Of course, he knew she was attracted to him. Her response to him—the way she had kissed him—told him everything he needed to know on that account. But he could not resist pressing the matter, just the same.
“Ah,” he told her as he slowly prowled nearer, hoping to discomfit her. “But youaredifferent from every other lady, Grace. So very different.”
And she was.
But Grace was made of sterner stuff than that. Had she made it too easy, this dance would have only been half as much fun.
“And you are a silver-tongued devil,” she countered coolly. “Flattery falls off your tongue with ease.”
“You have been thinking about my tongue, Grace love?” He could not resist teasing her. “How wicked of you.”
Her color heightened, but she did not retreat. “I refer to your capacity for wooing the fairer sex, my lord. Not to…other matters.”
He could not suppress his grin any longer. He was enjoying this banter and battle of wits with her, as always. And far, far too much.
“Have I, Grace?” He trailed his touch over her jaw, stopping at her chin. “Wooed you, that is?”
She swallowed, and his fingertips absorbed the vibration—the sign he affected her far more than she allowed herself to show.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I want to woo you more,” he told her. “I want to woo you until you cannot think of why you are vexed with me. Until you cannot think of anything or anyone but me.”
Oh, yes.He did. He should not want that. His rational mind knew it all too well. But the other part of him—the beast—wanted nothing but Grace Winter. Nothing but challenge and daring and recklessness. Nothing but sweet, seductive surrender. Her surrender. Her complete capitulation.
He should leave her here, and he knew it. He should walk out her door, sneak back to his own cold and lonely chamber, and forget ever trespassing here. Grip his cock. Spend into the bedclothes. Go to sleep.
But he did not want to do any of those things. He did not want to obey the proprieties. He did not want to leave Grace’s side. He did not want to go back to his chamber alone.
Damn it all, he was having a cursed difficult time reminding himself that Grace was not his betrothed in truth. That this was all a pretense. A means to enable him to secure Tyre Abbey.
“This is dangerous,” Grace said then. “We cannot continue on as we have been. Last night was an aberration.”
But he heard the hesitance in her voice. He read it in her eyes. As a man who had devoted practically the latter half of his life to being a rakehell, he knew damned well that Grace Winter was his for the taking. That she did not want him to leave her chamber, despite what she had said.
He also knew he would not take her innocence. Could not. She would go to her husband—to the devil with the bastard—without a hint of guilt.
But that did not mean Rand was averse to seducing her. There were other ways, beyond the rendering of a lady’s maidenhead, which could offer pleasure, both to Grace and to himself.
He cupped her face in both hands, holding her gently, forcing her gaze to meet him. “Was it, Grace? Are you certain you want me to go?”
He lowered his head, bringing their lips near, but stopping just short of kissing her.
Her breath puffed over his mouth. “I…”
She was at a loss. Her words never finished.
“Tell me to go,” he urged her.
Because he was confident, it was true, that she would do no such thing.
“Go,” she said.
What the devil?
“Truly?” he asked.
“Yes,” she affirmed. “You must leave this chamber, for if you linger, we run the risk of my lady’s maid discovering you here. And if my lady’s maid finds you within my bedchamber, I need not tell you what will occur.”
