She flinched when his lips met hers, rousing Charles’ anger to new heights.
What was the woman doing proposing marriage if she could not even bear the thought of kissing him? Leaving go of her hands, he grasped her by the nape of the neck, holding her still, while he demonstrated his inalienable right, as her betrothed, to kiss her as thoroughly as he pleased!
Charles had taken her completely by surprise. She didn’t know what to do. No man had ever kissed her before. Du Mauriac had tried, once or twice, but she had been expecting it from him, and had always managed to take evasive action.
But she didn’t want to evade Charles, she discovered after only a fleeting moment of shock. What she really wanted, she acknowledged, relaxing into his hold, was to put her arms about him and kiss him back. If only she knew how!
Well, she might not know anything about kissing, but there was nothing to stop her from putting her arms about his neck. Uttering a little whimper of pleasure, she raised shaky hands from her lap and tentatively reached out for him.
‘My God,’ he panted, breaking free. ‘I never meant to do that!’
Leaping to his feet, he strode to the very far side of the room. Hearing her little cry of protest, feeling her hands fluttering against his chest in an attempt to push him away, had brought him to his senses.
‘I can only offer my sincere apologies,’ he ground out between clenched teeth. He could not think what had come over him. What kind of blackguard chose that particular way to silence a woman?
He had accepted intellectually that one day he would have to get his heirs by Heloise. But judging from her shocked recoil it had been the furthest thing from her mind.
The fierce surge of desire that even now was having a visible effect on his anatomy was an unexpected bonus. When the time was right, he was going to enjoy teaching his wife all there was to know about loving.
Until then he must exercise great restraint. He would have to get her used to the idea of him before broaching the subject of heirs. He already knew how shy she was, and had realised she would need to feel she could rely on him. How could she do that if she was worried he was going to pounce on her at any moment?
‘You need not fear that I shall importune you in that way again,’ he grated, his back still turned to her while he desperately fought to regain mastery over his unruly body.
Heloise pressed her hand to her bruised lips, her heart sinking as swiftly as it had soared when he had seized and kissed her so excitingly. Why had he done it if he was now adamant he would not be doing it again? Had it only been some sort of experiment? To see if he could stomach touching her as a man should want to touch his wife? If so, it was evident he regretted giving in to the impulse.
It was a while before he could bear to so much as turn round and look at her! But at least it gave her the time to wipe away the few tears that she had been unable to prevent from trickling down her cheeks. For she would never let him see how humiliated his rejection made her feel. If he did not wish to kiss her, then she would not beg for his kisses. Never!
She got to her feet, determination stiffening her carriage. She would never let him suspect—not by one lingering look, one plaintive sigh—that she…She faltered, her hand flying to her breast.
No, this was too appalling! She could not be in love with him. She must not be in love with him. She was certain she had not lied when she had denied being in love with him that morning. Her feelings could not have changed so swiftly during the course of one day. Just because he had strolled into the drawing room and swept all her problems away with his marvellously insouciant declaration of intent to marry her. Not because she had felt a momentary rapport with him while they had gently teased each other during their carriage ride.
And yet she could not deny that since her maman had broached the subject of his infidelity she had been eaten up by jealousy.
No, that was not love! It was wounded pride that made her eyes smart so. It had to be.
Her abstracted air, coupled with the Earl’s barely tamped down lust, created quite a stir when they entered the theatre arm in arm.
As soon as they were seated, Charles tore off a corner of the programme and wedged it under her ring. ‘That should hold it in place for now.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, keeping her face averted. It was stupid to feel resentful because he was being so practical about everything. She sighed.
‘Mademoiselle,’ he murmured, ‘I am about to put my arm along the back of your chair, and I do not want you to flinch when I do it.’
A shiver slid all the way down her spine to her toes at the warmth of his arm behind her shoulders. With him so close, every breath she took filled her nostrils with his clean, spicy scent. Though his arm was not quite touching her, she remembered the strength of it, holding her captive while he ravaged her mouth. She felt weak, and flustered, and utterly feminine.
‘I promise I shall not do anything you will not like. Only I must sometimes seem to be…how shall I put it?…lover-like when we appear in public. I shall not go beyond the bounds of what is proper, I assure you.’
No, she reflected with annoyance. For he’d found kissing her such an unpleasant experience he had vowed never to do it again! This show of being ‘lover-like’, as he put it, was as much of a performance as what was going on upon the stage. But then, she reflected bleakly, she had known from the outset that all he wanted from her was the means to salvage his pride.
‘Y…you may do what you like,’ she conceded, feeling utterly wretched. ‘I understand how important this show is to you.’ Turning towards him, so that their faces were only a few scant inches apart, she declared, ‘It was for this reason that you agreed to marry me, was it not? So that nobody would suspect you had been hurt. I think the worst thing you could endure is to have someone mock you.’ Raising one hand, she laid it against his cheek. ‘I trust you,’ she said, resolving that, come what may, she would never be sorry to have given him this one source of consolation. ‘However you decide to behave tonight, I will go along with it.’
Charles found it hard not to display his hurt. Go along with it, indeed! She could not conceal how nervous he made her. She was drawing on every ounce of courage she possessed to conceal her disquiet at his proximity. She had shuddered when he put his arm round her, tensed up when he had whispered in her ear.
Was it possible, he wondered, his heart skipping a beat, that she found him as repellent as Du Mauriac?
Regarding her nervously averted eyes, he refused to entertain that notion. She had come to him, after all. He had not put any pressure on her. She was just shy, that was all. He doubted many men had so much as flirted with her, let alone kissed her. She was as innocent as her sister had been experienced.
His expression bland, he murmured, ‘We should take advantage of our relative privacy to organise the practical details of our wedding, don’t you think?’
The sooner he secured her, the sooner he could stop worrying that she might run away.
By the end of the first act, by dint of keeping their heads close together and keeping their voices low, they had managed to agree upon a simple civic wedding. Conningsby, upon whose discretion he relied, would serve as his witness, and her parents would support Heloise. It would take next to no time to arrange it.
They had also managed to create the very impression Charles had sought. The audience, agog with curiosity, spent as much time training their opera glasses upon the unchaperoned young couple who appeared so intent on each other as they did upon the stage.
Heloise ordered a lemon ice once they finally managed to secure a table at Tortoni’s. But she did not appear to be enjoying it much. She was still ill at ease in his company. The truth was that much of the behaviour upon which she had to judge him might well have given her a false impression of his character.
He shuddered,