“Admit it,” she insisted.

“Yes, they were from me,” he said curtly. “What of it?”

“I was with Lord Kendall just a minute or two ago, and everything was going according to plan, and he was just about to…but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him kiss me while I was wearing these blasted boots. No doubt he thinks that I’m deranged, after the way I left him. But you were right after all…he’s far too nice for me. And it would have been a terrible match.” She paused to inhale raggedly as she saw the sudden blaze in Hunt’s eyes. His body was predatory in its alert stillness.

“So,” he said softly, “now that you’ve thrown Kendall aside, what are your plans? Going back to Hodgeham?”

Goaded by the jeering question, Annabelle scowled. “If I do, it’s no business of yours.” She spun on her heel and began to walk away from him.

Hunt reached her in two strides. He whirled her around to face him, his hands closing around her upper arms. Giving her a soft shake, he bent his mouth to her ear. “No more games,” he said. “Tell me what you want. Now, before I lose what’s left of my patience.”

The smell of him, soapy and fresh and wonderfully male, made Annabelle dizzy. She wanted to crawl inside his clothes…she wanted him to kiss her until she fainted. She wanted the despicable, arrogant, mesmerizing, devilishly handsome Simon Hunt. But oh, he would be merciless. Her threatened pride asserted itself, clotting in her throat until she could hardly speak. “I can’t,” she said gruffly.

Drawing his head back, Hunt gazed down at her, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “You can have whatever you want, Annabelle…but only if you can bring yourself to ask for it.”

“You’re determined to humble me completely, aren’t you? You won’t allow me to retain one particle of dignity—”

“I, humble you?” He raised one brow in a sardonic slant. “After two years of receiving cuts and slights every time I asked you to dance—”

“Oh, all right,” she said balefully, beginning to shake all over. “I’ll admit it—I want you. There, are you satisfied? I want you.”

“In what capacity? Lover, or husband?”

Annabelle stared at him in shock. “What?”

His arms slid around her, holding her quivering frame securely against his. He said nothing, only watched her intently as she tried to grasp the implications of the question.

“But you’re not the marrying kind,” she managed to say weakly.

He touched her ear, his fingertip tracing the fragile outer curve. “I’ve discovered that I am when it comes to you.”

The subtle caress set fire to her blood, making it difficult to think. “We would probably kill each other within the first month.”

“Probably,” Hunt conceded, his smiling mouth brushing over her temple. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of dizzying pleasure through her. “But marry me anyway, Annabelle. As I see things, it would solve most of your problems…and more than a few of mine.” His big hand slid gently down her spine, calming her tremors. “Let me spoil you,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you. You’ve never had anyone to lean on, have you? I’ve got strong shoulders, Annabelle.” A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “And I may possibly be the only man of your acquaintance who’ll be able to afford you.”

She was too stunned to respond to the gibe. “But why?” she asked, as his hand traveled up to her unprotected nape. She gasped as his fingertip dipped softly into the shallow depression at the base of her skull. “Why offer to marry me when you might have me as your mistress?”

He nuzzled her throat gently. “Because I realized during the past few days that I can’t leave doubt in anyone’s mind about to whom you belong. Especially not yours.”

Annabelle closed her eyes, her senses flooded with euphoria as his mouth wandered slowly up to her dry, parted lips. His hands and arms compressed her willing flesh into his demanding hardness. If there was mastery in the way he held her, there was also reverence, his fingertips discovering the most sensitive places on her exposed skin and teasing in whisper-light strokes. She let him coax her lips open, and she moaned at the gentle probe of his tongue. He ravished her with tender kisses that assuaged her need, yet made her desperately aware of empty places that longed to be filled. As Hunt felt the urgent quiver of her flesh against his, he soothed her with a long caress of his mouth, while his arms supported her body. Cradling her blood-hot cheek in his hand, he drew his thumb across the satin veneer of her lips. “Give me your answer,” he whispered.

The warmth of his hand sent fine shivers across her skin, and she nestled her cheek deeper into his palm. “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

Hunt’s eyes gleamed with triumph. He tilted her head back and kissed her again, stealing deeper and deeper tastes. His palms clamped gently on either side of her head, altering the angle between them until their mouths fit together perfectly. The rhythm of her breath became capricious, and she was suddenly light-headed from the inrush of too much oxygen. Reaching for him, she clutched at the support of his hard-muscled body, her fingers digging into the broad-cloth of his coat. Without breaking the kiss, Hunt helped her to hold on to him, reaching for her hand to draw it around his neck. When he was satisfied that her balance had been secured, he moved his hand to her corseted waist and applied light pressure to bring her body closer to his. He kissed her with rising urgency, until the potent influence of his mouth had reduced her to sensual delirium.