Part 15 (1/2)

He grasped her shoulders. ”A pretty fellow, am I? Take a fit, will you? I'll show you a fit.”

Before she could exhale, he clamped one hand on the back of her neck, pulled her head back, and brought his mouth down upon hers.

It was her fault, Dorian told himself. She should not have looked at him in that bone-melting way. She should not have stood so near and caught him in her scent, rich and heady as opium to his starved senses. She should have run, instead of staying so close and snaring him in awareness of the fine, porcelain purity of her skin.

He could not help yearning for that purity and softness, and then he could not keep from reaching for her.

He clamped his needy mouth upon her soft, trembling one, and the clean, sweet taste of her made him s.h.i.+ver-in pleasure or despair, he couldn't tell. For all he knew the chill was the emptiness inside him, ever-present, impossible to fill.

He should have stopped then, for his sanity's sake, if nothing else. He knew it was hopeless. This innocent could never sate him. No woman, no matter how experienced and skilled, had ever done it.

But her lips were so soft, warming and yielding to the pressure of his. He had to draw her nearer, seeking the warmth of her young body while he savored the untutored surrender of her innocent mouth.

He pressed her close, greedy for her warmth and softness. He pressed her to his famished body while he deepened the kiss, seeking desperately, as always, for more.

He felt her shudder, but he couldn't stop-not yet. He couldn't keep his tongue from searching the mysteries of her mouth...feminine secrets, promising everything.

Lured by scent and taste and touch, he slipped into the darkness. He stroked over her back, heard silk whisper under his fingers, and felt her s.h.i.+ft under his touch. Then he was truly lost because she moved into his caress as though she'd done it many times before, as though she belonged in his arms, had always belonged.

Warmth...softness...sinuous curves under whispering silk, melting against him...woman-scent, enveloping him...and her skin...

He trailed his lips over her satiny cheek, and she sighed. The soft sound ignited the too-quick inner fuse of desire. His fingers found a fastening...

”If you're trying to scare me off,” came her foggy voice, her breath tickling his ear, ”you're going about it all wrong.”

His hands stilled.

He raised his head and looked at her. Her eyes opened, and slowly her hazy green gaze sharpened into focus. His own haze instantly dissipated under that penetrating study.

”I was taking a lunatic fit,” he said, aware that his thick tones told another story. He wrenched his gaze from the mesmerizing trap of hers and drew back.

Curling red tendrils had escaped their pins to tumble wildly about her flushed face and neck. Her gown was twisted askew.

He stepped back and looked at his hands, afraid to think where they'd been and what he might have done to an innocent, l.u.s.ting oaf that he was.

”What is wrong with you?” he demanded. ”Why didn't you make me stop? Do you have any idea what I might have done?”

She tugged her gown back into place. ”I have a very good idea,” she said. ”I am familiar with the mechanics of human reproduction, as I told Mama. But she felt it was her maternal duty to explain it herself.”

She smoothed her bodice. ”I must say, she did point out a few subtleties I was unaware of. And Genevieve, as you would expect, enlightened me further. It turned out to be not quite as simple as I thought.” She pushed a few pins back into her hair. ”Which is not to say I haven't experienced considerable enlightenment under your tutelage, my lord,” she added quickly. ”It is one thing to be told about intimate kisses. Experiencing them is another matter altogether. What are you staring at?” She looked down at herself. ”Have I missed something? Is anything undone?” She turned, presenting, her slim back. ”Do I need fastening?”

”No.” Thank G.o.d, he added silently.

She turned back and smiled.

Her mouth was overwide. He had noticed that before...and felt and tasted every luscious atom of it.

He could not remember seeing her smile before. If he had, he would not have forgotten, for it was a long, sweet curve that coiled about him like an enchantment.

He did not know how to resist its warm promise. He did not know how to fight her and himself simultaneously. He did not know how to drive her away, as he must, when she made him want so desperately to hold her.

It seemed he did not know how to do anything.

The doc.u.ment he'd been asked to sign, the reasons they'd given him for signing, had made him face what he'd tried to ignore. He'd come, intending to scare her off for her own safety-and his peace of mind. Yet he, once capable of making hardened wh.o.r.es tremble, could not stir the smallest anxiety in her, any more than he could rouse his feeble conscience.

Once capable.

Past tense.

Before the headaches. Before the disease had begun its insidious work.

The answer came then, chilling him: the tenuous link between will and action, mind and body, was breaking down already. He was healthy and strong, she'd claimed, but that was only outwardly. His degenerating mind was already sapping his will.

He turned away, lest she read his despair in his countenance. He would master it. He needed but a moment. It had caught him unawares, that was all.

”Rawnsley.”

He felt her hand upon his sleeve.

He wanted to shake it off, but he couldn't, any more than he could shake off his awareness of her. The taste of her lingered in his mouth, and her drugging scent wafted about him. He recalled the soft look in her beautiful eyes and the smile...warm promises. And he was cold, chilled to his soul.

And too selfish, too weak, he thought with bitter resignation, to let her go.

He brought his hand up and covered hers. ”I do not want to go back into that curst library and listen to their solemn speeches and read their b.l.o.o.d.y doc.u.ments,” he said levelly. ”I signed the settlements. You'll get your hospital. That is enough. I want to be wed. Now.”

She sqeezed his arm. ”I'm ready,” she said. ”I've been ready for hours.”

He looked down at her. She smiled up at him.

Warm promises.

He drew her arm through his and led her back to the house. It wanted all his will not to run. The sun was setting, evening closing in with its blessed darkness. Soon, this night, they'd be wed. Soon, they would go up to his room, to the bed. And then...G.o.d help them both.

He took her through the door and hurried her down the hall. He saw the library door standing open, the light streaming into the gloomy corridor.

He turned to speak to her-then he caught it, faint but unmistakable, at the periphery of his vision.

Tiny zigzags of light.

He blinked, but they would not wash away. They hovered, sparkling evilly, at the edges of his vision.

He shut his eyes, but he saw them still, winking their deadly warning.

He opened his eyes and they were there, inescapable, inexorable.

No, not yet. Not so soon. He tried to brush them away, though he knew it was futile.