Darcy bent his head and his lips found hers.
Sarah, seduced by the setting, the moonlight and the man before her, allowed him to gather her, unresisting, into his arms. The magic of his lips on hers was a more potent persuasion than any she
had previously encountered. Caught by a rising tide of passion, she was drawn, helpless and uncaring, beyond the bounds of thought. Her lips parted and gradually the kiss deepened until, with the moonlight washing in waves over then, he stole her soul.
It was an unintentionally intimate caress which abruptly shook the stars from her eyes and brought her back to earth with an unsteady bump. Holding her tightly within one arm, Darcy had let his other hand slide, gently caressing, over her hip, intending to draw her more firmly against him. But the feel of his hand, scorching through her thin evening dress, sent shock waves of such magnitude through Sarah's pliant body that she pulled back with a gasp. Then, as horrified realization fell like cold water over her heated flesh, she tore herself from his arms and ran.
For an instant, Darcy, stunned both by her response and by her subsequent reaction, stood frozen in the middle of the floor. A knot of jonquil ribbon from Sarah's dress had caught on the button of his cuff and impatiently he shook it free, then watched, fascinated, as it floated to the ground. The banging of the wooden door against its frame had stilled. Swiftly, he crossed the floor and, opening the door, stood in
the aperture, listening to her footsteps dying in the spring night. Then, smothering a curse, he followed.
Sarah instinctively ran away from the main house, towards the shrubbery which lay behind the summerhouse. She did not stop to think or reason, but just ran. Finally, deep within the tall clipped hedges and the looming bushes, her breath coming in gasps, she came to a clearing, a small garden at
the centre of the shrubbery. She saw a marble bench set in an arbour. Thankfully, she sank on to it
and buried her face in her hands.
Darcy, following, made for the shrubbery, her hurrying footsteps echoing hollowly on the gravel walks giving him the lead. But once she reached the grassed avenues between the high hedges, her feet made
no sound. Penetrating the dark alleys, he was forced to go slowly, checking this way and that to make sure he did not pass her by. So quite fifteen minutes had passed before he reached the central garden
and saw the dejected figure huddled on the bench.
In that time, sanity of sorts had returned to Sarah's mind. Her initial horror at her weakness had been replaced by the inevitable reaction. She was angry. Angry at herself, for being so weak that one kiss
could overcome all her defences; angry at Darcy, for having engineered that little scene. She was busy whipping up the necessary fury to face the prospect of not seeing him ever again, when he materialized
at her side. With a gasp, she came to her feet.
Relieved to find she was not crying, as he had thought, Darcy immediately caught her hand to prevent
her flying from him again.
Stung by the shock his touch always gave her, intensified now, she was annoyed to discover, Sarah
tried to pull her hand away. When he refused to let her go, she said, her voice infused with an iciness designed to freeze, "Kindly release me, Lord Darcy."
On hearing her voice, Darcy placed the emotion that was holding her so rigid. The knowledge that she was angry, nay, furious, did nothing to improve his own temper, stirred to life by her abrupt flight. Forcing his voice to a reasonableness he was far from feeling, he said, "If you'll give me your word
you'll not run away from me, I'll release you."
Sarah opened her mouth to inform him she would not so demean herself as to run from him when the knowledge that she just had, and might have reason to do so again, hit her. She remained silent. Darcy, accurately reading her mind, held on to her hand.
After a moment's consideration, he spoke. "I had intended, my dear, to speak to you of our…curious relationship."
Sarah, breathing rapidly and anxious to end the interview, immediately countered, "I really don't think there's anything to discuss."
A difficult pause ensued, then, ''So you would deny there's anything between us?"
The bleakness in his voice shook her, but she determinedly put up her chin, turning away from him as
far as their locked hands would allow. "Whatever's between us is neither here nor there," she said, satisfied with the lightness she had managed to bring to her tone.
Her satisfaction was short-lived. Taking advantage of her movement, Darcy stepped quickly behind her, the hand still holding hers reaching across her, his arm wrapping around her waist and drawing her hard against him. His other hand came to rest on her shoulder, holding her still. He knew the shock it would give her, to feel his body against hers, and heard with grim satisfaction the hiss of her indrawn breath.
Sarah froze, too stunned to struggle, the sensation of his hard body against her back, his arm wound
like steel about her waist, holding her fast, driving all rational thought from her brain. Then his breath wafted the curls around her ear. His words came in a deep and husky tone, sending tingling shivers up and down her spine.
"Well, sweetheart, there's very little between us now. So, perhaps we can turn our attention to our relationship?"
Sarah, all too well aware of how little there was between them, wondered in a moment of startling
lucidity how he imagined that would improve her concentration. But Darcy's attention had already wandered. His lips were very gently trailing down her neck, creating all sorts of marvellous sensations which she tried very hard to ignore.
Then, he gave a deep chuckle. ''As I've been saying these weeks past, my dear, you're wasted as
a virgin. Now, if you were to become my mistress, just think of all the delightful avenues we could explore."
"I don't want to become your mistress!" Sarah almost wailed, testing the arm at her waist and finding
it immovable.
"No?" came Darcy's voice in her ear. She had the impression he considered her answer for a full
minute before he continued, ' 'Perhaps we should extend your education a trifle, my dear. So you
fully appreciate what you're turning down. We wouldn't want you to make the wrong decision for
lack of a few minutes' instruction, would we?"
Sarah had only a hazy idea of what he could mean but his lips had returned to her throat, giving rise to those strangely heady swirls of pleasure that washed through her, sapping her will. "Darcy, stop! You know you shouldn't be doing this!"
He stilled. "Do I?"
Into the silence, a nightingale warbled. Sarah held her breath.
But, when Darcy spoke again, the steel threading his voice, so often sensed yet only now recognised, warned her of the futility of missish pleas.
"Yes. You're right. I know I shouldn't." His lips moved against her throat, a subtle caress. "But what
I want to do is make love to you. As you won't allow that, then this will have to do for now."
Sarah, incapable of further words, simply shook her head, powerless to halt the spreading fires he was
so skilfully igniting.
Afterwards, Darcy could not understand how it had happened. He was as experienced with women as Max and had never previously lost control as he did that night. He had intended to do no more than
reveal to the perverse woman her own desires and give her some inkling of the pleasures they could
enjoy together. Instead, her responses were more than he had bargained for and his own desires stronger than he had been prepared to admit. Fairly early in the engagement, he had turned her once more into his arms, so he could capture her lips and take the lesson further. And further it had certainly gone, until the moon sank behind the high hedges and left them in darkness.