Eve’s cheeks burned at the insult. ‘How dare you! I am no doxy.’
‘You gave a pretty good imitation of one.’
‘I am not,’ she flared, trying to still the wild beating of her heart.
‘Then who the devil are you?’
For a brief second Eve considered telling a small lie but thought better of it, knowing she would be found out—besides, she did not tell lies, preferring to tell the truth no matter what the situation. She turned as if to walk away but fury and dread at what she might tell him made him reach out and pull her round to face him. She tried to shrink away, but he held her firmly.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded coldly.
Taking a deep breath, Eve met his gaze squarely, all coquetry gone as her spirit rose to grapple with this unpleasant turn of events. The air between them had become tense and charged with an entirely new kind of emotion.
‘I—I am Eve Somerville,’ she whispered, forcing herself to look directly into his eyes. ‘Sir John Somerville’s daughter.’
Marcus stared down at her as though he had been felled. His jawline tightened, his eyes became steady and glacial, his face going as white as his neck cloth. ‘Dear Lord! What folly is this? Is this true? Are you Eve Somerville?’
She nodded dumbly, lowering her gaze, flinching before the exasperation in his voice and the cold glitter in his ice blue eyes. Never had she felt such humiliation.
‘Look at me,’ he demanded.
Unwillingly Eve raised her head and met his eyes, defiance and perturbation on her face. He glared down at her, embracing her in a look that was ice cold.
‘I never thought to meet Sir John’s daughter in a mad escapade of this kind—but it seems I was wrong. Have you no sense?’ he said, thrusting his face close to hers, the line of his mouth cruel. His hands shot out and clamped down hard on her shoulders and he shook her so forcefully that she thought her head would come off. ‘Can’t you see that it was the height of dangerous folly to embark on such a madcap scheme as this?’ he admonished severely.
‘It was a mistake,’ she said desperately, wishing he would release his vicious hold on her.
‘A mistake of your doing. The responsibility for your being here is your own. What made you seek me out?’ he demanded. ‘Come—don’t keep me in suspense.’ He fumed with growing impatience, thrusting her away from him and raking his hand in sheer frustration through his hair. ‘Why did you not tell me who you were?’
Full of shame and mortification Eve wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Never had she felt so wretched. He watched her with a deadly calm.
‘I—I meant to—but somehow—it—it was a hoax, a charade, that is all—my friends dared me to ask you to dance—’
Marcus looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘A hoax? Do you actually have the impertinence to tell me this was a hoax? My God, are you shameless? Can’t you see? Has it not occurred to you that by your foolishness it is not only your own reputation that might be ruined, but also my own? And you are betrothed, are you not—or about to be—to Leslie Stephenson?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. His face was frightening, but feeling wrath and indignation rising inside her, she tossed back her head and glared at him defiantly.
‘Then let us hope he does not hear of this, otherwise any expectations you might have of him asking for your hand in marriage will have been dashed. Now go home to your mother, Miss Somerville, she must be wondering where you are. If I were your father and I heard of this little episode—and you can be assured he will for I intend seeking him out at once—then you could be sure of a sound thrashing.’
His stern rebuke inflamed a smouldering resentment towards him inside Eve. ‘Then I can only thank God that you are not my father,’ she flared.
‘You may, Miss Somerville. You may. In my opinion you are a self-indulgent, spoiled brat—the type I hold in contempt. You behaved like an accomplished flirt. You didn’t know what you were doing—what you were asking for when you so outrageously made sexual overtures to a gentleman of my years and experience with women. Perhaps you will think twice the next time you want to play games—and I strongly advise you to learn the rules.’
Eve stared at him, her mind trying to adjust to his words. No one had ever spoken to her like this before or insulted her so severely. Fury blazed in his eyes as they locked relentlessly on to hers, but she stood before him, full of youthful courage, spirit and pride. Her mind was no longer in control and she had no idea how adorable she looked with her face flushed with ire and her eyes blazing furiously.
‘And what of your own conduct? You should have known better than to take advantage of me, regardless of who I might be—unless this is how you normally behave,’ she accused him.
‘I never take advantage of defenceless young ladies—but you did not give me the impression of being defenceless. If you, Miss Somerville, are under the impression that you may sport with me in any manner you please, then let me tell you that you do not know me.’
‘And after your insulting attack on my person I have no wish to know you. It would be interesting to know how much of a gentleman you are, Mr Fitzalan—had you not found out in time who I am.’
‘Were I not a gentleman, Miss Somerville, it would not matter a damn who you are. I would behave much worse and take advantage of your delectable charms here and now. And I know by your response that, if I had not released you when I did, with a little gentle persuasion you would have yielded to me completely, flinging all caution to the four winds with no thought of the consequences. Let me tell you that I rarely refuse that which is so flagrantly offered to me, but considering your age and that you are Sir John’s daughter—who, as you know, is an extremely good friend of mine—I must decline your offer.’
Eve was infuriated. ‘Oh—how dare you speak to me like this? I know what you must think—’
‘I don’t think so, lady. If you did you’d turn and run,’ he said with menacing, murderous fury. ‘Now return to your friends before they send out a search party and accuse me of compromising you. Having met you, I cannot think of anything that would upset me more than your father insisting that I do the gentlemanly thing and marry you myself.’
Chapter Four
I n disagreeable silence Eve turned from Marcus Fitzalan, her heart heavy with shame and helpless misery. Never had she been so shaken and humiliated in her seventeen years as she was then. Hurrying back along the path, she discovered to her mortification that her indiscretion had been witnessed not only by Angela but also by Leslie Stephenson, who was staring at her in absolute incredulity.
Unable to utter a word of explanation in her defence she hurried on, too ashamed, angry and humiliated to speak to anyone—but not before she had glimpsed, through the blur of tears that almost blinded her, Angela’s look of triumph and barely concealed smile. Her features were stamped with smugness and a confidence which came from the knowledge that Eve’s association with Leslie Stephenson lay in ruins.
Left alone, Marcus was angered beyond words that he had fallen into a pit of his own making. But she was right. Before he knew who she was he’d had every reason to believe by her actions and forward behaviour that she’d had lovers before, despite her youth, and something perverse inside him had refused to call a halt to his assault on what he believed to be a willing body.
He could be forgiven for thinking that her eagerness, her very willingness to have him kiss her, had confused him into believing she was experienced in the ways of seduction, but if this was her general pattern of behaviour when she was not under the watchful eye of her parents, then it was as well they knew about it, and soon.
Marcus Fitzalan did exactly as he said he would and had spoken to Eve’s father immediately. Her parents’ anger and disbelief at what she