Chapter 6
Meredith felt totally, frighteningly alive standing before John Forthryte, Earl of Mooreland. There was the breathtaking fact that he positively towered over her. But that was not all. She was dwarfed by the breadth of his muscled shoulders and torso. His presence was that of a man who knew women, who knew seduction, who knew the effect of a strong will.
There was no attempt at intimidation. Quite the contrary. He was inviting her into his seductive realm. The man stood a god of Greek proportion with a dangerous air. Everything about him suggested he had stepped straight from the pages of a novel.
Thought he might be a gentleman, there was nothing nice about him.
As he bent his head ever so slightly, his blond hair brushing cheekbones so sharp one might cut oneself upon them, she knew. . . He was wicked. She’d always known.
The sheer sensation of being wrapped in sin came over her as he lingered so near. Just with that one burning look, his eyes riveting, she felt the promise of blissful undoing.
She could scarce draw breath.
The sun’s last rays dipped below the rugged hills and darkness encompassed them. The only light bathing them was the ruby glow of the fire.
“I hate you,” she repeated, her voice horrifyingly breathy.
“Good,” he rasped as he oh-so-slowly reached up and carefully brushed a lock of hair from her brow.
“Then we understand each other?” she asked, defensively, trying to pull away lest she show the effect he had upon her.
Even as she spoke, she felt her skin tingle at his nearness. How was it possible? She loathed him. She despised him. Didn’t she?
And yet. . . His very presence made her heart slam against her ribs.
A strange heat pooled between her legs and she bit down on her lower lip.
A dark laugh rumbled from him again and he cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“I should kiss you,” he said.
“Why?” she demanded, fury racing through her right along with a fiery hunger.
“To inoculate you, of course.”
“What?” His words made no sense. It was tempting to shove his hand aside, but she wouldn’t be intimidated.
“To help you resist,” he explained, his touch so soft. “The more you kiss, the more you can resist.”
She rolled her eyes. “That is absolute nonsense.”
He shook his head ever so slightly. “I thought you wanted me to teach you.”
“I do.”
Slowly, he moved his hand and gently, tenderly cupped her cheek, “Well then. . .”
Without another word, he carefully tilted her head back. She knew she should protest but curiosity got the better of her. For surely, John was a master at sin. And suddenly, she wished to understand how a master might kiss. To capture how she had been so lost before so she might never be lost again.
“Do it then,” she said firmly. “Kiss me. Teach me. Teach me to resist.”
“If you insist.”
And then his mouth was on hers.
She expected to be able to easily keep herself distant. But as John seductively slid his hand to cup the nape of her neck and press the lightest kiss against her lips, she found herself fascinated.
This was not what she’d expected. She’d thought his kiss would be an assault. A full out explosion of dominant man.
Instead, this was a slow burn.
With brazen patience, he kissed her languidly, teasing her lips with his own.
It was hypnotic and she felt all her anger at him, all that emotion funnel towards the kiss. Her anger became passion and she circled her arms about his neck and then. . . She kissed him back.
The delicious, forbidden nature of it sent a shiver of hunger through her.
After a long moment, he paused and stared down at her.
There was something untamed in his gaze just then. His own chest expanded as he took in deep breaths.
“I’ll do it,” he said, his voice rough.
“Do it?” she queried, adrift on the passion created by their kiss.
“Teach you. For you are in dire need of education.”
“In kissing?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
A look of resolve hardened his face. “In resistance.”
She laughed then. “I told you. I think it is in my nature to be swept away. But I promise you this, you cannot sweep me away.”
He brushed his thumb gently over her lower lip. “What was this then?”
“This?” she asked lightly as she leaned away from him. “This was me wanting to know if you were as sinful as you seem.”
“Am I?” he asked, his gaze hot, curious.
“Oh yes.”
A ravenous sound escaped his lips.
“But John,” she said, deliberately being familiar.
“Yes?”
She met his stare, defiant. “I still hate you.”
And she did. With every ounce of her heart.
***
John stared at the coach racing off down the narrow, muddy lane. He’d insisted on sending her home in his conveyance. There was no way he was permitting her to charge off into the darkness on her own. It didn’t matter if the Highlands were far safer than the streets of London. He wouldn’t have her falling off some cliff.
He wasn’t letting anything happen to his wild wanton. For that was exactly what Meredith Trent was.
A wanton.
A creature of Venus.
And his heart, what little heart he had, bled for her. For this world was not kind to women who felt as deeply as she did. In fact, this world usually destroyed them.
But he wasn’t going to let that happen. In fact, he was going to ensure that nothing or no one ever hurt her again.
She didn't know it yet, but he was going to help her. More than she’d asked. He was going to find her happiness. A woman like Meredith deserved it. She’d risked everything for passion once and she’d paid.
He wouldn’t allow her to be put at such risk again. So, there was only one thing to be done.
He’d find her the perfect match.
As soon as possible. Cupid was a role he was most familiar with, after all.