To Catch an Heiress
“Oh, for the love of—” He bit his lip, presumably to keep himself from cursing in her presence.
Not, Caroline thought caustically, that that had ever stopped him before.
“You must know,” he said, “that I did not mean that literally.”
“It still hurt my feelings.”
He stared at her intently. “I will allow that that wasn't the nicest comment I have ever made, and I do apologize for it, but I know you well enough to know that that alone wouldn't make you cry.”
“I wasn't crying,” she said, quite automatically.
“Almost cry,” he corrected, “and I would like you to tell me the full story.”
“Oh very well. Percy used to call me pestilence and plague all the time. It was his very favorite insult.”
“You mentioned that. And I will take that as yet another sign that I spoke stupidly.”
She swallowed and looked away. “I never put any stock into his words. It was Percy, after all, and he is a dozen different kinds of fool. But then you said it, and—”
Blake closed his eyes for a long second, knowing what was coming next and dreading it.
A slightly choked sound emerged from Caroline's throat before she said, “And then I thought it might possibly be true.”
“Caroline, I—”
“Because you're not a fool, and I know that even better than I knew Percy was one.”
“Caroline,” he said firmly, “I am a fool. A bloody, stupid fool for referring to you with anything but the highest of praise.”
“You needn't lie to make me feel better.”
He scowled at her. Or rather, at the top of her head, since she was looking at her feet. “I told you I never lie.”
She looked up suspiciously. “You told me you rarely lie.”
“I lie when the security of Great Britain is at stake, not your feelings.”
“I'm not certain if that is an insult or not.”
“It is definitely not an insult, Caroline. And why would you think I was lying?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You were less than cordial to me last evening.”
“Last evening I bloody well wanted to strangle you,” he admitted. “You put your life in danger for no good reason.”
“I thought saving your life was a rather good reason myself,” she shot back.
“I don't want to argue about that right now. Do you accept my apology?”
“For what?”
He raised a brow. “Is that meant to imply that I have more than one transgression for which I must apologize?”
“Mr. Ravenscroft, I cannot count high enough…”
He grinned. “Now I know you've forgiven me, if you're making jokes.”
This time she raised a brow, and he noted that she managed to look every bit as arrogant as he did. She said, “And what makes you think that was a joke?” But then she laughed, which quite broke the effect.
“I am forgiven?”
She nodded. “Percy never apologized.”
“Percy is clearly an idiot.”
She smiled then—a small, wistful smile that very nearly melted his heart. “Caroline,” he said, barely recognizing his voice.
“Yes?”
“Oh, hell.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in the most feathery light of kisses. It wasn't that he wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. He needed it the way he needed air, and water, and the afternoon sunshine on his face. The kiss was almost spiritual; his entire body trembled just from the barest touch of their lips.
“Oh, Blake,” she sighed, sounding as bewildered as he felt.
“Caroline,” he murmured, trailing his lips along the elegant line of her neck. “I don't know why…I don't understand it, but—”
“I don't care,” she said, sounding quite determined for one whose breathing had gone way past erratic. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with artless abandon.
The warm press of her body against his was more than Blake could bear, and he swept her into his arms and carried her through the upstairs hall to his room. He kicked the door shut, and they tumbled onto the bed, his body covering hers with a possessiveness he'd never dreamed he could feel again.
“I want you,” he murmured. “I want you now, in every way.” Her soft heat beckoned him, and his fingers flew along the buttons of her frock, slipping them through their buttonholes with ease and haste.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
But she just shook her head. “I don't know. I don't know what I want.”
“Yes,” he said, pushing her dress down to bare one silky shoulder, “you do.”
Instantly, her eyes flew to his face. “You know I've never—”
He put a gentle finger to her lips. “I know. But it doesn't matter. You still know what feels right.”
“Blake, I—”
“Hush.” He closed her lips with a searing kiss, then opened them again with a hot flick of his tongue. “For example,” he said against her mouth, “do you want more of this?”
She didn't move for a moment, and then he felt her lips move up and down as she nodded.
“Then you shall have it.” He kissed her fiercely, savoring the subtle minty taste of her.
She moaned beneath him, and tentatively placed her hand on his cheek. “Do you like that?” she asked shyly.
He growled as he tore off his cravat. “You may touch me anywhere. You may kiss me anywhere. I burn just for the sight of you. Can you imagine what your touch does?”