He had come back. 

Not only had he come back, but the bastard had the audacity to show his face at her father’s masquerade ball.  Even now strains of the waltz, the new German dance, reached her ears.  A dance she loathed. 

“Abby, come, you’re missing all the fun.”  Amelie, Abigail’s sister, made her request from the doorway of the library.  “You cannot sit in here and brood all night.”

“Yes, I very well can.”  Abigail didn’t bother to turn and see her sister.  She could well enough imagine the look of chagrin in her sister’s delicate features.

“You turn tail and flee the first chance you get to confront the man who hurt you.”  Amelie tsked.  “This is not like you Abby.”

Abigail turned then, swallowing hard and forcing down the bitter taste of deceit.  “I won’t face him, Amelie.  He got the better of me, and I’d rather not let him have the chance to rub it in my face.”

“Don’t let him.”  Amelia touched her sister’s arm lightly.  “Go down there and dance with every man who asks you.  He will only win if you let him.”

Abigail nodded, surprised she hadn’t thought of the same plan herself.  “Of course, you are right.  I won’t let him see me distressed, especially not by his presence.”  She straightened her back, and held her head high.  “Let us go enjoy ourselves, Amelie.”

The two strolled, arm in arm, down the stairs and into the elegant ballroom.  Abigail bent her head low as she spoke.  “Where is he?”

“He’s standing with father.”  Amelie’s voice took on a confused tone, and her brows were knit together.

Abigail lifted her head, her eyes searching the room.  Within seconds, her gaze landed on  her father and Amelie’s declaration was proven to be true.  Kieran MacLeod stood less than a handbreadth from her father, their heads bent close together in what appeared to be a heated discussion.  Uneasiness caused her stomach to churn, and she suddenly felt wretched.  For a brief instant she debated pleading a headache and retiring to her room. 

When Kieran lifted his head, and his gaze locked with hers, she knew she could do no such thing.  A smile touched his lips and he inclined his head in a nearly imperceptible nod.  She turned from him quickly, ignoring the fluttery feeling he always left her with, and nearly ran into Lord Delaney.

As if matters could not have gotten worse.

“Care to dance?”

Abigail looked to the older man, a man she knew was dead set on marrying her for the fortune she would bring him, and knew she should refuse him.  Unfortunately, he would provide just the type of leering glances to her bodice she wished to provide Kieran with.  He needed to know she had moved on, she thought nothing about him and cared nothing for him.  If she had to suffer through a dance with Lord Delaney to achieve that goal, so be it.

She fixed a smile on her face as she held out her arm to him.  “I would love to.”

As the next dance began, he led her onto the dance floor and proceeded to do just as she had expected him to.  “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.”  She did her best to sound sincere, but was fighting hard against the urge to remind him where her face was.  “You dance wonderfully, my lord.”

“I know.  I have tried to convince you of such for several months now.”  He didn’t sound nearly as irritated with her having put him off for so long as she had imagined he would have been.  Instead, he seemed content she had finally given him what he wanted.

“May I cut in?”

Kieran’s voice brought her up cold.  She stepped on Lord Delaney’s foot in her surprise, and offered a muttered apology.

“You may have her after this dance.”  Lord Delaney immediately brought her to the opposite end of the ballroom for the remainder of the dance.  She hadn’t caught sight of Kieran when he had tried to steal her away, but his voice was unmistakable.  It would never be fully out of her head; his whispered words of love and unfulfilled promises would haunt her until the day she died.

Lord Delaney deposited her with her mother after the last notes had played.  Much to her dismay, Kieran was waiting for her.

Without a word, he took her arm and pulled her onto the dance floor, one hand clasping hers, and the other firmly placed upon her waist.  His sage gaze never broke from hers, his mouth in a taut line.  There was a scar along his chin, one she hadn’t noticed before.

Before she could think better of it, she brushed her fingertips along the white line.  “This is new.”

“Yes, it is.”  He continued to move her about the room, graceful enough to make Lord Delaney look like an amateur.

She waited several moments, expecting him to bait her, but no words seemed to be forthcoming.  She cleared her throat, but still he didn’t utter a word.  “Kieran, I don’t know what game you are playing, but I am beyond your games.  Please bring me back to my mother.”

“I am not playing a game, Abigail.”  He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time.  “I intend to marry you.”

