Page 29 of Dare it all for Love

“Or… I’ll scream, and then everyone will see, and you’ll be forced to marry me. Now there’s a fate worse than death,” she added, with extra sarcasm just to be certain his brandy-soaked brain understood she was mocking him.

“Needs avoiding at all costs,” he agreed, sounding quite amicable now as he strode downstairs.

Wait. Downstairs?

“Where are you taking me, you great oaf? I know men regress when they’ve been drinking, but there’s no need to return to your caveman origins. I value my hair and do not wish to be pulled about by it.”

His shoulder shook beneath her belly, and it took her a moment to realise he was laughing.

“Oh! I hate you. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. I plead temporary insanity, for I must have been out of my idiotic mind. No woman in their right mind would see you as husband material. You’re a pig-headed, irritating, stubborn, insufferable cretin and I wish I’d never met you!”

“Sticks and stones, Miss Knight,” he returned, sounding far too pleased with himself.

With some anxiety, Florence realised they had reached the entrance hall and Henry was making for the front door. She tugged at his coat, which was awkward to do while upside down.

Cool air drifted about her bare ankles, and she became rivetingly aware of the fact she was naked beneath her nightgown and Henry’s hand was resting on her calf to keep her steady as he strode… towards the lake.

“Henry, drat you. You’ve made your point. Put me down, will you?” she pleaded.

“What point is that?”

Florence frowned. She’d hoped if she seemed to agree with him, whatever bee he’d got into his bonnet would buzz off. Apparently not, for she had not the slightest idea what he was doing. She sighed, bouncing as he walked. Really, it was a most undignified mode of transportation and not to be recommended.

“Oh, I don’t know!” she wailed. “That you want me. That you don’t want me. That you want me to want you, but not want me in return. That you want me but don’t want to, or don’t want to marry me, at least. Who knows? I don’t know. Does anybody know? I wish they’d tell me. I wish you’d tell me. I fervently, truly wish I did know but I don’t, so why don’t you tell me?”

“Very well,” he said, and she heard the brandy in his voice, the unmistakable thread of excitement and amusement fired by alcohol. She wondered which of them would regret this most in the morning. “I’ll tell you. You provoke me, Miss Knight. You are the most provoking female it has ever been my misfortune to come across. If it isn’t bad enough tripping over you whenever I turn my blasted head, you’re laying traps for me, lying in wait for me, provoking me on purpose.”

Well, she supposed she could hardly deny it. “And what do you hope to achieve by… by whatever this is?”

“To make myself feel better,” he said, before he dumped her unceremoniously in the lake.

To be fair, it was only a few feet deep, but the shock of the cold water, and that he’d done it at all, made Florence reel backwards in shock. Henry grabbed for her but too late and she fell backwards, submerged beneath the icy lake for a moment before strong hands grasped hold of her and hauled her out again. She came up, spluttering and gasping.

Henry’s expression was a combination of regret and a man trying very hard not to laugh. She gave him a hard shove, and he stumbled back a pace.

Florence pushed her dripping hair from her face and glared at him.

“F-Feel better now?” she demanded, teeth chattering.

But his expression had changed dramatically, all the laughter gone from his eyes. He was very still, except for the way his chest rose and fell, somewhat quicker than before. Florence frowned, not understanding for a moment why he was staring at her so intently. Heat surged through her like a tide, welcome after her dip in the frigid lake, and the inevitable result of realising Henry was staring at her as if he wanted to eat her in one bite. Her nightgown, a dreadfully expensive and fine cotton, was clinging to her body. Florence glanced down and realised it was transparent.

A proper young lady would probably have fainted, or at the very least tried to cover herself up. Mind you, a gentleman might have offered her his coat. Neither of them seemed to be making much effort at proper behaviour of late.

Henry swallowed. She saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, saw the way his fists clenched and knew he was fighting the same battle he’d waged in the shepherd’s hut. He’d wanted her badly then. He wanted her badly now. That time he’d won.

She took a step towards him slowly, as if she were approaching a wild animal, though she was uncertain if he meant to bolt or pounce on her. From the savage look in his eyes it could go either way.

“Don’t,” he warned her, giving the slightest shake of his head. “I’ve been drinking, Florence. I…. Don’t.”

“Why not?” she demanded, realising the question was full of pleading. She was breathing hard and desire was thrumming beneath her skin, chasing away the chill of the lake.

“Not like this,” he managed, the words seeming to cause him pain. “Christ, Florence, go. Please.”

“Why should I? Why should I run away? I don’t want to. I want this. I want you.”

There, she’d said it as explicitly as she could. Not that he could have been in any doubt.

Henry closed his eyes and let out a low moan. “God, you’re determined to send me to the devil.”