That emerald stare studied him. “It is because I am a duty to you?”
Yes and no.But he would fret over thenolater.
He inclined his head. “I take all my duties seriously.”
“And your honor and reputation,” she observed.
“Yes. I do my utmost to live in the mold of my grandfather.” He paused. “All too often, I fail.”
Her lips tightened. “Because of me, you mean.”
“Because of my weakness for you,” he corrected.
“Yourweakness.” She said the word as if it were an epithet.
Obsessionhad been the obvious choice of word. He had ignored it. However, it seemed the word he had decided upon instead was no better. The expression upon his wife’s lovely countenance was distinctly unenthused.
He attempted to explain. “I ought to have been strong enough to resist the pull I have felt for you instead of allowing myself to become ensnared in your plotting to ruin yourself. It is my own failing.”
“You consider our marriage a failing?” she asked next.
“I consider my conduct a failing.” He moved toward her, attempting to close the chasm he had created between them with proximity. “Our marriage has proven pleasant. Do you not find it so?”
Better than pleasant, at least when they found each other in the darkest hours of night.
“I cannot say what I find it just yet. I fear you will resent me forever, Gabe.” She cocked her head, studying him intently. “What shall happen if I do something to displease you? Or if I should cause you scandal?”
He stiffened, stopping just short of her, the claret-red of her silken skirts brushing his trousers. “Do you intend to cause me scandal?”
“Not if I can help it.”
That was not the response he had been looking for, but he ought not to be surprised. She was the lady he had spent so much time chasing about London whilst she attempted to ruin herself. Her willingness to do so with any man she could cozen into her scheme returned to him, nettling. A woman with her passionate nature…
Shelbourne claimed she fancied herself in love with him.
Love begot nothing but hurt and devastation.
Love could so quickly fade and turn to enmity.
“I will not accept you taking lovers, Helena,” he bit out.
She flinched as if he had struck her. “Is that what you think of me?”
“What am I to make of your own words?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Why should you cause a scandal, if not by cuckolding me? I cannot think of any other means. Most society marriages involve husband and wife turning a blind eye to each other’s sins.”
Her chin tipped upward in a familiar show of stubborn defiance. “Would Lady Beatrice have taken lovers?”
Damn it, how had they come to this impasse? One moment, he had been listening to her play, and the next they were at each other’s throats.
“It hardly matters what she would have done,” he growled. “She is not my wife. You are.”
“Yes, but I am the wife you did not want, am I not?” she asked.
There was no good way to answer her question.
“I want you,” he rasped, irritated with himself at the hoarseness in his own voice. “Let there be no question of that.”
He wanted her endlessly. Every way he could have her. He desired her in a way he had not thought possible, and making love to her did nothing to quell the ache within him. Rather, it just made him long for her even more.
