Read Online Dark Obsession by Allison Chase - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allison Chase
Ads: Link
insist Papa give you full control over my dowry, in exchange for my being able to spend my time as and where I wish.’’ Her breath trembled despite her effort to appear calm. ‘‘I had one hope for this marriage. One. And you dashed it that night at your friend’s house.’’
‘‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’’
‘‘Your Cornwall estate.’’
‘‘Ah, that again.’’ A hard look entered his eyes, like a wall that could not be scaled. ‘‘Blackheath Grange.’’
‘‘Yes. I’d hoped . . . you see . . . I’ve been to Cornwall. The light there is extraordinary, the scenery unmatched. I’d give anything . . . But you refused to allow it. Still, surely there must be another of your nephew’s estates where I might bring fellow artists in the summer months. . . .’’
She stopped, biting down and swallowing a sudden and mortifying urge to cry. How could this man understand how important this was to her?
An artists’ retreat. For women only, of course. A place to study and experiment unhindered by society’s eye, or by the disapproval of parents and husbands who considered a woman’s constitution too delicate, too corruptible for any but the most trifling exploration of the art world. To have such freedom . . . oh, it would constitute a boon of immeasurable worth.
‘‘It isn’t possible.’’ The words were decisive, his expression implacable.
‘‘But why not . . . ?’’
‘‘Because there aren’t any others. Estates, that is.’’ His voice grated; his jaw turned stony. ‘‘Surely your father explained. Two have already been sold off. A third is being leased in the hope of saving it from the auction block. Blackheath is all that’s left and . . .’’
‘‘And you won’t allow us to corrupt the mind of a child.’’ Oh, blast him for passing judgment. He didn’t know her, didn’t know her colleagues, yet he was determined to believe the worst. Did that mean she too should fall prey to rumor and condemn him whether innocent or no?
He’ll never hurt you. . . .
He grasped her chin. ‘‘You must understand. Jonathan is the best of what is left of the Clarington name. He embodies our future—the whole of it. I won’t take chances with his welfare. I will not risk him. Not for anyone. Therefore I must be certain—’’
Tears pricking the backs of her eyes, she shoved his hand away. ‘‘If you believe I could ever harm a child in any way . . . then there is nothing more to discuss.’’
‘‘Perhaps not,’’ he replied softly. His hand engulfed her shoulder, his fingers clamping with an insistence that startled her. ‘‘Perhaps I simply don’t like the terms of your bargain, Lady Lowell.’’
The term jarred her, for she’d not heard it spoken aloud before, nor had she once considered that it belonged to her. As her mind thrashed in confusion, he grasped her other shoulder and held her firmly against the squabs, then leaned in and set his mouth to hers.
The only points of contact between them were his hands on her shoulders and his open lips on hers, yet his touch kindled a fiery presence between her legs. Her thighs burned, turned to heated butter. Her bones dissolved and her breasts strained painfully against her bodice, seeking something unnamable, heretofore unthinkable.
As if he understood their mute cries for attention, his hands slid from her shoulders and covered her breasts, thumbs finding her nipples through all that satin, lace and linen. He rubbed them in rough, urgent circles that had her moaning into his mouth, squirming beneath him, had her pressing for more even as he deepened the kiss and explored the entirety of her mouth with his tongue.
Nothing existed beyond those kisses, beyond the desire that left her scorching, throbbing. And greatly fearing he had discovered her secret and planned to use it to his advantage.
For the truth was, she had enjoyed that kiss on Lord Wycliffe’s terrace . . . and this one as well. More
‘‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’’
‘‘Your Cornwall estate.’’
‘‘Ah, that again.’’ A hard look entered his eyes, like a wall that could not be scaled. ‘‘Blackheath Grange.’’
‘‘Yes. I’d hoped . . . you see . . . I’ve been to Cornwall. The light there is extraordinary, the scenery unmatched. I’d give anything . . . But you refused to allow it. Still, surely there must be another of your nephew’s estates where I might bring fellow artists in the summer months. . . .’’
She stopped, biting down and swallowing a sudden and mortifying urge to cry. How could this man understand how important this was to her?
An artists’ retreat. For women only, of course. A place to study and experiment unhindered by society’s eye, or by the disapproval of parents and husbands who considered a woman’s constitution too delicate, too corruptible for any but the most trifling exploration of the art world. To have such freedom . . . oh, it would constitute a boon of immeasurable worth.
‘‘It isn’t possible.’’ The words were decisive, his expression implacable.
‘‘But why not . . . ?’’
‘‘Because there aren’t any others. Estates, that is.’’ His voice grated; his jaw turned stony. ‘‘Surely your father explained. Two have already been sold off. A third is being leased in the hope of saving it from the auction block. Blackheath is all that’s left and . . .’’
‘‘And you won’t allow us to corrupt the mind of a child.’’ Oh, blast him for passing judgment. He didn’t know her, didn’t know her colleagues, yet he was determined to believe the worst. Did that mean she too should fall prey to rumor and condemn him whether innocent or no?
He’ll never hurt you. . . .
He grasped her chin. ‘‘You must understand. Jonathan is the best of what is left of the Clarington name. He embodies our future—the whole of it. I won’t take chances with his welfare. I will not risk him. Not for anyone. Therefore I must be certain—’’
Tears pricking the backs of her eyes, she shoved his hand away. ‘‘If you believe I could ever harm a child in any way . . . then there is nothing more to discuss.’’
‘‘Perhaps not,’’ he replied softly. His hand engulfed her shoulder, his fingers clamping with an insistence that startled her. ‘‘Perhaps I simply don’t like the terms of your bargain, Lady Lowell.’’
The term jarred her, for she’d not heard it spoken aloud before, nor had she once considered that it belonged to her. As her mind thrashed in confusion, he grasped her other shoulder and held her firmly against the squabs, then leaned in and set his mouth to hers.
The only points of contact between them were his hands on her shoulders and his open lips on hers, yet his touch kindled a fiery presence between her legs. Her thighs burned, turned to heated butter. Her bones dissolved and her breasts strained painfully against her bodice, seeking something unnamable, heretofore unthinkable.
As if he understood their mute cries for attention, his hands slid from her shoulders and covered her breasts, thumbs finding her nipples through all that satin, lace and linen. He rubbed them in rough, urgent circles that had her moaning into his mouth, squirming beneath him, had her pressing for more even as he deepened the kiss and explored the entirety of her mouth with his tongue.
Nothing existed beyond those kisses, beyond the desire that left her scorching, throbbing. And greatly fearing he had discovered her secret and planned to use it to his advantage.
For the truth was, she had enjoyed that kiss on Lord Wycliffe’s terrace . . . and this one as well. More
Similar Books
