Amelia gritted her teeth, the burn of indignation threatening to spill over. “The proper thing to do, Your Grace, is to ask for my hand in marriage. Or else both our reputations will be tarnished. You will be labeled a rake and I will be known as the fallen lady who shall never be married.”
His jaw ticked, his previous anger flickering in his eyes. “Is that why you did this? To trap me?”
She couldn’t deny it, but she would not confirm his suspicions. “I was not thinking. I admit that—”
He cut her off again, “Then let us put it behind us. And pray that we are only overthinking the damage done to our names.”
She was growing irritated by his repeated interjections. “—However, if you do not choose the honorable course of action,” she paused, searching his face for a hint of anything, “…I may be inclined to reveal your secret.”
His hazel eyes became glacial. “And what might that be?”
Amelia met his cool gaze, her next words uttered out of sheer willpower in the face of his stoic fury. “You, the Duke of Stanhope, are theMasked Rogue.”
Damn it! Damn it all to hell!
Gideon's gaze bore right through Lady Amelia and he could almost notice her façade begin to slip. For a fleeting second, he felt a tinge of pity for her, but it was quickly smothered by a maddening mix of exasperation and annoyance.
Not to mention the fact that there was something in her deep blue eyes that held a mystery. There was an undertone of sadness and regret tucked behind the fear in those eyes. Gideon had to constantly remind himself he had no business unraveling the cause of it.
Now, knowing her true intentions, gave no cause for that slow burn of need to persist anyway. It should have been like a bucket of cold water all over his lust. Yet, there was something about the lady standing before him that he could not quite put his finger on. It might've been the carefree manner in which her long, chestnut locks cascaded down her temples—as if she’d readied herself for an intimate evening rather than attending a ball. Or perhaps it was her gown – green and bold, it clung to her svelte form in a way that flaunted her every sensual curve. His mind raced with visions of how it would look to slip that gown downeach shoulder, and watch that delicious blush taint her cheeks as she gazed up at him with those large eyes, full of innocence and longing…
Damn!
But not while he was married to her. He whirled away, rubbing his hand down his face. Hopefully, she hadn’t noticed the bulge now tightening his breeches. Gideon took a few moments to center himself and when he was certain that he had his urges under control, he faced her once more.
“And what, precisely, do you know of the Masked Rogue?” he inquired sharply.
She remained cowered in that corner, as if he was liable to pounce upon her at any moment. Gideon was acutely aware of his fearsome temper, but he prided himself on keeping it in check, especially in the presence of a lady. Already, she was challenging his patience.
“…I know enough,” she responded cryptically.
Enough? So she knew about his frequent trips to the Serpent’s Den? And the plan he was in the middle of executing?
Pah!
“That hardly narrows it down, dear,” he replied drily. But he knew that didn’t change the fact that she knew who he was. Which inevitably complicated matters.
Before he could press her again, there was a knock at the door. “What?” Gideon snapped, his patience wearing thin.
Thomas’ voice sounded on the other side. “Pardon me, Your Grace. But Mademoiselle Dubois awaits your presence.”
“Not now, Thomas,” Gideon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… send her away. Tell her that I am no longer inclined to see her.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
Gideon waited a brief moment for Thomas to leave before addressing the lady still cowering in the corner. “Look, you do not know what you’re asking of me,” he warned in a low tone.
“I think I know enough,” she murmured.
“Oh, but you don’t,” he hissed, approaching her again in quick strides. She shrank back against the wall—though she never once took her eyes off him—and it stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn’t particularly like the way she was looking at him, with such fear and uncertainty. But he supposed it would be advantageous in this situation. “You wouldn’t like being married to me.”
“My likes or dislikes are of no consequence to you.”
“I am the Masked Rogue,” Gideon emphasized, drawing closer once more. Her slight intake of breath stirred something within him, making restraint difficult. “If you truly know who I am, then you know that I am nothing but a rakehell. I would not be loyal to you.”
“I do not need your loyalty.”
“Nor can I guarantee you kindness or compassion. You’ve seen it for yourself. I have quite the temper.”
