dried grass from her clothes and hair.

‘But I can do nothing about your eyes, chérie, or your beautiful mouth,’ he added huskily. ‘You look entirely like a girl who has been in the arms of her lover. I only hope your great-aunt does not bar me from her house.’