of him which was deadly serious. Desire, passion, need. He took a step closer, bringing his face only inches from hers. Cora’s breath caught in her throat, and for a long, delicious,
dreadful
moment she thought, feared – no,
hoped
, devil take it! – that he might kiss her.
Instead he took her free hand, the one not clutching the basket for dear life, and lifted it to his lips.
The pressure of his warm lips against her skin lasted only a moment, but it scorched her soul and woke a longing in her which no man had ever done before. Heat seared through her from deep in her belly, spreading, teasing and tingling in her veins until she feared she could no longer stand it. Her lips parted, and involuntarily she took a step closer.
She wanted him. Now.
Chapter Seven
The naked lust he glimpsed in her eyes slammed into Jack with the force of a river bursting a dam. He had met women intent on bedding him before, to which he had experienced merely an instinctive, tepid response from his own body.
But Miss Mardell was no saucy and skilled seductress. She was, as far as he could tell, quite the beginner in such matters, and that she should long for him in this way touched him deeply. What puzzled him was that he’d given her no reason to trust him, yet she did not run this time.
All he had to do was to reach out and do with her what he wanted. His head swam with potential scenarios, some so rude they would make even a courtesan blush, while others almost made his heart stop. His breathing became laboured, and the stirring in his groin built to an unbearable ache, straining against his breeches and begging for release.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, he lay awake and thought of the woman he would one day love, but she’d always been faceless, a shadow on the periphery of his consciousness. Now here she stood, real flesh and blood and no longer an invention, and had almost been killed in front of his eyes. His heart squeezed with fear and longing, his earlier joviality with the cabbage forgotten. He didn’t want her punished or harmed in any way, but what was to be done? Perhaps he should take her back to the inn, where they could discuss it without an audience. Or better still, force her to take him to her home so she could hand back what she had stolen.
Then he saw himself as she would: commanding her one way or the other, and he did something which surprised even himself.
Dropping her hand gently, he whispered, ‘Go!’
He didn’t have to say it twice. With an unfathomable look she turned on her heel and left, limping a little from her fall, and Jack watched her go with a singular pang in his chest. It was fitting, he thought wryly, that her birthmark – he’d noticed it earlier when he’d traced the soft curve from her eyebrow to her cheek – should be shaped as the symbol of love.
She was frightened of him, and he understood why, but he had let her go to show her that he meant her no harm, to gain her trust. Undoubtedly she would go into hiding now, but he intended to find her again – by God he would! – and when he did, he wasn’t going to let her go again.
Ever.
Rupert was on his way home when a commotion caught his attention. He told his valet, Hodges, to stay put and rode down the High Street to see what it was all about and was met by a common enough spectacle. A village girl had got herself entangled with a coach and lay on the ground in front of it with the horses threatening to bolt.
A fool of a man was trying to reach the unfortunate girl; around him people were screaming or looking horror-struck or both; dirty children were howling and wiping their runny noses on their mothers’ garments. Rupert sniffed. It was all very disagreeable.
Uninterested, he stayed on his horse and treated himself to a pinch of snuff, the finest he had been able to procure while he was in London. After all, there was nothing he could do except keep well out of the way, unless he fancied getting hurt in the process
dreadful
moment she thought, feared – no,
hoped
, devil take it! – that he might kiss her.
Instead he took her free hand, the one not clutching the basket for dear life, and lifted it to his lips.
The pressure of his warm lips against her skin lasted only a moment, but it scorched her soul and woke a longing in her which no man had ever done before. Heat seared through her from deep in her belly, spreading, teasing and tingling in her veins until she feared she could no longer stand it. Her lips parted, and involuntarily she took a step closer.
She wanted him. Now.
Chapter Seven
The naked lust he glimpsed in her eyes slammed into Jack with the force of a river bursting a dam. He had met women intent on bedding him before, to which he had experienced merely an instinctive, tepid response from his own body.
But Miss Mardell was no saucy and skilled seductress. She was, as far as he could tell, quite the beginner in such matters, and that she should long for him in this way touched him deeply. What puzzled him was that he’d given her no reason to trust him, yet she did not run this time.
All he had to do was to reach out and do with her what he wanted. His head swam with potential scenarios, some so rude they would make even a courtesan blush, while others almost made his heart stop. His breathing became laboured, and the stirring in his groin built to an unbearable ache, straining against his breeches and begging for release.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, he lay awake and thought of the woman he would one day love, but she’d always been faceless, a shadow on the periphery of his consciousness. Now here she stood, real flesh and blood and no longer an invention, and had almost been killed in front of his eyes. His heart squeezed with fear and longing, his earlier joviality with the cabbage forgotten. He didn’t want her punished or harmed in any way, but what was to be done? Perhaps he should take her back to the inn, where they could discuss it without an audience. Or better still, force her to take him to her home so she could hand back what she had stolen.
Then he saw himself as she would: commanding her one way or the other, and he did something which surprised even himself.
Dropping her hand gently, he whispered, ‘Go!’
He didn’t have to say it twice. With an unfathomable look she turned on her heel and left, limping a little from her fall, and Jack watched her go with a singular pang in his chest. It was fitting, he thought wryly, that her birthmark – he’d noticed it earlier when he’d traced the soft curve from her eyebrow to her cheek – should be shaped as the symbol of love.
She was frightened of him, and he understood why, but he had let her go to show her that he meant her no harm, to gain her trust. Undoubtedly she would go into hiding now, but he intended to find her again – by God he would! – and when he did, he wasn’t going to let her go again.
Ever.
Rupert was on his way home when a commotion caught his attention. He told his valet, Hodges, to stay put and rode down the High Street to see what it was all about and was met by a common enough spectacle. A village girl had got herself entangled with a coach and lay on the ground in front of it with the horses threatening to bolt.
A fool of a man was trying to reach the unfortunate girl; around him people were screaming or looking horror-struck or both; dirty children were howling and wiping their runny noses on their mothers’ garments. Rupert sniffed. It was all very disagreeable.
Uninterested, he stayed on his horse and treated himself to a pinch of snuff, the finest he had been able to procure while he was in London. After all, there was nothing he could do except keep well out of the way, unless he fancied getting hurt in the process
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