Page 43 of The Society Catch
There was a sound, abruptly cut off from further down the stable range. He raised his head, suddenly alert.
‘Giles!’
Joanna wondered hazily how much longer she could struggle, and even if there was any point. Some instinct told her that Rufus was kissing her more out of frustration and anger thandesire or even lust. She had spurned him, rejected him and his normally cold and calculating collector’s instinct had turned to thwarted fury. If she stopped resisting he would probably let her go. But every nerve in her body refused to submit to him or to let him think, even for a moment, that he could subdue her.
The violence with which he was wrenched from her sent her staggering against the wall. Dazedly she stared at the figure that appeared to fill the doorway. A figure out of some Norse legend, a tall, hard-muscled, half-naked warrior, the light gleaming off wet shoulders, his face and chest in shadow.
Rufus twisted in the man’s grip on his collar then managed to fight his way out of his long coat to stand, fists raised defensively in front of him. There was nowhere else to go, his assailant seemed to block out the light. The man made no move to raise his own hands or to ward off any attack. There was contempt in the lack of care he took to watch his opponent as he shifted his attention to search the shadows until he could see her flattened against the brick wall.
Giles.She spread her hands against the rough surface to stay upright. She was not going to let herself collapse in front of him.
‘How dare you!’ Joanna felt a slight flicker of admiration for Rufus that he could summon up speech in the face of this elemental force. ‘How dare you lay a hand on your betters, you clod. I’ll have you dismissed.’
‘Be quiet. You will apologise to this lady.’ The deep, quiet voice neither promised nor threatened. But Joanna saw Rufus take a step back.
‘Who are you? I thought you were a groom.’
‘I told you to be quiet.’ Joanna could hear the anger beating under Giles’s unnaturally calm voice. ‘Now, apologise.’
‘I’ll be damned if I do,’ Rufus blustered. ‘She led me on, the little hussy. Lures me in here then screams the place down when I try and snatch a harmless kiss.’
The punch was so hard and so fast that Rufus did not even appear to see it coming. It lifted him off his feet and sent him across the box to land sprawled over a hay bale. As he lay there gasping Giles hauled him to his feet by his collar and spun him round to face Joanna.
‘Apologise or I will fetch a horse whip to you.’
‘I’m sorry Joanna…’ He broke off gasping as Giles’s twisted his grip tighter. ‘Miss Fulgrave. I misunderstood. I will not trouble you again.’
She closed her eyes and heard the sounds of Rufus being summarily propelled out of the box and across the yard. Footsteps came back, into the loose box, slowed, halted. Her eyes remained closed, all her concentration seemed to be taken by the friction of her fingertips on the rough brick.
‘Joanna?’ Giles seemed to be very close. She could feel the warmth of him in the cool, dim room. What did she look like? Her fingers crept to the torn neck of her gown, then up to her swollen lips. What must he think of her, struggling in the stables with a man? Would he think her a flirt who went too far? Or worse, the hussy Rufus had called her?
The pain in her fingertips was suddenly worse. She was slipping down, the darkness behind her closed lids was full of lights and she was caught up, pressed hard against a chest that was bare and puzzlingly, wet.
Joanna pressed her cheek against the flat planes, sharply aware through the dizziness of the crisp kiss of hair, the surprising softness of male skin over hard muscle. She turned her face a little and the touch of hair on her sensitised lips forced a gasp from her throat.
The movement stopped. Joanna forced herself to open her eyes a little and discovered that Giles had sat down on a hay bale and had her cradled on his lap facing the doorway so the light fell on her face. He was studying it with painful intensity, his eyesalmost black with the emotion she had seen in them before.
‘I am sorry, Giles.’
‘Youare sorry?’ His brows drew together sharply.
‘I was not expecting him. I did not realise how foolish it was not to leave the yard immediately. Mama must have told him I was here. That is why she sent me all those new clothes, I expect,’ she finished, her voice trailing away. ‘I do not think he would have…forced me. I made him angry by rejecting him.’ The expression of sudden fury on his face made her gasp.
‘Never,never, apologise for this. Nothing you could have done justifies the way he behaved to you. Nothing.’
He tightened his arms around her and she flinched as he unwittingly touched the places where Rufus had gripped her.
‘Let me see.’ Shakily Joanna stretched out her arms. Already the bruises were darkening on her inner arm. Giles tightened his embrace and pulled her gently against him, cradling her so that he did not touch the marks, rocking her gently until the pain of his accidental grip ebbed.
Joanna let her body mould to his, reaching around his body as far as she could until her palms were flat on his back, her breasts crushed against his chest. Her head seemed to fit exactly into the angle of his neck so that against her mouth she could feel the hard pulse beat in his neck. Through the thin muslin of her gown, dampened by his wet skin, she could feel the tantalising tickle of chest hair.
Her body, roused into fear by Rufus, changed insidiously until it was desire, not fear that sent the blood tingling through her veins, started the deep, mysterious, intimate ache inside her. She wanted to arch into his body, twist in his grasp until she could press her lips to his, fall back onto the soft hay with his hard weight on her.
Her fingers flexed and spread, sensing the matt satin of skin under their pads, exploring the lines of muscle, the hardstrength held in check. He was so taut under her palms, so still except for the slow, controlled rhythm of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart and a scarcely discernible vibration which seemed to resonate through her like a note of an organ when it has reached the point beyond hearing.
‘Giles,’ she murmured against his throat, not knowing whether it was a question or a simple word of thanks. ‘Giles.’
Chapter Twenty One
