He was so close she could touch him, and she wanted to, wanted to so much it hurt. But far more than passion, she needed understanding. She needed to feel that there existed a foundation on which a marriage could be built.
Ross had once explained that the European concept of love was alien to Orientals, so Peregrine was unlikely to speak of love, but Sara would settle for less. For much, much less.
Softly she asked, "What kind of faith do you have in me?"
"I believe that you will be good." He cupped her chin in one hand, his vivid gaze holding hers. "I don't imagine that it will always be comfortable, but perhaps your honorable nature will improve me."
She didn't know whether to laugh or weep. "You make me sound like some kind of medicine, to be taken from necessity rather than choice."
"Both, Sara." There was a rueful note in his voice. "You are my choice, and perhaps also my necessity." He lowered his head and kissed her. At first his mouth was light, almost playful, but as she yielded, sliding her arms around him, the kiss became demanding.
She responded in kind, hungry for the nourishment only he could give her. His arms around her felt so good, so right....
Then she remembered why they were here, and broke away from his embrace. Nothing had been settled. She needed answers, not lovemaking. Her breathing unsteady, she tried to formulate questions that might elicit what she needed to know.
Before she could think of a single worthy question, he stretched his hand out to her. "Don't deny your desire, Sara." His deep voice was soft and rich, as tantalizing as the forbidden fruit of Eden. "Don't run from me. I will not harm you."
The pull he exerted was as inexorable as a river sweeping toward the sea. Involuntarily she took a step forward, then stopped. Something was wrong, for what she felt was more than desire, it was compulsion. "Stop doing that!" she burst out.
His dark brows arched. "Stop doing what?"
She stammered with embarrassment, knowing how foolish her words must sound. "Sometimes it seems as if you... you cast a spell over me, an enchantment that robs me of my willpower."
Rationally she knew it was impossible, but emotionally she felt that he was trying to coerce her. Perhaps he had some subtle Oriental power unknown to Europeans. "It happens whenever you want me to do something I have doubts about. I feel like... like a mongoose hypnotized by a cobra."
She saw that she had startled him, and briefly the magnetic pull diminished. "What a very original idea," he said, an enigmatic gleam in his eyes. "Hypnotizing people to do my bidding would be a useful skill, if it were possible. But alas, I do not think it is." As he spoke, the pull intensified, becoming stronger than ever.
Sara fought that potent attraction. To yield and go into his arms would be to give up her ability to choose, because once he embraced her, she would be lost. "Why do you want to marry me?" she asked again, shifting her eyes because his gaze weakened her resolve. "Me in particular, rather than anyone else? If not for money, social position, or guilt, is it because you want an English wife and I am convenient?"
"You are missing the most obvious reason of all." Lightly he placed his hands on her shoulders. "I want to marry you because you are you, unique and fascinating, unlike any other woman I have ever known. Isn't that reason enough?"
Then he drew her to him, and her resistance crumbled and vanished like dust in the wind. Before when they kissed, her sense of honor and obligation to her betrothal had protected her. But now that obligation was gone, and there was nothing to save her from her own dangerous longings.
Wherever he touched, her body sang in response and found echoes throughout her whole being. And while he was not offering love, did his words not mean that he cared, at least a little? Surely that would be enough?
"In the language of Genghis Khan, the word sira meant silk. Sira Sara—silken Sara," he breathed as his lips drifted from her temple to her hair. "Like the finest silk, you have a subtle, sensuous beauty that shimmers with hidden fire."
He caught her lobe teasingly between his teeth, not hard enough to hurt. The delicately judged pressure made her shiver in response,. She turned her face, seeking his mouth with hers and finding it. Her eyes closed and her world narrowed to the hot, moist touch of tongues and teeth, of breath and taste, depths and sliding surfaces. Dimly she was aware that he was bringing her gently to the ground, lowering her onto the soft, sun-warmed turf, but reality was the dark fire of his kiss.
He warmed her even as he blocked the sunlight, lying beside her, his hard body half over hers. His hands roamed over her, deft and knowing, leisurely in their knowledge. Even through her heavy clothing, his touch aroused her. She arched her breast against his palm, wanting to feel him on her bare flesh as she had the night before. But this dress was not so easily defeated as her ball gown. His questing hand roved lower, from breasts to waist to hips, an endless caress that roused and tantalized.