The Playboy Prince by Nora Roberts

must beg your pardon.” Knowing it would be more insult than courtesy, she dipped into a curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me now, sir, I’d like to speak with Eve.”
    He held her another moment. Hannah could feel his fury sear through his fingertips and burn her flesh. Then, in an instant, there was ice. “I won’t keep you. Enjoy the evening.”
    “Thank you.”
    Despising herself, Hannah moved into the crowd. The lights were so brilliant, she told herself. That was why her eyes hurt.
    “Lady Hannah, good evening.” Reeve stepped beside her and took her arm. “Would you care for some wine?”
    “Yes, thank you.” Falling into step beside him, she accepted the glass he held out.
    “Have you seen this collection of mirrors? I’ve always found these three particularly impressive. Are you all right?” he added in an undertone.
    “Yes, they are lovely. I’m fine.”
    He cupped his hand around the end of a cigarette, glancing around casually to be certain no one was within earshot. “It looked as though you were having some trouble with Bennett.”
    “He’s persistent.” She sipped her wine, amazed that her nerves had yet to calm. “Surely this is eighteenth-century.”
    “Hannah.” He pointed out another glass as they walked, but his voice softened. “I worked with your father when I first got my feet wet with the ISS. That makes me feel almost like family. Are you all right?”
    “I will be.” She drew a deep breath and smiled as if he’d said something amusing. “I caused him pain just now. I didn’t enjoy it.”
    Reeve brushed a hand over hers in the most casual of gestures. The touch was as reassuring as a hug. “It’s rare to get through an assignment without hurting someone.”
    “Yes, I know—the end justifies the means. Don’t worry, I’ll do my job.”
    “I wasn’t worried.”
    “It would help a great deal if you’d see that Bennett was kept busy over the next week or so. Things should be coming to a head and I don’t need him . . .”
    “Distracting you?”
    “Interfering,” Hannah corrected. She glanced in one of the mirrors and saw him across the room with Chantel. “Though I may very well have taken care of that myself. Excuse me.”
    *   *   *
    He drove the horse hard, but still didn’t find the level of release he’d been seeking. Swearing, Bennett plunged down the winding path, but neither joy nor excitement rode with him. Fury left little room.
    He ached for her. He damned her to the devil and still ached for her. In the days that had passed since she’d turned him aside, the wanting hadn’t eased. Now it was coated with self-derision and anger, but it hadn’t eased.
    He told himself she was a cold, insensitive prude with no generosity or heart. He saw her as she had been on the beach, with a shell in her hand, her eyes rich with laughter as the wind pulled pins from her hair.
    He told himself she was hard as stone and just as unfeeling. Then he remembered how soft, how sweet her lips had been when his own had tasted them.
    So he cursed her and rode harder.
    The skies threatened rain, but he ignored them. It was the first time in days he’d been able to get away from obligations long enough to take Dracula out for more than cursory exercise. The wind whistled in off the sea and set waves dancing high.
    He wanted the storm. By God, he wanted the wind and the rain and the thunder.
    He wanted Hannah.
    Imbécile!
Only a fool wanted a woman when there was nothing returned. Only a madman thought of ways to have what had already been denied. He’d told himself all this before, but still he caught himself dreaming of ways he could gather her up and take her somewhere until he found the right way to show her. . . . Show her what? Bennett asked himself. Show her that it was different with her?
    What woman would believe it?
    Dozens, he thought, and his own laughter echoed bitterly behind him. He could certainly attest to that. But now when it was true, when it