“I see. A pity. But there will be other times.” He gave her a lazy smile, to let her know that he had already seen through her little charade. His voice lowered, as though sharing an intimate secret. “You are unlike so many of your gender who smile and flutter their lashes in invitation. This feigned reluctance on your part is most intriguing. I must admit, you have aroused my curiosity, as well as.other things. Now I simply must get to know you better, my lady. It is my good fortune that Lord Davis and I will be spending a great deal of time together. Perhaps, when he is paying a call, I shall accompany him.”
“Yes.” She kept her tone carefully bland. “Of course.”
In the glow of the candles he studied her more closely. “You are really quite lovely. And more than a little mysterious.” His smile grew as he reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. Her startled reaction made him chuckle. “And now that I have made your acquaintance I have already forgotten whatever objections I had to visiting this damnable land. Good night, my dear AnnaClaire. Until we meet again.”
She watched as he stepped outside and climbed to the seat of his carriage. As the image of horse and carriage disappeared into the darkness she let out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.
“So. The vain English peacock makes you sigh, does he?”
AnnaClaire whirled. Rory stepped from the shadows, wearing nothing more than the bloody breeches he had hastily slipped into. On his face was a look of absolute fury.
“What are you doing below stairs?”
“Watching you make a fool of yourself. Is this what our women have come to? Playing coy with our enemy?”
Her chin came up as she fixed him with a hateful look. “Ireland cannot lay claim to me.”
“What are you saying, woman? You’re Irish. You said your mother was Margaret Doyle.”
“Aye. And my father is Lord James Thompson.”
For a moment all he could do was stare at her. When he found his voice he said, “Your father is chief counsel to the bloody Queen of England?”
When she nodded, he shook his head in wonder. “What do you think he would say if he knew you were aiding the Blackhearted O’Neil?”
“It would break his heart. He must never know.”
“So, despite your father’s position and title, you consider yourself Irish.”
She stiffened her spine. “I am neither English nor Irish, Rory O’Neil. I answer to myself. As for playing coy, you are as mistaken as Lord Dunstan was.”
He took a step closer. “So. That was Dunstan? I’ve heard of him. All his titles bought and paid for with the blood of innocent farmers. He’ll say and do whatever it takes to please his queen, so long as she continues to repay his loyalty with more wealth and power.” He gave AnnaClaire a long, measuring look. “And your denial rings hollow, my lady. I heard with my own ears how you allowed him to speak to you.” His tone lowered with feeling. “And saw with my own eyes how you allowed him to touch you.”
The intensity of AnnaClaire’s temper surprised her. Rory’s words brought fury bubbling dangerously close to the surface. She lifted her skirts and started to flounce past him. “I’ll not stand here and argue with the likes of you, Rory O’Neil.”
“Nay. Especially since you’d lose the argument. Nor will I allow you to dismiss me like some groveling servant.” Without taking time to think he caught her roughly by the shoulder and dragged her into his arms, hauling her against his chest.
His temper had always been his undoing. And there had been plenty of time for it to grow as he’d watched the handsome stranger put his hands on AnnaClaire. As if that hadn’t been enough, the mention of her father’s name had caught him by surprise. Now fury propelled him into acting without thinking. His big rough hands closed around her upper arms, lifting her nearly off her feet as he covered her mouth in a savage kiss.
Temper met temper as their lips mated with the heat of the moment. The effect was so potent he felt as if he’d taken a blow from an enemy’s broadsword. He. reared back, lifting his head to study her as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was feeling. Even now his head was spinning, and the blood was roaring in his temples.
AnnaClaire was so startled she was frozen into momentary silence. It wasn’t only the rush of heat from his bold kiss. That would have been unsettling enough. But this man was naked to the waist, and the feel of his flesh against her palms had her thoughts scrambling, her fingertips tingling. It was one thing to touch him when he was unconscious and burning with fever. It was quite another to touch a man whose flesh rippled with muscle, and who burned with heat from a very different source.
When she’d gathered her thoughts, she pushed against him. “How dare you, Rory O’Neil! Unhand me at once.”
He thought about it. Briefly. Then just as quickly decided to ignore her protest. In that one stunning moment all the anger had drained from him. In its place was something very different. Desire curled hotly through his loins.
He felt the warmth of her breath against his cheek. Saw the way her eyes darkened with the gathering storm. Breathed in the fragrance of roses that drifted around her.
He lowered his face and claimed her mouth again. This time his hands softened, as did his lips. But though the kiss was less savage, it was no less potent. The taste of her was unlike anything he’d ever sampled. Sweet as a summer garden. As gentle as rain. Innocent. Untouched. And yet, he sensed in her a slumbering passion. A passion that excited him.
He kissed her with a thoroughness that had her heart pounding, her palms sweating as they slipped around his waist and pressed against his lower back. She wasn’t even aware that she was clutching him frantically, holding on for fear of falling.
AnnaClaire had been kissed before. There had been many a lad who had hoped to stake a claim on the daughter of the wealthy, powerful Lord Thompson. And many more, like Dunstan, who thought their title and privilege gave them the right to take liberties with the women at Court. But AnnaClaire had been equally adept at avoiding all entanglements of the heart. Until now.
The feelings being awakened by this man were unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The hands that held her were so strong they could easily break her in two. Yet their touch was so unexpectedly gentle, she couldn’t help but melt against him. His lips, so warm, so firm and practiced, moved over hers with a gentleness that did strange things to her heart, causing it to pound inside her chest until she feared he would surely hear.
Rory loved the way she became lost in the kiss. A soft sigh escaped her lips and her arms lifted, encircling his neck. He slid his hands down her arms, along her sides, until his thumbs encountered the soft swell of her breasts. When she started to pull away he moved his hands across her back, soothing, calming, while his lips continued to feast:
She was a delightful surprise. Innocent yet sultry. Both shy and bold. Despite her hesitance, there was an underlying strength of will that Rory found deeply arousing.
Desire, swift and fierce, caught him by surprise. The thought of taking her, here and now, had the blood pulsing hotly through his veins. He knew if he didn’t soon end this, he would find himself stepping over the line of reason. Still he lingered over the kiss, loving the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms.
When at last he gathered the courage to lift his head, he was rewarded by her little moan of frustration.
“Just doing your bidding, my lady.” He shot her a wicked smile. “You did tell me to unhand you.”
“I did.” The words nearly stuck in her throat. She took a step back, breaking contact. Still, the taste of him, dark, mysterious, remained on her tongue. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. She had to swallow several times before she managed to say, “And since you’re well enough to force yourself on me, Rory O’Neil, I suggest you’re well enough to take your leave of