"Conn!"
The voice belonged to Liam. Connor's hand, in the act of sliding up Caitlyn's bare thigh, tightened and stilled. Her whole body stiffened as she tried to shut out the intruding sound. She whimpered, wordlessly begging him not to stop. Connor's broad shoulders blocked the rest of the loft from her view as he looked toward where the ladder ascended into the loft. Liam's voice had come from the foot of it. Willing him to ignore the intrusion, she twined her arms tighter around his neck. He spared her a flickering glance, his eyes moving from the soft whiteness of her thighs, bared by the skirt he had pushed out of his way, to the pink-tipped, quivering breasts above the lowered bodice. She was nearly naked beneath him. The knowledge melted something deep inside her. She quivered, and Connor's eyes, as hot as the midday sun, lifted to meet hers.
"Connor!" Liam called, insistent. Connor tore his eyes away from her to look toward the source of the sound again.
"Aye, what is it?" he answered, his voice not quite steady. Then, as if he couldn't help himself, his eyes returned to her. They moved over her once more, fixing finally on the thigh where his hand rested in dark contrast to her ivory skin. Those aqua eyes darkened. An instant later his mouth twisted violently. Despite Caitlyn's mewling protest, he removed his hand. With methodical pre- cision he pulled her skirt down, smoothing it over her legs. His face was a study in passion, regret, and something else that Caitlyn finally recognized as resolve.
"Fools and children," he muttered under his breath. Caitlyn remembered him saying something similar once before. Before she could quite recall the context, Liam's voice interrupted her chain of thought.
"Ah-your visitor is taking tea in the parlor. She's wondering where you've got to." He was still speaking from the foot of the ladder.
"Damn, I forgot all about her!" Connor followed this appalled statement with a string of muttered curses. Then he disengaged Caitlyn's arms from around his neck and sat up, running unsteady fingers through his hair. At the reminder of Mrs. Congreve, Caitlyn scowled. The passion that burned in her eyes was joined by smoldering anger.
"Keep her occupied, will you? I'll be right there," Connor called down to Liam.
"Aye." There was the sound of muffled footsteps, and Liam was gone. Caitlyn sat up, pulling her bodice up with angry jerks, glaring at Connor all the while. The flush that passion had brought to his cheekbones faded as he quickly retied the ribbon that held his hair. That he could go from her to that-that woman made Caitlyn want to bash him over the head with the nearest deadly object. Fortunately- or unfortunately, depending on one's point of view-there was no deadly object within reach. Lip curling into a sneer, Caitlyn reached out and plucked an errant straw from those black waves. Connor looked at her, his brows lifting.
"We wouldn't want your lady friend to think you've been doing something you shouldn't, would we?" she asked with bite, holding the straw aloft before dropping it disdainfully to the floor. Connor's eyes hardened as he took in her anger.
" 'Tis you I'm thinking of," he said grimly. "Do you want it all over the county that I've been making love to you in the hayloft in the middle of the afternoon? 'Tis your name that will suffer, not mine."
"Do you think I care?" Her voice was fierce. Connor glared at her, his temper ignited by hers.
"You're a fool, Caitlyn O'Malley, and I'm a bigger one. But I've no time to discuss it now." With that he surged to his feet. For a moment he stood, hands balled on hips, glaring down at her as she sat at his feet. He looked very formidable as he towered over her, every inch the virile male from the still-rumpled waves of his black hair to the toes of his scuffed boots. Beneath scowling black brows, those aqua eyes impaled her. Even the set of his chin spelled trouble. But Caitlyn was not intimidated. She scowled back at him mutinously, her arms crossed over her breasts. What had been wonderful only moments before was soured now by anger.
"What are you standing around for? Go on! Meredith is waiting for you." Venom dripped from every word. Connor's eyes glinted dangerously at her for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. Reaching down, he caught her arms and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. Without the protection of her hands holding it in place, her bodice gaped indecently away from her chest.
"Let go of me! What do you think you're doing?" She tried to catch the falling bodice and at the same time shake free of him as he whipped her around. The neckline slipped off her shoulders and drooped dangerously near her waist. Only her thin shift saved her from utter indecency. Furious, mortified, Caitlyn yanked the bodice of her dress back into place and held it there with both hands.
"Buttoning your dress," he said through his teeth. He steadied her in front of him, her back to him. His hands on her shoulders gave her a hard warning squeeze before he let go and started to do up the back of her dress.
"Had lots of practice acting as lady's maid, have you?" she asked nastily as he completed the job in record time. As soon as his fingers had secured the last button, she jerked away and turned to glare at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her scowl for scowl. Then something in her expression caused his anger to fade.
"I told you, you've no reason to be jealous of Meredith. What is-or is not-between her and me has nothing to do with you. Nothing at all."
"I'll not share, Connor. I warn you." He looked at her silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing, his lips compressed.
"You're taking entirely too much for granted, Caitlyn O'Malley. If you're bound and determined to be my mistress, you should know that a mistress has no rights over a man at all. Only a wife has that."
"Then I'll be your wife." As soon as she spat the words at him, Caitlyn knew that it was exactly what she wanted: to be his wife.
" 'Tis considered proper to wait till you're asked." Connor's voice was dry.
"Then I'm not proper!"
"Amen to that!"
They glared at each other, neither giving an inch. Then Connor shook his head impatiently. "I've no more time to bandy words with you now," he said, turning away.
"Musn't keep dear Meredith waiting, must we?" she shot after him as he headed toward the ladder.
He swung back to look at her. "Damn it, Caitlyn…" he began furiously. Then, with a muttered curse, he stepped onto the ladder and disappeared from sight. Caitlyn stamped her foot. If there had been anything close at hand to throw, it would have gone sailing through the air. But straw made a poor projectile. Impotently she stamped her foot again, mentally castigating Connor d'Arcy as three kinds of sons of the devil.