she’d have found a way, somehow, to make him love her.
Now, she could only feel loathing, due to his insult and humiliation.
And never would she forgive, nor forget.
Ryan sat in his favorite leather chair, feet propped on the table before him. He chewed an unlit cheroot absently as he stared into the clean-swept fireplace. A half-empty bottle of whiskey at his elbow, he’d lost track of time. What difference did it make, anyway, he moodily reflected, how long he retreated to his study? Jasmine Hill was still efficiently run by competent overseers. There wasn’t anything for him to do, except ride into Richmond for another wild, passionate night with Corrisa, or any one of a dozen other eager doxies. But he didn’t want them. What he did want, he contemplated with narrowed eyes, was Erin Sterling.
She was beautiful. Gold-dusted eyelashes brushing gently against peach-colored cheeks, her lovely ebony hair falling softly about her face. Her breasts firm, pointing. Her incredibly long and curvaceous legs. Perfect, rounded buttocks that ached to be caressed. Erin was the finest woman he had ever seen, the lushest, most appealing body he had ever held in his arms. Feeling a tightening in his loins, he knew he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. He wanted to enter her and stay there until everything in him was drained into her. He wanted her beside him through the night, every night. He wanted to kiss those pouting lips into submission, make her want him every bit as damn much as he wanted her.
He reached for the bottle, took a swig. Several drinks ago he’d stopped bothering with a glass. Now, as the afternoon sun began to move toward early evening, shadows were creeping about the room. He didn’t care, didn’t give a damn for anything right then except trying to figure out what kind of game Erin was playing. She knew, damn it, she didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of ever marrying into wealth or prominence. Her mother knew that, too, or else she’d never have been so desperate as to push her way into the Rose Ball. But it hadn’t worked, and now what else was there for her? As he saw it, she had two options: marry anybody that would have her, which meant the lower class, or live a life of luxury as someone’s mistress.
She knew that, so why had she reacted with such surprise and indignity when he’d made his offer? She sure as hell had given the impression she knew what he was after by the innuendoes she’d made. And there was no mistaking her response when he’d kissed her. It was all puzzling, and he wished he could get her off his mind, but he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there and drink and be miserable, and the truth was, he was mad because he hadn’t gone ahead and taken her then and there. It wouldn’t have been rape. He knew how to make women beg for it, but he’d never done so when they weren’t willing in the first place. And Erin had made it quite clear she wasn’t.
He wondered if he dared ride over there, walk right up to her front door, demand to see her, and then come right out and ask her why she had led him on. But the truth was, he didn’t dare. It would be misconstrued as calling on her, and her mother would jump to conclusions, and it could turn into a bigger mess than it already was. The best thing to do was forget all about those limpid brandy-colored eyes and that luscious body. Just get up, take a bath, get dressed, and ride into town and find Corrisa. At least she was eager and willing, knew what he liked. He had nearly two months free before his mother and Ermine returned from Europe, so maybe he’d just move Corrisa into the house. The servants wouldn’t dare gossip about it. Jasmine Hill was composed of nearly a thousand acres, so it wasn’t likely anyone would even know she was about. Most importantly, he knew he had to get his mind on something else. He’d probably wind up making Corrisa his mistress, anyway—a
Now, she could only feel loathing, due to his insult and humiliation.
And never would she forgive, nor forget.
Ryan sat in his favorite leather chair, feet propped on the table before him. He chewed an unlit cheroot absently as he stared into the clean-swept fireplace. A half-empty bottle of whiskey at his elbow, he’d lost track of time. What difference did it make, anyway, he moodily reflected, how long he retreated to his study? Jasmine Hill was still efficiently run by competent overseers. There wasn’t anything for him to do, except ride into Richmond for another wild, passionate night with Corrisa, or any one of a dozen other eager doxies. But he didn’t want them. What he did want, he contemplated with narrowed eyes, was Erin Sterling.
She was beautiful. Gold-dusted eyelashes brushing gently against peach-colored cheeks, her lovely ebony hair falling softly about her face. Her breasts firm, pointing. Her incredibly long and curvaceous legs. Perfect, rounded buttocks that ached to be caressed. Erin was the finest woman he had ever seen, the lushest, most appealing body he had ever held in his arms. Feeling a tightening in his loins, he knew he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. He wanted to enter her and stay there until everything in him was drained into her. He wanted her beside him through the night, every night. He wanted to kiss those pouting lips into submission, make her want him every bit as damn much as he wanted her.
He reached for the bottle, took a swig. Several drinks ago he’d stopped bothering with a glass. Now, as the afternoon sun began to move toward early evening, shadows were creeping about the room. He didn’t care, didn’t give a damn for anything right then except trying to figure out what kind of game Erin was playing. She knew, damn it, she didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of ever marrying into wealth or prominence. Her mother knew that, too, or else she’d never have been so desperate as to push her way into the Rose Ball. But it hadn’t worked, and now what else was there for her? As he saw it, she had two options: marry anybody that would have her, which meant the lower class, or live a life of luxury as someone’s mistress.
She knew that, so why had she reacted with such surprise and indignity when he’d made his offer? She sure as hell had given the impression she knew what he was after by the innuendoes she’d made. And there was no mistaking her response when he’d kissed her. It was all puzzling, and he wished he could get her off his mind, but he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there and drink and be miserable, and the truth was, he was mad because he hadn’t gone ahead and taken her then and there. It wouldn’t have been rape. He knew how to make women beg for it, but he’d never done so when they weren’t willing in the first place. And Erin had made it quite clear she wasn’t.
He wondered if he dared ride over there, walk right up to her front door, demand to see her, and then come right out and ask her why she had led him on. But the truth was, he didn’t dare. It would be misconstrued as calling on her, and her mother would jump to conclusions, and it could turn into a bigger mess than it already was. The best thing to do was forget all about those limpid brandy-colored eyes and that luscious body. Just get up, take a bath, get dressed, and ride into town and find Corrisa. At least she was eager and willing, knew what he liked. He had nearly two months free before his mother and Ermine returned from Europe, so maybe he’d just move Corrisa into the house. The servants wouldn’t dare gossip about it. Jasmine Hill was composed of nearly a thousand acres, so it wasn’t likely anyone would even know she was about. Most importantly, he knew he had to get his mind on something else. He’d probably wind up making Corrisa his mistress, anyway—a
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