The uncivilized part of him wanted nothing less than to possess her, to plunder her sweetness, to ravish that lithe, slender body until they were both sated and—
She turned back to face him, her expression smooth and calm as a pail of milk. “Shall we move on?”
—And to shatter that damnable ever-present composure. There was a passionate woman beneath it, he was sure; he’d tasted it in her. His blood had leapt in recognition.
But if that was how she wanted to play it, pretending the kiss had never happened, he would cooperate. He was, after all, a civilized man.
And dallying with innocents was playing with fire.
He offered his arm and, after the faintest of hesitations, she took it. They walked on in silence.
Around them the city slept. In the distance a vixen screamed.
Overhead the clouds thickened, and the darkness intensified. They passed a house where lights still burned, and she glanced in as they passed. A woman bent over a writing desk, writing busily.
“She’s working late,” he commented, seeking an innocuous comment to break the tense silence.
“I shouldn’t look, I know. It feels as if I’m invading their privacy, but if people don’t draw their curtains...” After a moment she added, “I’m always curious about how other people live.”
As she would be, he reflected, seeing she had no home of her own. Or so he assumed. “Have you lived at the school long?”
“It feels like most of my life,” she said wryly. “I was a pupil there as a girl.”
“And you returned there to become a teacher?” There was a story there, he was sure, and he wanted to hear it.
But all she said was, “Yes.”
They walked on. “You should be proud of your sisters, you know,” she began, and seeing he was about to snap her nose off for that piece of impertinence, hurried on, “Oh, not because they sneaked out without permission—yes, they admitted that to me when I asked who was supposed to be escorting them. And that was very wrong of them. But the trouble wasn’t really their fault—”
“Political rallies are invariably violent,” he growled.
“Not necessarily, but be that as it may, when Lily was in trouble, Rose flew to her sister’s defense like a little wildcat. And then Lily tried to defend Rose. Of course, it’s not the most ladylike—”
“Ladylike!” he exploded. “No, it was not damned well ladylike! It was insane! What the devil kind of teacher are you anyway, praising them for brawling in public?”
She withdrew her hand and gave him a long cool look. “The kind of teacher who thinks for herself—and does not like to be cursed at,” she said calmly, and walked on. “As for brawling in public, the girls were defending themselves—and each other. Would you prefer that one of your sisters abandoned the other to preserve her own safety?”
She glanced at him and gave a little nod when she saw his expression. “Of course not. Should they have simply fainted, then, as society suggests is the proper ladylike response to upsets of various sorts?” Again she glanced at his face. “I agree. Had they been so foolish, they would have been trampled by the crowd milling around.”
“But if they hadn’t been so disobedient in the first place—”
“Of course, but having done so, what were they to do when faced with trouble? They acted with courage, and did their best with the limited skills and knowledge at their disposal,” she finished crisply. “Here we are at the school—no, no need to ring the bell. I have my own key.” She took it from her reticule and let herself in. “Thank you for your escort, Lord Ashendon. Good night.”
And before Cal could say a word, she shut the door gently in his face.
He stared at the door a moment, cursing under his breath. Blasted woman had an answer for everything.
Except a kiss. That she simply dismissed as if it had never happened. But he could still taste her.
As he made his way back home through the deserted streets, rain started, a light patter of drops at first, but turning swiftly into a downpour. Cal broke into a run, but even so, by the time he reached Aunt Dottie’s house he was drenched.
Of course. A perfect end to a perfect dratted night.
Chapter Five
Many women long for what eludes them, and like not what is offered them.
—OVID
