Page 21 of So Wild A Heart

Ravenscar looked faintly surprised, as if he had not expected to say what he had—or perhaps had not realized the truth of it until this moment. He hesitated, then said, “May we talk?”

“I thought that is what we were doing.”

“No, I mean—” he guided them to the edge of the dance floor and stopped “—let’s take a stroll, get a breath of fresh air. And talk.”

“All right,” Miranda agreed. She wasn’t sure what Ravenscar was up to, or exactly why he had this sudden urge to talk. She supposed that he was working on some way to get her to accept his proposal. She would not put it past him to try some nefarious scheme to get her to marry him—such as ruining her reputation—but she was confident that she could outwit him. And she was interested in finding out what he had devised to convince—or force—her to accept his proposal.

She put her hand on his arm and walked with him around the perimeter of the room until they reached the wide double doors open onto the terrace of the spacious house. There were other people on the terrace, escaping the hot, confining air of the ballroom. Some strolled along as they did, and some stood in knots of conversation. Miranda saw more than one pair of eyes slide in their direction and away, and she glimpsed just as many hands raised to cover whispers. She felt sure that everyone was talking about them. She did not know exactly what the gossip was or how much everyone in Ravenscar’s set knew about his proposal, but it was obvious that there had been rumors flying.

Ravenscar smoothly guided Miranda away from the other occupants of the terrace and down the shallow steps onto one of the garden paths, lit by lanterns placed here and there among the trees.

“I did not want to have to marry,” he said to her. “That was why I was angry—and embarrassed. So I acted the fool.” He cast a sideways glance at her. “If I had known who you were, it would have been entirely different.”

“Indeed?” Miranda responded coolly. If the man thought that this was an adequate apology, then he had a great deal to learn.

He came to a stop, so that she had to stop, too, and turned her to him. Miranda looked up into his eyes, dark in the dim light of the garden, and suddenly her knees felt a trifle weak. Perhaps this apology was quite enough, after all. She felt a rush of sensations that had nothing to do with holding a grudge against the man.

“Why, yes. The mystery woman who came so boldly to my aid…the beautiful woman I see before me…how could I be anything but intrigued?”

“Despite being those things,” Miranda replied, “I am also still the American nobody whom your mother is forcing you to marry.”

His eyes flashed. “I am not forced by my mother to marry you. She hasn’t the power.”

Miranda turned away, hiding a smile. It was almost too easy to goad him. She had found that when others underestimated her, it was much simpler to manipulate them. It had often worked to her advantage when dealing with men who thought her incompetent simply because she was a woman. It was just as easy with these British aristocrats, who thought her unsophisticated and even dull-witted simply because she was an American.

“I am sorry. I should have said, whom you were forced to marry to keep out of—how is it you say it here?—dun territory?”

“If you wish to put it that way,” he said, irritation grating his voice. “Miss Upshaw, I am my own man. I shall marry as I choose.”

He came closer, moving around her so that he faced her again. Miranda kept her face downcast, more to hide the dance of humor in her eyes than out of any shyness. Ravenscar put his hand beneath her chin and tilted it up so that she looked up into his face.

“I rushed my fences with you,” he said, smiling faintly. “I apologize. I am not usually so cow-handed. Please accept my apologies and allow me to pay court to you.”

He reached down and took her arm in his hand, lifting it and bending to plant a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist. “Let me show you the man I can be. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

As he spoke, his lips moved in soft kisses up her arm to her elbow. The cultivated charm of his words irritated Miranda, but she could not hold back the deep rush of pleasure at the touch of his lips on her flesh. She did not know how the merest feather of a kiss on the sensitive skin of her inner arm could make her abdomen flood with heat and her skin tingle.

“My lord,” she said, embarrassed to find that her voice trembled, “this is scarcely proper. We are in the garden alone.”

“Yes, we are.” His voice was husky. His hands slid around her waist and gently pulled her closer.

“People will—”

“Damn people.” He lowered his head and kissed her.

Desire thrilled through her as it had the first time he kissed her, startling and alarming her even as she melted against him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her body into his. His body was hard and masculine, delightfully different from her own. Miranda had never felt the strength and power of a man’s body pressing into her this way; no man she knew would ever have dared to be so presumptuous. The fact that this man had no fear of her added somehow to the quiver of pure lust that darted through her. She tasted his mouth, hot and hungry, felt his heat as it rushed through his body. She trembled, her fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket, holding on to him in a suddenly unstable world.

Devin made a noise low in his throat and gathered her to him even more closely, the carefully calculated kiss turning unexpectedly into one of passion. His lips dug into hers, and she answered him with an equal enthusiasm, surprising him into an explosion of desire deep within. He had wanted to seduce her, to manipulate her into wanting him. Suddenly all he wanted was to feel her naked beneath him.

He slid his hands down her back and over her rounded buttocks, squeezing and lifting her up into him. Miranda could feel the hard length of him against her, and though she had had no experience in such things, she knew instinctively what it was, and the thought made her loins ache. Her arms went up and around his neck, and she strained against him. He groaned, his hands running wild over her back and hips.

Miranda clung to him, aware of little else except the intense pleasure coursing through her. Her breasts ached and tingled in a way she had never imagined, and her loins throbbed heavily. She wanted to wrap her legs around him and ease the emptiness growing there. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts and legs…everywhere. His body was like a furnace, his breath hot against her cheek, and the feel of it spiraled her desire.

His mouth left hers, and she almost sobbed at the loss. Then his lips were trailing like fire down the column of her throat, caressing her like velvet as he nipped gently with his teeth. His hand slid up the front of her, between their bodies, and cupped her breast, shocking and arousing her. His thumb rubbed over her nipple through the material, hardening the little bud and sending a sizzle of desire through her so intense that she groaned aloud.

It was the sound of her own voice, uncontrolled and strange to her, that shocked her out of the trance of desire in which Ravenscar had locked her. She realized with a rush of shame where they were and what she was doing. She had planned to show up the arrogant earl, and instead he had seduced her as easily as the lowest tavern wench, making her hot and panting with desire for him, eager to feel his touch, his kiss…and so much more that it made her blush just to think of it.

“No!” She pulled away from him, and, startled, he let her go. He stood watching her, his arms shockingly empty, fire coursing, unfulfilled, through his veins.