Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

drew her against a broad, hard chest. ‘Get off me. How dare you?’ she objected furiously, struggling against him. His face was so close that she had no difficulty defining every detail, and the lazy smile awoke disturbing memories. ‘Let me go. Must I remind you of my virtue—and that you are almost a married man?’

      ‘A fact that weighs more heavily on your mind than it does on mine, Angel,’ he murmured, chuckling softly. ‘Damn it all, your virtue is the greatest stumbling block I have ever encountered. Were you not my uncle’s ward, I would have demolished it long since.’

      ‘Please let me go, Alex,’ she whispered, overcome with an irrational fear, primitive and instinctive. Never had he looked so tall, so powerful, so coldly frightening as he did at that moment. She saw the burning light in his eyes, and deep within her she felt the answering stirring of longing she’d felt when he’d held her in his arms once before and kissed her. ‘Do you forget so soon your promise not to repeat what happened between us the other night?’

      ‘I have a hankering to repeat the offence—especially when I look at you,’ he said huskily, turning the full force of his gaze on the young woman he was reluctant to let go. His conscience was making a damned nuisance of itself again and telling him he should end what he had started, but his body was sending out messages of a different kind.

      Because Angelina was not the kind of sophisticated, worldly woman he usually made love to it made her more alluring, more desirable. She was nothing like the glamorous, experienced women who knew how to please him, women who were mercenary and hell-bent on self-gratification, whose beds he sought only to leave the moment his ardour was spent.

      Reading the sudden glow in his eyes, Angelina was alarmed. ‘Please don’t—you can’t do this to me.’

      Deaf to her pleas, Alex’s arms tightened, his gaze focusing on her lips. ‘But I can. I am a degenerate bastard,’ he said, calmly repeating the accusation she had flung at him earlier, ‘with no moral principles, honour or conscience, so I can do anything I please.’

      ‘Not with me.’ He was so close that Angelina could feel the heat of him. ‘Release me,’ she ordered, infuriated by his obvious intention to weaken her resolve.

      ‘Not a chance,’ Alex whispered, as touched by her fear as he was by her innocence and inexperience. This time there was no burst of conscience as he gazed at those soft pink lips quivering close to his own. ‘What I want, Angelina, is the same thing I want every time I look at you.’ All he could think of was shattering her demureness and reserve and laying bare the woman of passion. His mouth covered hers, and, forcing her lips apart, he began kissing her with fervency, determined to make her respond.

      Angelina’s determination not to yield was as strong as his determination to make her. She knew that he wanted her full co-operation, and that if she gave it, it would be more damaging to her pride than anything else. Tears gathered under her eyelids and the world seemed to tilt around her and retreat. She fought the weakness, not wanting to be completely at his mercy, but her body was already beginning to respond with a gross miscalculation of her will. She wasn’t made of stone. She was flesh and blood, and her blood was on fire.

      The moment she leaned into him and opened her mouth in response, Alex’s arms tightened round her. With the swell of her breasts pressed against his chest, he kissed her deep, drawing her tongue into his mouth and caressing it with his own. The sheer wonder of it sent exhilarating sensations darting and tingling to the far extremities of Angelina’s body.

      Knowing he must stop before he went too far, raising his head, his eyes hooded and dark with passion, Alex looked down into her upturned face. ‘Good Lord, Angelina! What have you done to me? What might you do to me if I let you?’ he whispered hoarsely, standing there with her in his arms in an agony of lust, wondering how someone as innocent, as pure and devoid of guile as she, could drive him half-mad with desire. Slowly he released her and stepped back.

      Still trapped in the throes of passion, Angelina felt a tightening in her throat as she met his gaze. His eyes were hooded and moody, and his frown made a deep furrow over the bridge of his nose. Why? Why did he look like that?

      ‘Alex—what is it? What is wrong? Is—is it like the last time—and you regret kissing me?’

      ‘Yes. It was a mistake—my mistake,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘You must have cast a spell on me, for I do not seem to have the strength or the inclination to resist you. However, deflowering a properly reared virgin—and one who happens to be my uncle’s ward—violates even my code of honour where women are concerned, no matter how degenerate you consider me to be.’

      Picking up his coat, he thrust his arms into the sleeves and straightened his cravat. ‘I’m sorry, Angelina. I take full blame for what happened.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘I think you’d better go while you still can.’

      In the tearing, agonising hurt that enfolded her, Angelina was ashamed at how easy it had been for him, following all her harsh words, to expose the proof of her vulnerability. Tears blinded her vision. Lowering her head, she moved towards the door, silently weeping for her lack of will and with a fear of her feelings for Alex she seemed unable to control.

      As Alex watched her go, he wasn’t to know that what had just passed between them had been the second most humbling event of her young life. Her head was bent forward, her steps slow, and he thought he saw her shoulders shake. She looked so young, so small and vulnerable, he felt disgusted with himself and his conscience wrenched. Unable to watch her leave after she had sought him out to offer words of comfort, he was about to go after her, but at that moment her head lifted and she squared her shoulders. She turned once more. He stiffened, feeling reluctant admiration for her stubborn, unyielding refusal to cower before him.

      In her fury and ravaged pride, looking like an enraged angel of retribution, Angelina dashed away her tears and looked once more at the granite profile of the man who had just kissed her into mindless oblivion, whose face had taken on a judicial look.

      ‘You conceited, supremely amoral beast. How dare you take liberties with me and then try placating me with a lame attempt at an apology? Weren’t you satisfied with the humiliation you inflicted on me two nights ago without doing that? I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve just done, Alex. Ever. If you ever touch me again…’ she told him with a quiet firmness, ‘I will fight you with my dying breath.’

      Her words scorched Alex’s soul with its fierce, despairing passion. ‘You won’t fight me, Angel. I know you. I know how you feel.’

      ‘No, you don’t,’ she cried, her cheeks and eyes blazing hot, fists tightly clenched as she struggled to contain her rioting emotions. ‘No one knows how or what I feel. No one. When you asked my opinion of Miss Howard, I told you she was heartless and cold. The same applies to you, Alex. Should you decide to make her your wife, I wish you joy with her. You deserve each other.’

      Alex was disgusted with himself, disgusted and contrite. Angelina was right. He was cold and callous for ridiculing her, for mocking her feelings. His passion for her was torn asunder by guilt. It had to end. In the past hard logic and cold reason had always conquered his lust—with Angelina it was different. He had to purge her out of his mind before he was completely beaten and went insane—and if she continued living in the same house he would lose the battle. He was in danger of losing his heart to her, and he would not permit that. The stakes were too high.

      He had no choice but to send her away.

      When the last of the guests had left, in thoughtful and determined mood Alex joined Patience, Verity and Nathan in the sitting room.

      ‘I have come to the decision that it would be best for all concerned if Angelina returned to London with you,’ he stated without preamble.

      Three pairs of eyes became glued to him. ‘What?’ they uttered, simultaneously.

      ‘You will have to go with her, of course, Aunt. She can stay with either you at Richmond or Nathan and Verity in Hanover Square for the time being. It really doesn’t matter which. Notify Bramwell at my house in Brook Street, and when