“I told you when you were here with me yesterday that I did not require company,” she reminded him tartly, thinking it best to keep him on edge. “Yours specifically.”
“And I told you that I would return regardless of your denial,” he reminded, his tone cheerful.
She had to admit, he seemed to possess infinite patience where she was concerned. She could not be certain if it was his effort to ameliorate his sins with the widowed countess, or if its source was pity over her injury. Her bandage was hidden beneath the billowing sleeve of her dressing gown, but the reminder of it was there. She had seen his gaze slip to her arm more than once.
“You are a stubborn man, my lord,” she said, without the censure she perhaps should have added.
“You will find that I am stubborn when it matters most,” he said, nodding toward the pair of chairs by the hearth. “Shall we sit?”
She eyed him warily. “What is your intention?”
“Why, to ravish you thoroughly despite your recent gunshot wound,” he said dryly. “You won’t mind a bit, will you?”
“His lordship has a sense of humor,” she drawled, trying to keep the reluctant smile from her lips.
He had wooed her once before, she reminded herself sternly. And look at where the trust she had placed in him had landed her.
“It is one of my many talents.” He grinned, and the dimple returned.
Her heart gave a pang. “I have no doubt most of them involve charming anything in skirts,” she replied acidly.
He flinched, and she regretted her choice of words. But it was too late.
They had already been spoken, and they hung between them now, a heavy coil of rope in which she had entangled herself.
“I only aim to charm one woman now,” he said quietly, “and I am looking at her.”
How small she felt in the face of his calm declaration. She should not have been so cruel. It was unlike her.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I am merely overset. I did not mean to suggest—”
“Yes,” he interrupted her, “you did. But I cannot lie. You are not wrong about the man I was before. The man I have become, however, is different now.”
“I want to believe that. However, you are also the man I saw kissing another woman and then escorting her into his boudoir. The same woman he professed to have once loved.”
It was wrong of her, perhaps, to use his confidences against him as she had in the carriage. But she had been angry then, and she was desperate now. The tender care he had shown for her when she had been wounded had lit a fire inside her stupid heart that refused to be doused.
“If you choose to cling to your false beliefs and your anger, I cannot stop you,” he said coolly. “All I can do is continue to prove every word I say to be true.”
“I do not believe you can,” she said, lashing out at him in her hurt.
How she hated the memory of his lips on Lady Anglesey’s. How she loathed the thought he had loved the other woman years ago. Perhaps loved her still, despite his protestations to the contrary. He had been a dedicated rake when Izzy had stumbled into the salon at the Greymoor ball and into his world of shadows and seduction. His reputation was undeniable.
“Your lack of faith in me will not render my vows to you any less true when I say them,” he told her, his voice low and rough, a velvet-and-whisky rasp.
Vows.
Tomorrow.
For a wild moment, a burst of dizziness assailed her, and she could not be certain why. Was it the reminder of their impending nuptials?
She must have swayed on her feet, for he was at her side in an instant, his arm gliding around her waist and anchoring her to his big, warm body.
“What is it,cariad? What is the matter?” he asked, all the anger gone from his tone, replaced with concern.
Concern forher.
Even after she had sought to wound him with her words.