She tossed her head back in laughter, making sure to emphasize her mirth enough to get her point across.  “I am through with you, Kieran.  Never again will I let you anywhere near my heart.”

“That is your choice.”  He stopped, and ran his fingers up the side of her arm to the inside of her elbow.  “But you will marry me.”

Abigail looked around her and realized he had waltzed her onto one of the balconies.  He had her alone, shielded from the vision of the partygoers.  “I will not marry you.”  She stepped back from him, making for the ballroom, but he was directly in her path and showing no signs of moving.  “Let me past.”

“No.”  He took his other hand and trailed his fingers up her arm just as he had done before.  Both hands continued up past her shoulders, and over her neck before they both landed on her cheeks.  His fingers splayed toward the back of her head, and his thumbs caressed her cheekbones.

“What are you doing?”  She fought against the familiar feelings he awakened, feelings she had successfully squashed until this moment.  Her stomach fluttered, and she felt oddly light headed.  Obviously, she had drunk far too much of the punch.  There was no other reasonable explanation.

“Reminding you.”  His deep voice fell over her like a velvet cloak, warm and comfortable.  He moved his head slowly closer to hers, his gaze unwavering.

“I don’t want to be reminded.”  She shook her head at him, wanting to pull away but finding herself useless to do so.  “I’ve spent the last two years trying to forget.”

“A fruitless endeavor, I am sure.”

She only caught a brief glimpse of his self-satisfied smirk before his lips brushed against hers.  Gently at first, his touching hers in a feather light passing.  The flutters turned to somersaults, and she found herself gripping his upper arms to keep steady.

Slowly, one arm moved to wrap about her waist as the other delved deep into her hair.  His lips pressed against her harder, his tongue demanding access to hers.

Lost to him, she opened her mouth eagerly and stepped even closer into his embrace, her breasts crushed against his chest.  Her heart hammered beneath her ribs, and her fingers dug into the muscles that pulled his coat taut about his shoulders.  His tongue sought hers and picked up the dance where their feet had left off. 

Abigail felt her resolve against him melting into a puddle with each second that passed.  She sighed contentedly into his mouth, her fingers tangling into his hair.  She had missed him, missed this, far more than she had realized.

He broke off abruptly and stepped away from her, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.  “We will marry before the end of the fortnight.”

“What?”  As the illusion of contentedness collapsed around her, she fought to bring her mind out of the haze he had successfully constructed.  “I will not marry you.”  As she slowly pieced together what had happened, her fury with him grew.  How dare he think he could change her mind and melt her resolve with a single stolen kiss?

“We will marry, Abigail, make no mistake about that.”  He brushed his lips to hers again.  “The only question is whether you will be a willing bride.”

“This is not the dark ages, you cannot force me to wed with you.”  She backed away from him, dragging the back of her hand across her kiss swollen lips.

“This is true.”  He took a single one of her curls and wrapped it around his finger before bringing it to his lips.  “But your father, on the other hand, can.”

“You wouldn’t dare, you despicable man!”  She looked at him incredulously, taking in his stony expression.  His answer was clear without him having to speak a word.  “Why are you doing this?  You care nothing for me, why torture me so?”

“You have no idea.”  He shook his head at her as he stepped closer, pinning her between him and the marble rail.  “You are ruined, Abby.  Soiled, tainted, however you ladies are phrasing it these days.”  He took hold of her chin and forced her to look in his eyes.  “I am saving you from the life of a spinster, from a life you couldn’t want for yourself, even at your most desperate moment.”

“I would rather spend it alone than with a man I cannot trust and know doesn’t love me.”  She pulled her chin from him, fighting back tears.  “Do not try to mask your lecherous intentions, I would think we are beyond that by now.”

“Damn you, Abby.”  He pressed his lips to hers again, hard and demanding.  “You will marry me, you may as well grow accustomed to the idea.”

“I hate you.”  She turned her head from him, her voice low and venomous.  “You may succeed in forcing me to marry you, but you will never have me willingly.”

His eyes turned cold, and he moved away from her.  “You will be willing, Abby.  I guarantee you, I will have you screaming my name in that lovely pleading voice I had grown so fond of.”

“You are disgusting.”  She narrowed her eyes in a glare, pushing past him and back toward the ballroom.