"Look up!" he demanded imperiously. "Don't hide your face. It's mine.
And I want to see it!"
Reluctantly, compelled by his voice, she lifted a white, tortured face to his. Then, meeting his eyes, savagely alight with the fire of conquest, she turned her head quickly aside. But it was useless. She was powerless in the vice-like grip of his arms, and the next moment he was kissing her, eyes and mouth and pulsing throat, with terrible, burning kisses that seemed to sear their way through her whole body, branding her indelibly his.
It was useless to struggle. She hung nervelessly in his straining arms, mute and helpless to withstand him, while his passion swept over her like a tidal wave, submerging her utterly.
When at last he set her free she swayed unsteadily, catching at the table for support. Her knees seemed to be giving way under her. She was voiceless, breathless from his violence. The tide had receded, leaving her utterly spent and exhausted.
He regarded her in silence for a moment.
"I don't think you'll ask me to release you from your engagement again," he said slowly.
"No," she whispered tonelessly. "No."
She tottered almost as though she were going to fall. With a sort of rough kindliness he put out his hand to steady her, but she shrank from him like a beaten child.
"Don't do that!" he exclaimed unevenly. Adding: "I've frightened you,
I suppose?"
She bent her head.