Page 9 of His Wicked Secret
It doesn’t matter how well he kisses, only that he’s a terrible rogue. He doesn’t care about me, and I will not be his plaything.
But would it be so bad to enjoy the moment? She liked that hint of anger she tasted in his kiss because she felt it too, that rage inside her because he didn’t belong to her. There was nothing so cruel in the world as being deprived of something a person longed for. For her that one thing had been him. It still was…him.
He shifted on the seat, and the cat hissed and moved away from them, giving Jonathan room to lift her onto his lap. He wound an arm around her waist, holding her closer, and his hand tangled in her hair, tugging on the strands. She felt like she was owned by him, but not just owned—the one thing he couldn’t breathe without. Yet whenever he let her go, as she knew he soon would, that icy barrier would return. She couldn’t bear it. A lingering taste of blood on his lips broke through her pleasure and reminded her that this wasn’t a fantasy.
“Stop!” She pushed him away and slid off his lap. Almost instantly, she missed the heat of his body and the tender ravishing of her lips. They felt swollen and wonderfully soft. She hadn’t even noticed his split lip. Jonathan watched her through sphinxlike eyes.
“Take me home,” she said.
He crossed his arms. “No.”
She stared at him, stunned. “What?”
“No. You are coming home with me.”
“Are you ready to face the wrath of my brother in the morning when he sees you return me like this?” She waved at her ripped gown and mussed appearance.
“I know full well that your brother isn’t at home. He and Anne left last evening to spend the night at Godric’s estate. They won’t be back for a few days. That gives me plenty of time.”
“Time for what?” she challenged with an acidic tone.
“To see you taken care of properly for once.” He settled back in the seat beside her and closed his eyes as though to sleep. It would be impossible; the roads were full of potholes, and the hackney kept jerking and rocking. Yet he didn’t move, didn’t stir.
Audrey almost needled him with another barb, but she hadn’t forgotten how he’d winced when he’d touched his ribs. He needed rest. She moved back to the seat he’d recently vacated. She and the cat looked at each other before she frowned at Jonathan’s sleeping form.
She was tempted to fling herself from the carriage, but she was not stupid. She would wait until they reached their destination and then offer to pay the driver to return her home at once, no matter the price.
She flung herself back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest. The cat, finally relaxing it seemed, moved to rub against her hip, purring. The feline pawed at her elbow and she gave in, scratching his ears at his insistence.
“He is a terrible man, isn’t he?” she whispered to the cat.A terrible man whom I can’t stop thinking about.
3
This had better work.Jonathan opened his eyes as the coach came to a stop in front of his townhouse on Half Moon Street. Every muscle ached, and he wanted nothing more than to drink a bottle of scotch and collapse into his bed. But he had his future wife—God willing—to deal with first. He left the coach before her, ignoring her scowl. Then he waited patiently, holding out his hand to help her exit the coach, but she didn’t budge.
“Audrey…”
“I am not getting out. You may tell the driver to take me home.” Her haughty reply would have made him chuckle at any other time, but tonight he was too bloody tired for her games.
“You are going to make me carry you, aren’t you?”
“You will do no such thing. I’m going home.” He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the pout in her tone.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he leaned into the coach and grabbed her by the waist. She was such a delicate, curvy creature; he had no trouble lifting her out, despite her furious protests.
“Put me down at once!”
“I will do no such thing.” He carried her toward his townhouse, ignoring the stabbing pains in his chest. He definitely broke a rib or two in that fight.
“Wait! Archimedes!” she cried out.
“What?”
“The cat!”
Jonathan turned, but to his surprise he didn’t have to worry about carrying the cat. It had leapt out of the coach and was waiting beside them on the steps, grooming one paw vigorously.
“He is here. The bloody thing has more sense than you do. Now stop that thrashing.” He set her down but kept a firm hold on her other arm. He was not about to let her rush back to the hackney. He opened the door to his house and guided her inside. The cat followed them into the foyer.
