The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(31)
She gasped at his vivid descriptions…and at the chaotic cravings that erupted in her body at the forbidden pictures they created in her mind.
He saw her expression, and gratification swept over his. “I want total control over your body and your pleasures, Phillipa. I believe you want the same. You will match me perfectly, fantasy for fantasy. I had thought to court you. But if you are not interested in marriage, I will gladly take you as my lover.”
Heat slashed her cheeks, her whole body. How does he see me so deeply?
She nodded jerkily, stunned by his profound insight to a part of her she had never dared reveal to a living soul. And grateful, at least, that he understood why she had no desire to marry. “I thank you for your honesty, Anthony,” she managed.
She did not linger. She couldn’t. She needed to think. To work through the intense emotions that had erupted within her at his bold declaration. She fled through the gate, nimbly walking toward the side window.
Missing the shadow that lurked behind a hedge, watching her as she hastily made her way back inside.
Chapter Nine
The white silence of winter pressed in on Anthony. Snow fell in a steady dribble, dotting the land with its frosted beauty. The fireplace crackled, and his mind inevitably turned to the delectable Miss Peppiwell. She consumed his thoughts. Her vigor when she danced, the coldness she could exude, and the honest need she burned with when he took her in his arms. The sweetest lips he’d ever tasted. And the forbidden things they had explored together…
But it was her desire to be free of society that tantalized him. He had wished for the same, years ago in the face of constant disapproval from the old duke, the occasional thrashings, and the feelings of inadequacy.
She had no wish to marry. But he would entice her with sensual fantasies and tantalizing adventures, and when he had secured her affections, he would offer for her hand. How could she refuse?
He wondered what had happened to her to inspire such an aversion to marriage. Most young ladies plotted their wedding day from the cradle. He knew Constance had already decided before she left the schoolroom the month and day she would wed.
Mamas and young chits throughout Society constantly sought to entrap him or his brother. It was just his luck that the first woman to evoke such intense passion and his first real interest in marriage only wanted to have an affair. But he was determined to woo the lady, and would do everything in his power to ensure her answer would be yes.
A soft knock sounded and his ornery butler entered, his eyes blazing with irritation. “A Sir Hawke is here to see you, my lord.” Interesting having a butler who felt exasperated when his door was knocked upon.
“I will see him in the library,” Anthony indicated, swiping up the copy of George Elliot’s Middlemarch he’d been reading.
A few minutes later Hawke strode into the library looking more harried than usual. He was short and stocky, with dark, beady eyes furtively scanning the room to pause on the decanters of brandy on the drinks tray. Anthony had never seen the man so distressed. Hawke hastily handed his top hat and coat to the retreating butler, then scurried over to the great chair and sank in its depth, his eyes darting everywhere but at Anthony.
“What is it, man?” he asked as he rose. He walked around his oak desk to pour the man a brandy, and pushed it into Hawke’s hand. Taking a seat on the edge of the desk, Anthony folded his arms across his chest and waited for Hawke to speak.
“The gel you had me watching was taken.”
“What?” Anthony demanded, instantly on his feet.
“Miss Peppiwell was taken on her walk from Kensington Gardens.”
“Damn it, man!” He bent to grab the lapels of Hawke’s tweed jacket. “Taken by whom? Why did you not prevent it?” he bellowed.
“You paid me to watch at a discreet distance, not to interfere.”
He jerked the man out of the chair. The brandy went flying. “Tell me what happened.”
“I believe she was kidnapped. Some gent grabbed her from behind and threw her into a carriage. He then leaped in after her and the driver sprung the team into motion. I couldn’t have reacted in time to stop it.”
Anthony’s gut tightened. “And you did not set anyone to follow?”
“I did my best, milord, on me own. You didn’t pay for—”
He grabbed Hawke’s neckcloth and strangled his words. The man’s eyes bulged and Anthony went cold, immune to the fear that widened them. “If she is harmed because of your inefficiency, I will hunt you down and gut you,” he swore savagely.
He let the promise sink in, and only after Hawke nodded, he released him. “Which direction did they travel? And tell me the type of carriage.”