himself deep within her she had urged him on. Given herself completely…
She leapt from her bed to fling open the window to cool her cheeks, despite the threat of drizzle. What would he think of her this morning? It filled her with dread that he should despise her for her lack of discretion. No better than one of the whores who plied their trade, with nomore than an enquiring smile, a turn of a shoulder and a show of an ankle, along the quay at Hastings.
She had been no better than they.
She had been much worse! Marie-Claude closed her eyes on the image of Zan stripping her lace gown from her shoulders whilst her blood ran hot and sure for him.
As the rain dampened her skin, her first thought was to pack her clothes and make a run for London. She deserved every degree of shame. But she could not flee. When Zan had coaxed and lured, had he not said that she was brave, courageous?
But if that were so, fleeing in ignominy was not a choice she could make. There was only one thing she could do. Since he would not come to her, not in broad daylight, she must go to Ellerdine Manor, as she had once before, to see if…well, to see if he rejected her with a contemptuous curl of his lip. She flinched in horror as she recalled the intimacies those lips had taken.
And then at the end—something had occurred between them. Without doubt when he had stepped away from her, dressed her, there had been an unexpected coolness in his actions, in his manner.
Without further thought, Marie-Claude had a horse saddled and set off to face icy condemnation at best, outright rejection at worst. She would face him because she must.
And because she wanted to see him.
He was not at home. His taciturn housekeeper thought he might not be home until evening. Heavy with disappointment, Marie-Claude turned away. She might as well go home before the heavens opened and she was drenched to the skin.
Zan bent his head against the gusting wind and pushed his mare on into a smart trot, in no manner dissatisfied with his morning’s work. A vital business meeting, to consolidate his agreement with Rackham and Captain D’Acre, gang master of the Fly-By-Nights. He had had no choice. It would have been too dangerous at this juncture to send an excuse and cry off. But all had gone according to plan.
Except that he now appeared in imminent danger of being caught in a storm.
Of her own volition, the mare broke into a canter as her stable beckoned and Zan did not steady her. Not until, approaching from the opposite direction, he saw Marie-Claude. A swirl of wind brought a rattle of raindrops against his back. In a second he was beside her, gripping her reins.
‘Come with me.’
‘I can’t.’ Eyes dark with distress, she tugged on the leather against his damp hands. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’
‘Yes, you should.’
‘I thought…I wasn’t sure that you would want to see me again.’
‘Marie-Claude…’ A hand to her chin made her look at him. ‘I want to see you. I want nothing more.’ A quickly snatched kiss as the drops grew heavier. ‘You’ll catch your death out here in this.’
‘I should go home.’
‘No.’ His grip tightened. ‘I’ll not allow it, so don’t bother to argue.’
They ran before the approaching storm, the exhilaration of it soaking into their blood. When her gelding stumbled, Zan threw out a hand to grasp her arm, and felt the same surge of energy in her that stirred him.
‘I’m safe,’ she gasped, the wind snatching at her words.
‘And I’ll keep you so.’ His eyes were wild, his expression unrestrained.
Swinging down from his mare, Zan plucked her off her horse and pushed her in the direction of the house, then slapped the rumps of the two animals to send them to the stables. No time to lose.
They were in the entrance hall, the door slammed shut against the elements.
Marie-Claude turned to him, a fever in her blood. ‘Last night. I should never—’
He closed her mouth with his. ‘You
She leapt from her bed to fling open the window to cool her cheeks, despite the threat of drizzle. What would he think of her this morning? It filled her with dread that he should despise her for her lack of discretion. No better than one of the whores who plied their trade, with nomore than an enquiring smile, a turn of a shoulder and a show of an ankle, along the quay at Hastings.
She had been no better than they.
She had been much worse! Marie-Claude closed her eyes on the image of Zan stripping her lace gown from her shoulders whilst her blood ran hot and sure for him.
As the rain dampened her skin, her first thought was to pack her clothes and make a run for London. She deserved every degree of shame. But she could not flee. When Zan had coaxed and lured, had he not said that she was brave, courageous?
But if that were so, fleeing in ignominy was not a choice she could make. There was only one thing she could do. Since he would not come to her, not in broad daylight, she must go to Ellerdine Manor, as she had once before, to see if…well, to see if he rejected her with a contemptuous curl of his lip. She flinched in horror as she recalled the intimacies those lips had taken.
And then at the end—something had occurred between them. Without doubt when he had stepped away from her, dressed her, there had been an unexpected coolness in his actions, in his manner.
Without further thought, Marie-Claude had a horse saddled and set off to face icy condemnation at best, outright rejection at worst. She would face him because she must.
And because she wanted to see him.
He was not at home. His taciturn housekeeper thought he might not be home until evening. Heavy with disappointment, Marie-Claude turned away. She might as well go home before the heavens opened and she was drenched to the skin.
Zan bent his head against the gusting wind and pushed his mare on into a smart trot, in no manner dissatisfied with his morning’s work. A vital business meeting, to consolidate his agreement with Rackham and Captain D’Acre, gang master of the Fly-By-Nights. He had had no choice. It would have been too dangerous at this juncture to send an excuse and cry off. But all had gone according to plan.
Except that he now appeared in imminent danger of being caught in a storm.
Of her own volition, the mare broke into a canter as her stable beckoned and Zan did not steady her. Not until, approaching from the opposite direction, he saw Marie-Claude. A swirl of wind brought a rattle of raindrops against his back. In a second he was beside her, gripping her reins.
‘Come with me.’
‘I can’t.’ Eyes dark with distress, she tugged on the leather against his damp hands. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’
‘Yes, you should.’
‘I thought…I wasn’t sure that you would want to see me again.’
‘Marie-Claude…’ A hand to her chin made her look at him. ‘I want to see you. I want nothing more.’ A quickly snatched kiss as the drops grew heavier. ‘You’ll catch your death out here in this.’
‘I should go home.’
‘No.’ His grip tightened. ‘I’ll not allow it, so don’t bother to argue.’
They ran before the approaching storm, the exhilaration of it soaking into their blood. When her gelding stumbled, Zan threw out a hand to grasp her arm, and felt the same surge of energy in her that stirred him.
‘I’m safe,’ she gasped, the wind snatching at her words.
‘And I’ll keep you so.’ His eyes were wild, his expression unrestrained.
Swinging down from his mare, Zan plucked her off her horse and pushed her in the direction of the house, then slapped the rumps of the two animals to send them to the stables. No time to lose.
They were in the entrance hall, the door slammed shut against the elements.
Marie-Claude turned to him, a fever in her blood. ‘Last night. I should never—’
He closed her mouth with his. ‘You
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