Page 18 of A Perilous Passion

Rafe couldn’t decide if he echoed that sentiment, or wished she’d been sent to the Colonies as a babe.

The rain had eased. He could probably get back to Dovehouse Farm without drowning. He should leave. He was no longer learning anything useful. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He eased back from the window, crouching low, and slipped around the side of the house, grateful for the overgrown laurels that gave him cover. He’d just vaulted the gate and landed softly in the lane when he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening behind him.

Blast it! He mustn’t be caught spying, especially if it was Miss Allston’s mother at the door. Quickening his pace, he turned up his collar and prayed to go unnoticed.

Because if he needed to apply any further pressure on Miss Allston’s family, it was highly likely she would be hurt by his actions.

Which was something he really didn’t want to happen.

Chapter Eight

As Charlotte waved her friends good-bye, she spotted a man in a long oilskin coat hurrying away down the lane.

Surely, she recognized that form, that confident stride?

Beckport!

She needed to catch him. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. He hadn’t told her everything last night, and she meant to find out what he’d omitted.

Seizing an umbrella from the old Delft vase beside the door, she picked her way over the puddles in the flagstone path and sped off in pursuit of the swiftly retreating figure. However, her much shorter stride couldn’t match his, so she called out, “My lord! Wait!”

He spun round, and before she had time to react, he had her securely in his grasp, and half pushed, half carried her behind a thick laurel bush growing amidst a hawthorn hedge. “Never call me that!”

Buried deep within its thick foliage, they were hidden from prying eyes, the only clue to their presence the umbrella she’d dropped in the lane, lying there like a collapsed crow. There was so little room behind the laurel, she found herself pinned in place, with Rafe’s legs pinioning hers, his hands pressed against the prickly hawthorn hedge on either side of her head.

Despite her shock at his dramatic reaction to her call, she couldn’t stop staring at the way the rain plastered his shirt against the superb musculature beneath his unbuttoned coat. His long hair was flattened against his head and hung in dripping tendrils over his brow. Raindrops glittered amongst his lashes.

Her heart leaped to life in delicious anticipation.

Of what, she couldn’t begin to guess.

Their mouths were very close. He hadn’t said a word, but there was something in his eyes that filled her with wild imaginings, and made her knees go limp.

What had happened to the sangfroid she’d mustered last night? Could she devise no clever speech, no disarming put-down? Not even a complaint at having been manhandled behind a laurel bush?

What was wrong with her?

His eyes darkened. What was wrong with him?

As if claiming a fundamental right, he bent his head and kissed her.

His face was cold and wet against her cheek, but his mouth was warm, and his tongue—which soon found entrance to her mouth—was so hot it seared her soul. There was no escape as he pressed his kiss deeper. Not that she wanted to escape.

His hands slid down to grasp her shoulders and his body angled forward, molding itself against her. Her thin muslin gown glued itself to her breasts as the rain soaked from his clothes into hers, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was the sweet sensation uncurling deep in her belly that his kiss awakened. What mattered was the ache in her fingers that made her want to touch him, to smooth the damp cloth over his muscled chest and explore the masculine flesh beneath.

Sweet heavenly bliss.

Justin had never kissed her like this. With such single-minded intensity. He’d teased and stroked and tentatively experimented but always stopped short of taking what she was too shy to offer.

Beckport, however, knew exactly what he was about—exactly what he wanted to take…and what she wanted to give.

Suddenly, he pulled away from her, his chest heaving, and shook his head.

“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely. “I—I needed to make sure you wouldn’t call after me again, or cry out.”