The Scandalous Love of a Duke. Jane Lark

      “John!” she said as his hand reached out towards her again, while his other gripped her bonnet. She stepped back once more, avoiding him, but at the same time lifted her hand to claim her bonnet.

      He pulled it out of reach.

      “What did you think you were you doing?” she thrust accusingly at him.

      “Saying hello.” He laughed again, as though kissing her on a public highway was a joke.

      There was warmth in his eyes, though, which had not been there on the day of the funeral, and her heart ached to see it, no matter that she was angry. She saw a glimpse of the old John there.

      “Let me have my bonnet!”

      He lifted his arm so she would never be able to reach it, and merely smiled.

      “John! Do not be a brute!” She didn’t understand what was going on, and she lifted her hand to slap him again, but his free hand caught her wrist. “The weather has touched you in the head, John!”

      “Not the weather, Katherine.” He grinned. But then his smile slipped away and an austere look came over him.

      Her heartbeat rang like a hammer on an anvil. Did he think it was acceptable to kiss a woman like that?

      A dark light suddenly glowed at the heart of his pale eyes.

      Her hand shook as she reached out for her bonnet again. She felt sick.

      When he lifted it away once more, she said, “Let me have it, John,” feeling suddenly desperate and a little afraid of him.

      “So you can cover up that pretty face. These things are a crime. Someone ought to make a law against poke bonnets. Perhaps I shall propose it in the house – every woman’s bonnet must let a man see her face.”

      He was being ridiculous. “John!”

      “Katherine,” he mocked.

      She could not believe he was doing this. Nor that he had kissed her so crudely.

      She had done nothing but worship him for nearly a decade and he was busy ridiculing her. She hated him suddenly. “Give me back my bonnet, John, and let me go, and you are not to come near me again. I am not something for you to play with, Your Grace.” Fool. You fool, Katherine.

      His manor changed almost instantly and his hand let her arm go, as his other fell to offer her bonnet.

      “It was not an insult, Katherine,” he said as she gripped it.

      “Then you kiss every woman you see walking alone on a road, I suppose?” Of course he would not. Only the ones who were foolish enough to love him, and only the ones who had no family to protect them.

      His fingers tightened on her bonnet again, crushing it, before she could free it from his hand.

      “Not every woman, Katherine, just the ones who look at me with azure-blue eyes that say they long for it – just you, Kate.”

      She felt herself turn pink but refused to play tug of war for her bonnet and let it go again.

      “Give it to me,” she stated gruffly.

      “No, not until you admit you wished it so.”

      “No!”

      “I’ll not beg your forgiveness,” he answered in a hard pitch. “You wished for it.”

      “And you’ve grown arrogant, John Harding.”

      “Perhaps so,” he said in a low harsh voice. “But you wished for it. You did. I know.”

      “You cannot know.” There was anguish in her voice and, in answer, his eyes softened again and he held forth her bonnet once more.

      “Katherine, you held me and kissed me back, you cannot deny it.” The words were gentle but they cut into her heart. She still craved him. It was almost desperation which she felt.

      Tears rushed into her eyes. She had longed for it. But not like this.

      His pitch softened further. “Your eyes expressed desire before I even kissed you.”

      She lifted her hand to slap him again, but he caught it once more and raised his eyebrows.

      She felt ashamed. They both knew what he’d said was true. She had turned and faced him, and her heart had leapt into her throat. His attraction was fierce today. He was half undressed, unshaven and he wore no hat, and he was simply, essentially, masculine – tall, strong, agile and assertive.

      Was this what her natural mother had felt for her father, this desperation?

      Katherine had wanted to be kissed, and if that desire was to be fulfilled, how else might it be done if not like this? He would hardly choose to marry her. There was a world between them, not simply miles. If she wanted kisses from him, they would have to be kisses like this.

      She did not try to pull either her arm free, or her bonnet from his hand, she felt calm suddenly. “Give me back my bonnet, Your Grace. Please?”

      “Say that you wished for it?” There was a cold hard look back in his eyes.

      “No.”

      “Say it.”

      When she did not, his grip firmed on her arm, though it was not painful. “Say it!”

      His voice rang with determination.

      “No, John.”

      His hand suddenly left her arm and then it was back at her nape bracing her neck and holding her firm as he pulled her mouth to his.

      His kiss was a hard pressure against her lips. She had not imagined kissing to be like this. Her heart raced, and her fingers clawed into the muscle of his arms to steady herself. She felt faint and hot and liquid-boned.

      It was brief, barely an instant long, but when he pulled away his pale eyes shone like glass with triumph. “You wished for it,” he whispered over her lips. “Say it.”

      “Yes,” she answered, knowing she turned crimson as she did so. She felt the provincial idiot she was; gauche, weak and base-born.

      He said nothing, his eyes boring deep into her soul.

      What must he think of her?

      “Here,” he said, letting go of her nape and her bonnet at the same moment. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

      She felt disorientated and dizzy. She shook her bonnet, trying to get it to recover its shape, while she also tried to recall who and where she was.

      Her hands trembled as she tied the ribbons and her legs felt weak, too weak to walk home.

      She hadn’t looked at him since he’d let her take her bonnet. She looked at him now and saw questions in his eyes as he lifted his hand to take hers.

      She accepted it, to climb up into his curricle, and said nothing. He climbed up beside her once she had slid across the seat.

      Her throat was dry.

      He released the brake and flicked the reins, setting his fashionable, expensive horses into a trot.

      She hated herself.

      His gaze turned to her.

      She looked at him.

      “I’m sorry, Katherine, I should not have kissed you, no matter that you wished for it.”

      She felt like crying. Had he not even really wished to do it? Had he only done it because he’d realised he could?

      A dark humour suddenly shone in his eyes once more. “But, then again, maybe I am not really sorry.” He looked back at the road.

      “You have changed,” she answered, staring at him, not understanding him at all, and yet loving him.

      His eyes turned back