Free The Mistress of His Manor by Catherine George Page A

such anger she backed away involuntarily.
    ‘Yes.’
    March straightened, suddenly so physically formidable it was hard for Jo to stand her ground. ‘I see,’ he said curtly. ‘In that case I’ll stop wasting my time—and yours.’
    And without another word he strode from the room and outof the house for the second time, leaving her incandescent with fury because he’d made no attempt to change her mind.
    Jo stood where he’d left her, in the middle of the room, waiting to hear the growl of his car engine. But in the end she gave up and made for the kitchen. The doorbell rang before she got there, and she ran along the hall, her heart leaping about like a mad thing when she saw who it was.
    ‘Forgotten something?’ she demanded, as she opened the door to March.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, and picked her up, kicking the door shut behind him. ‘This.’ He smothered her furious protests with his mouth as he carried her into the parlour and sat on the sofa, holding her fast on his lap.
    Hissing like an angry cat, Jo tried to get free, but March caught her flailing hands and closed his arms round her like iron bands as he kissed her until they were both panting like longdistance runners.
    ‘To hell with friendship. I’m going to be your lover. And the only thing we need in common for that is this .’ To remove all possible doubt he began kissing her again, but this time he caressed her with clever, fire-raising hands while his lips and tongue worked magic. But at the very moment when Jo was melting into hot, boneless response, ready to do anything he wanted, March raised his head to look down into her eyes.
    ‘You drove me to that,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I’ve never used force on a woman in my life before.’
    Because women normally dropped into his waiting hands like ripe plums, thought Jo, utterly disgusted with herself because she’d almost done the same. Even more mortifying, there was a strong possibility she still might if he tried the same tactics again.
    ‘Let me up now, please,’ she said, proud of herself because her voice was steady.
    March slackened his hold and helped her to her feet. ‘If Ihurt you, I apologise,’ he said shortly, and looked her in the eye. ‘But I won’t lie and say I’m sorry for the rest.’
    ‘You’re honest,’ she conceded.
    ‘We aristocrats try our best,’ he said with biting sarcasm, and made for the door. He turned to look at her. ‘Having received what I came for, Miss Logan, I’ll bid you goodnight and never darken your door again.’ His eyes stabbed hers. ‘And this time I mean it.’
    This was the last thing Jo wanted. She tried to find some way to tell him that without losing face, and in the end—to her own surprise as much as his—asked him if he’d eaten.
    ‘No,’ March said blankly. ‘Are you by any chance offering to feed me?’
    ‘Fool that I am, yes,’ she said irritably. ‘But it’s just a kitchen supper,’ she warned.
    March drew himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at her with all the hauteur of the portraits in his long gallery. ‘You’re asking me to sit at your kitchen table?’ he drawled with disdain, then dropped the pose and gave her the smile that turned her knees to jelly. ‘I’d like nothing better.’
    ‘In that case,’ she said, as they went into the kitchen, ‘sit there, so you don’t get in my way, and I’ll give you things to do.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am!’ March slung his jacket over the back of one of her chairs and sat down, his pleasure so obvious at the unexpected turn of events she thawed completely.
    Jo passed him silverware and mats and told him to lay the table. ‘If you know how,’ she added.
    ‘Of course I know how! I live alone, remember.’
    ‘In a “sort of flat”,’ she agreed wryly, filling a kettle. ‘How big is it?’
    ‘Big enough. Some of it,’ he went on, ‘was the domain of the servants at one time. My mother had a good eye, and with the help of an architect