Page 76 of The Defiant One
Andrew sucked in his breath. Already he was a slab of stone down there, pushing against the protesting fabric of his breeches. God help him. She wanted him. She wanted him now, and this had nothing to do with the damned aphrodisiac!
"Andrew?"
He couldn't take any more. His hands cupping her buttocks, he pulled her so close that even through the voluminous fabric of her petticoats, he could feel her pelvis pressing against his erection. The sensation inflamed him all the more, tightening his groin, causing his heart to pump madly. He kissed her. She made a sighing noise in her throat and returned the kiss, her tongue eagerly seeking his own, her hand now roving up his neck, her fingers tunnelling through his hair. Still holding her bottom, he pushed his fingers against the heavy satin of her skirts, trying, failing, to find the junction of her thighs. Damn these hoops. Damn these petticoats. Finally he lifted her petticoats, slid his hand between her legs, and quickly manipulated her to a gasping climax.
"Oh, God," she murmured, burying her face against his chest and panting as she clung to him. "I . . . I think we'd better go inside."
"Now."
"Oh, yes. Now."
She gave a shaky little laugh. He lifted her head with one finger and kissed her. Light glowed behind his eyelids, and opening his eyes, he found that around them, everything seemed to be holding its breath as the landscape turned to molten gold. Wanting to treasure this moment of rare joy before he brought her inside and spent the morning making love to her, he drew back, turning her so both could watch the sun as it finally rose from its bed. And here it came, a brilliant ball of fire, higher, and higher . . .
Andrew bent his head to kiss her once more — and from just behind came the slow, rising sound of thunder.
"How odd," he murmured, his lips brushing her sunlit nose, and then her mouth, his breath warm against her cheek.
"What?"
"The fact that it's starting to thunder when the only clouds in the sky are high and distant and peaceful."
"I don't hear any thunder," she said on a sigh, her arms going around his neck, her breath mingling with his as she raised her lips for his kiss. "Though I certainly feel some!"
"What do you mean, you don't hear it?" Andrew asked, frowning and pulling back as the noise grew alarmingly loud now, rising in crescendo and volume without break and sounding quite unlike any thunder that he'd ever heard. The hairs on the back of his neck rising, he turned his head to look over his shoulder — and saw a huge silver monster sailing straight over the treetops toward them.
He gave a hoarse cry of terror and instinctively threw Celsie to the ground as it passed overhead, covering her with his body until the deafening roar peaked and rolled and finally grew distant.
When he lifted his head, his skin was pale, his face damp with sweat, his body shaking.
And Celsie was staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.
"Andrew?" she whispered, in a tiny, nervous voice. "Are you . . . all right?"
Chapter 23
"No," he said with sudden sharpness as he got to his feet. "No, I'm not all right."
And with that, he spun on his heel and stalked off down the drive toward the house, leaving Celsie standing there with Freckles and staring after him in confusion, dismay, and hurt.
"Andrew!"
He kept walking. He paused some fifty feet away and turned to look at her, fists clenched at his sides, his very stance stiff and defensive. His face was terrible. "Leave me be, Celsiana. Leave me be while I try to figure out a way to tell you just what sort of monstrous freak you've married."
She took a step toward him; he extended an arm, palm thrust out, as though warding off one who might catch the plague. Then, and only then, did he turn and continue on toward the house.
Celsie could only stand there in confusion and disbelief. Everything inside her bade her to run after him and demand an answer. What was wrong? Why did he keep doing this, to her, to their blossoming friendship and now, to their marriage? This wasn't the first time he'd acted strangely, was it? Her mind raced back over the past several weeks. There was that time at de Montforte House in London. There was his behavior during the sword fight with Gerald. And there was the evening of her charity ball, when he'd looked up at the ceiling, his eyes strangely distant, and then fled —
Just as he was doing now.
What was he afraid of?
What was wrong with him?
And why didn't he trust her with whatever secret he was hiding?
Celsie had no idea. But she knew one thing: She was going to find out. Calling for Esmerelda and Freckles, she headed resolutely for the house.
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