At dawn, she would be taking his nephew, leading him away from home, taking him to London. Bridget stilled in the act of kissing Carlisle back, wishing she knew what John wanted from the young Duke of Burghly. Why he had specifically asked for the boy. He had promised her the lad would not be harmed, but now she had spent time in the boy’s presence and had developed a fondness for him, she wished she had never agreed to this untenable situation.
Perhaps sensing her sudden shift of mood, Carlisle broke the kiss, staring down at her. The moon’s glow was bright and full tonight, casting a silver sheen over him, over the garden, so that she could almost convince herself they had landed in the midst of a fairy realm.
“Tell me, Miss Palliser,” he said, his voice decadent and low, sending a sinful trill down her spine, “did you follow me into the gardens?”
Did he suspect her?
Bridget’s breath caught in her throat as she studied the planes of his handsome face cast in shadow. How she wished she could see his eyes, read the emotions within.
She forced her galloping heart to slow to a trot. “I can assure you, Your Grace, that I would never follow a man like you anywhere.”
“A man like me?” He canted his head, looking down at her, and she was uncomfortably aware the moon illuminated her for his perusal, whilst he remained an enigma. That his hands lingered upon her waist as if it was where they were meant to be moored. “Explain yourself, madam.”
“A rogue,” she forced herself to say, hating the breathlessness she could not hide. Hating the way her heart once more leaped when he slid a palm up her spine and she felt his heat through all the layers between them. “A gentleman with no greater concern than the whisky in his glass. A man born to privilege and power, who can take whatever he wants, who would importune a governess two evenings in a row.”
“Rogue is an appellation I’ll own.”
Slowly, the hand at her back traveled, between her shoulder blades now. The caress made an ache settle low in her belly.
“But you know nothing of my concerns, Miss Palliser, or how they weigh upon me. Moreover, I fail to see how I have importuned you, when we have already establishedyoukissedmefirst.”
Had she the first night?
Yes, for she had been determined to use him in whatever fashion she could to further her cause.
Had she just now?
Shame made her cheeks go hot. Nay, of course she had not. She would not…
Lord in heaven, she had, hadn’t she?
He had been the one to initiate their proximity, but the temptation of his lips had been her undoing.
“What are your concerns?” she asked him instead of arguing the point, for she knew a battle she would lose when she saw one. And perhaps she could learn something from him. Get him to reveal some information she might use against him. Convince him to reveal his vulnerable underbelly.
But he did not answer her. That wandering hand roamed to her neck, the touch of his bare skin upon hers a jolt to her already heightened senses.
“You ought not to be roaming in the dark alone, Miss Palliser. Return to where you belong and forget our paths ever crossed.”
Two impossibilities, for she could no more return to her beloved homeland where she belonged than she could forget about him, a man who stood for everything she had vowed to fight against.
She did the only thing she could think of doing in that moment of raw, potent connection. Her own hand—also gloveless—raised, and she cupped his rigid jaw. Dared to stroke it. “Why are you roaming in the dark, Your Grace?”
She told herself she prolonged their intimacy to garner as many secrets about him as she could. To make him vulnerable to her. But the rough prickle of his whiskers into her tender flesh made her feel heavy and aching between her legs. Just one touch, so simple. So unnerving.
“Because the darkness is where I belong, my dear.” His long fingers tunneled into her hair, loosening the plaits of the simple braid she had tamed it into that morning.
She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the damp of the night, or the hint of chill in the air, and everything to do with him. With the man, rather than her enemy.Diabhal.“Perhaps the darkness is where we all belong.”
He cradled the base of her skull then, holding her with such tenderness. She had never known a gentler touch, and how surreal—if not impossible—to think it had been delivered by her greatest nemesis, the most dangerous man in England. The last man she should ever allow to touch her. The same man who would see her jailed and hanged for her sins as others before her had been.
“What has the world done to you, Jane Palliser, to make you so cold?” he asked softly.
The manner in which he held her, the timbre of his voice, made her feel…cared for. How foolish, how truly weak of her. The Duke of Carlisle was not hers to keep. He was hers to destroy. And destroy him she must.
She answered him honestly. “The world has taken everything I hold dear from me.”
“Then I shall not be the man who takes one more thing,” he said softly, dipping his head to feather a tender kiss over her lips. “Go now, Miss Palliser, before you are missed, and before I am too far gone to let you leave.”
