And of course, she was chasing him down in those delicious purple boots, determined to give him a piece of her mind. When he turned to find her close enough to kiss, he was not at all surprised.
“Answer me,” she demanded. “Do you not trust me?”
“It is complicated,” he bit out. “I do, and I also do not. I cannot explain it.”
“What have I done to make you doubt me?” she asked, her voice softening.
Her honey-and-chocolate eyes glimmered with the traces of tears.
He was a bastard for making her cry. Once, he would have enjoyed her tears. He would have adored bringing her low, making her weak. But that had been before he knew her. Before he had slept with her in his bed each night. Before he had been inside her.
“Sin,” she prodded, cupping his jaw as she searched his gaze. “What did she do to you?”
He wanted to tear himself away from her touch, and yet, simultaneously, he never wanted to move. He wanted her to caress his jaw and gaze upon him with such a tender need to understand him forever. No one had ever looked at him thus.
And this, from a woman who had believed him a murderer.
“Tell me,” she whispered, stroking his cheek with her thumb.
“We were young when we married,” he remembered. “In love, or so I thought. But after I inherited the earldom, she changed. She became consumed by the social whirl. After our daughter was stillborn, it grew worse. She hated me, blamed me. Celeste refused to allow me to touch her, to comfort her. She pushed me away, and she threw herself back into society with a vengeance. Before I knew it, she was gambling away everything she could, disappearing for days. Once, I caught her with two of the footmen.”
Callie’s soft gasp cut through him, settling deep, lodging somewhere perilously near to his heart. Her eyes were luminous. “Oh, my darling. I am so sorry.”
My darling.
It was the first time she had used a term of endearment for him. The effect it had upon him was furious and wild. Suddenly, the last thing he wanted was her tenderness, her sympathy. The compassion in her gaze, in her dulcet voice, threatened to crush him. He could not bear it. He had no wish to relive the dark days of his marriage with Celeste.
Rather than continue unburdening himself, he lowered his head and took his wife’s lips. Her kiss was laced with tea and sweetness. Her tongue slid against his. He kissed her as if he could devour her. Because that was what he wanted to do. He wanted her naked on his desk, wearing nothing but those purple boots of hers.
Hell, he was a monster. His wife had gone for tea with her friend, and she returned to a jealous fiend who all but accused her of planning to bed the bloody butler. There was no excuse for his reaction. His feelings for Callie had him desperately confused.
He did not want to feel.
Feeling made him vulnerable.
He wanted the physical. Lust roared through him, along with the frantic need to possess her. His heart pounded. He nipped Callie’s lush lower lip, then kissed away the sting. Dragged his mouth down her throat. His hands found her rump. Delicious handfuls. He ground her against his aching cockstand, letting her feel what she did to him. How badly he wanted her.
“I am an arse,” he whispered against her creamy throat. “Forgive me.”
He sucked on her flesh. Her exotic, floral scent invaded his senses.
“Sin,” she murmured.
Her small hands were on his shoulders, caressing, holding him close. He would do penance with desire. Make her come. This was what he knew best—sensuality. All he had to do was figure out how the hell to get her out of her divided skirts.
His heart was pounding harder. Louder.
Too loud.
“Sin?” she breathed, a question in her voice. “Dunlop is knocking.”
Curse the blighter.
“My lord? My lady?”
“Go to the devil,” he called.
“The Duke of Westmorland is requesting an audience, my lord,” said the butler-in-training. “He says he will not leave until he has seen her ladyship.”
