She eyed him furiously, trying to determine if he was actually serious. "Is that so? And what will you do, sir? Have me clapped into prison or transported? Do not be ridiculous."
"Perhaps I shall find another way to punish you for disobeying me, Miss Pomeroy. I am St. Justin, remember? The Beast of Blackthorne Hall." His eyes gleamed in the golden light. The scar on his face was a vivid, savage slash of old pain and mortal danger.
"Stop this intimidation at once," Harriet ordered, albeit rather weakly.
He leaned closer. "The local people think I am a man totally lacking in honor when it comes to dealing with women. Ask anyone around here and he will tell you I am the devil himself where innocent young ladies are concerned."
"Rubbish." Harriet's fingers were trembling on the lamp, but she held her ground. "I believe you are deliberately trying to frighten me, sir."
"Damn right." His hand closed around the nape of her neck. The leather of his glove was rough against her skin.
Harriet abruptly read the intent in him, but it was too late to run. Gideon's fierce, leonine eyes flamed behind his hooded dark lashes. He brought his mouth heavily down on hers in a crushing kiss.
Harriet stood transfixed for a timeless instant. She could not move, could not even think. Nothing she had ever experienced in her entire twenty-four and a half years had prepared her for Gideon's embrace.
He groaned heavily, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. His big hand flexed with startling gentleness around her throat, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. And then he was urging her closer to the fierce warmth of his own body. The heavy greatcoat brushed against Harriet's legs.
She could not seem to catch her breath. After the initial shock, a shimmering, glittering excitement roared through her. When Gideon removed the lamp from her limp, unresisting fingers, she scarcely noticed.
Without conscious volition, Harriet raised her hands to his shoulders and sank her fingers into the heavy wool of his coat. She did not know whether she was trying to push him away or pull him closer.
"Bloody hell." Gideon's voice was husky now, betraying some new emotion that Harriet could not identify. "If you had any sense, you would run from me as fast as you possibly could."
"I do not think I could run a single step," Harriet whispered in bemused wonder. She looked up at him through her lashes and gently touched his scarred cheek.
Gideon flinched at the feel of her fingers. Then his eyes narrowed. "Just as well. I am suddenly not in the mood to let you escape me."
He lowered his head again and his mouth moved on hers with astonishing tenderness, easing apart her lips until she realized with shock that he wanted inside. Hesitantly, she obeyed the silent command.
When his tongue surged into her warmth with stunning intimacy, she moaned softly and sagged against him. Never had a man kissed her in this manner.
"You are very delicate," he finally said against her lips. "Very soft. But there is strength in you." Gideon slid his hands around Harriet's waist.
She shivered as he grasped her firmly and lifted her up high against his chest. He held her effortlessly off the stone floor. Her booted feet dangled in midair. She was forced to steady herself by clinging to his broad shoulders.
"Kiss me," he ordered in a deep, dark voice that sent a delicious chill down Harriet's spine.
Without stopping to think, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her mouth shyly across his. Was this what it meant to be ravished? she wondered. Perhaps it was just this heady mix of emotion and desire that had encouraged poor Deirdre Rushton to surrender to Gideon all those years ago. If so, Harriet decided, she could now understand that young woman's recklessness.
"Ah, my sweet Miss Pomeroy," Gideon muttered, "can it be that you truly do not find my features any more offensive than those of your precious fossil skulls?"
"There is nothing in the least offensive about you, my lord, as I am certain you are well aware." Harriet moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She felt dazed with the emotions that were surging within her. She touched his ravaged face lightly and smiled tremulously. "You are magnificent. Rather like your horse."
Gideon looked startled for an instant. His eyes blazed. And then his expression hardened. He set her slowly on her feet. "Well, then, Miss Harriet Pomeroy?" There was an unmistakable challenge in the words.
"Well, what, my lord?" Harriet managed breathlessly. It was true she had virtually no experience of this sort of thing, but all her womanly instincts were assuring her that Gideon had been as powerfully affected by that kiss as she had been. She did not understand why he had suddenly gone all cold and dangerous.
"You have a decision to make. You may either take off your gown and lie down on the stone floor of this cave so that we can finish what we have started or you may run back toward the beach and safety. I suggest you make your choice quickly, as my own mood is somewhat unpredictable at the moment. I must tell you that I find you a very tempting little morsel."
Harriet felt as if he had thrown a bucket of icy seawater over her head. She stared at Gideon, her sensual euphoria vanishing in the face of the obvious threat. He was serious. He was actually warning her that if she did not get out of this cavern right now he might ravish her on the spot.
It was her own fault, she realized in belated dismay. She had responded much too readily to his kiss. He was bound to think the worst of her.
Harriet's face flamed with humiliation and not a little primitive female fear. She scooped up her lamp and fled toward the safety of the passage that led to the beach.
Gideon followed, but Harriet did not once look back. She was too afraid that she would see the taunting laughter of the beast in his golden eyes.
Chapter Four
Crane was sweating. There was a small fire on the library hearth to ward off the chill of the rain-drenched day, but Gideon knew that was not what was causing his steward to mop his brow.
Gideon casually turned a page in the ledger that lay open on the desk. There was little doubt but that he was being systematically cheated. Gideon knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had paid too little attention to the Hardcastle estates here in Upper Biddleton and he had, predictably enough, paid the price.
Gideon glanced down another long column of figures. It appeared that Crane, whom he had hired a year ago to manage his local estates, had raised the rents on many of the cottages. Crane had not bothered to pass the increase along to his employer, however. The steward had most likely pocketed the difference.
It was a common tale, of course, although not for Gideon. Many large landowners, entranced with the joys of life in London, left the management of their estates entirely to their stewards. As long as the money flowed freely, few examined the books closely. It was considered unfashionable to have an exact knowledge of just how much one was worth.
Gideon, however, was not interested in Town life or in being fashionable. In fact, for the past few years he had been interested in little else except his family's lands and he normally kept a very close watch on everything connected with them.
Except in Upper Biddleton.
Gideon had deliberately ignored the Hardcastle estates here in Upper Biddleton. It was difficult to take a great deal of personal interest in a place he hated. It was here that everything had gone wrong six years earlier.
Five years ago when his father had reluctantly turned responsibility for the far-flung Hardcastle estates over to him, Gideon had seized the opportunity. He had deliberately buried himself in the task of running his family's lands.
Work had become the drug he used to dampen the gnawing pain his loss of honor had caused him. He moved regularly from one estate to another, working tirelessly to repair cottages, introduce new farming techniques, and investigate the possibility of increasing mining and fishing production.