‘Perhaps in your family her behaviour is considered normal,’ she said, her eyes narrowing.
‘Perhaps it is,’ he responded quietly. Since he could not name his parents, how could he know for sure? But it had been less than kind of her to point the matter out.
‘Her frivolous nature is an affront to the memory of her sons, who devoted their lives to the good of others.’
‘All the same, she seems most devoted to you,’ he said, amazed that she could so easily dismiss the love that he’d longed for during his own, lonely childhood.
‘If she truly cared for us, she would behave as the rest of the family did,’ Miss Strickland replied, unimpressed. ‘My father was a vicar who gave his life helping others. As did my mother.’
‘It must have been very difficult for you,’ he said, wondering if that was why she was so enamoured of self-sacrifice.
‘Had he lived, my eldest uncle would have been a peer, committed to the well-being of his tenants and loyal to the Crown.’
‘I am aware of that,’ he said, wishing that she would let him forget the differences between them, even for a moment. It would serve her right if he pointed out that her uncle’s demise made it impossible to know whether he had been a paragon or subject to the human frailties of an ordinary man.
‘And the last of the three was at Talavera,’ she finished. ‘He died a hero.’
‘Of course he did,’ Gregory said, unable to contain his sarcasm any longer.
‘What do you mean by that?’ If he’d meant to insult her, he’d succeeded, for she sounded even angrier with him than she had been with the Dowager.
‘I mean that it is a perfectly logical choice for a second son to go into the army when he is given the money for a commission.’
‘But you could not afford one,’ she finished, mocking him just as he had mocked her family.
‘On the contrary. I had more than enough money to be an officer,’ he snapped. ‘But I do not like following orders.’
‘Then it is most curious that you have put yourself at the beck and call of every gentleman in London,’ she retorted.
She made him sound like a lackey, which was probably just how she thought of him. ‘Let me clarify. I do not want to follow orders that will get me shot as a traitor, should I refuse them. More so, I do not want to follow orders that will get me killed when I obey. I am sure your uncle would be more humble than you are at his heroism, had he survived it. But he did not.’
‘The men of my family were not afraid to give their lives in service to others,’ she said in a soft, warning tone.
So she thought him a coward? Then let her. ‘I do not wish to be a martyr for any cause, no matter how noble. My goal is to live to a ripe old age without leaving unacknowledged sons or impoverished daughters who must throw themselves on the first title that shows interest.’
‘I doubt you will have to fear leaving a full house,’ she bit back. ‘You would have to marry before you get a widow and I cannot imagine a woman who would have you.’
‘You cannot imagine?’ He reached out and took her arm, forgetting his plan to keep his temper and his place. ‘Perhaps it is because you are so sheltered you confuse prudishness for virtue.’
‘There is nothing wrong with me,’ she whispered. Perhaps it was true. Though when she shuddered at his touch it was with desire and not fear.
‘There is nothing wrong with me, either,’ he murmured in response. ‘When I am ready to marry, it shall be to a woman who wants a man instead of a title. A woman who could appreciate this.’ Then he closed the last of the distance between them and pulled her into a kiss.
Even as it was happening, what was left of his normally rational mind announced that it was a terrible idea. He had been goaded into an argument that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her fear of seeing a body so like her own displayed as an object of desire.
But that was what she was.
It did not matter that she was an innocent, or that she was so far above him in birth as to make a romance between them laughable. She was everything that had enticed his father, nine months before he was born. Had he known where it was, Gregory would have sworn on the grave of his mother never to make the same mistake. But now that the moment had come to resist temptation, he did not just choose the path to ruin, he raced down it without hesitation.
Perhaps there was a weakness in his blood, just like the Earl in the missing painting. The taste of Hope Strickland’s mouth was like the boiled sweets he’d stolen as a child. She was all the more delicious because she was forbidden. The body that was crushed to his would be pillow soft and silk smooth under her gown, the most delightful resting place for a man both inside and out.
He felt her gasp against his lips as her mouth opened and he took advantage of it, slipping his tongue between them, filling her mouth. Her lashes fluttered against his cheek like the wings of a moth and her soft moan of alarm changed almost immediately to one of pleasure.
If he’d thought to prove some point, to assert some sort of dominance over her, he’d succeeded. It was time to let her go. His conscience laughed at the very idea. He had not done this to win an argument. He’d done it because it was what he’d wanted, from the first moment he’d seen her. Nor did he wish to stop, now that it had begun. He would not be finished with her until her body had revealed its last secret to him. With such a woman, the exploration might take a lifetime.
A lifetime?
This was madness. In a week, he would be working for someone else and she would go back to practising smiles for a cousin who might never arrive. He pulled away, trying to free himself before he was trapped for ever. But it was already too late. He was panting as if he’d run a mile. His body stirred as if they were tethered by some invisible bond and he could use it to draw her back into his arms, where she belonged.
