Her face fell, and he regretted his hasty words, along with the bite in them.
Torrie moved forward, keeping the valise where it lay between them, allowing her the illusion of safety in a world where he had discovered there was none. He took off his gloves and tucked them inside his coat, offering his bare hands to her, palms up.
“What are you doing, Lord Torrington?”
“Might you not call me Torrie?” he asked. “Everyone who knows me does.”
“I do not know you.”
“You kissed me. I would say that means you at least know me a bit.”
Color rose again in her pale cheeks. “Torrie, then.”
He liked the way his name sounded in her prim voice with its slight husk. “Place your hands in mine.”
She stared at him solemnly, in the manner he imagined she might regard a stray mongrel, uncertain whether or not she ought to offer her trust. “Why?”
“You’ll see.” He wiggled his fingers. “Do it.”
She heaved a small sigh, but then she relented, placing her hands lightly in his.
And there it was—the sensation. Heat and awareness and something far, far heavier, too. He’d never felt so completely moved by a woman’s simple touch before. At least, not that he remembered.
“There,” he said slowly. “Do you feel it?”
“Your bare palms against mine?” Her color deepened. “Of course, I do. And it is most unseemly. I cannot think why you would ask it of me.”
“To show you that there is something deeper between us. Something more than guilt or pity or necessity. When I kissed you, I felt it. When you place your hands in mine, I feel it, too.” With both his thumbs now, he lightly caressed the sinfully soft skin of her inner wrists where she was warm and her pulse beat fast. “Do you feel it, Miss Brooke?”
He wanted to ask her given name, wanted to know it and try it out on his tongue, but he was also cognizant that he had pushed her well beyond her boundaries as it was. And so he didn’t press her for another kiss. Nor did he do anything more than allow himself this simple caress. This proximity.
Her body stiffened, her wrists tensing, her supple mouth going taut and pinched with displeasure. “Must you make a mockery of me, my lord?”
Did she think him entirely heartless? Perhaps she did, and Torrie had only himself to blame for her poor opinion of him. But then, what had he done to suggest he was a gentleman, aside from offering to marry her? He had spirited her away in crudest fashion and had cost her the roof over her head. If she’d had a father to demand satisfaction, the fellow likely would have challenged him to pistols at dawn.
“I make no mockery,” he hastened to reassure her, keeping his tone as gentle and soothing as possible. “I am in earnest, my dear.”
The moment the endearment fled his lips, he wished he could recall the words. She had made her dislike of it known.
“I wish you wouldn’t be so kind,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper.
But Torrie wasn’t finished. He had more to say, and his time with which he might do so was vanishing by the second. At any moment, Monty would return.
“Everything that happens to us in this life is for a reason,” he told her. “I’m in need of a wife eventually, for I require an heir. You’re saving me the effort of having to search for someone who would not please me nearly as well as you do.”
“How can I please you when you do not know me?”
“I know you well enough.”
He knew there was far more to her than she allowed the world to see. He knew he liked her. She possessed courage, his Miss Brooke. Already, she had intrigued him far more in their short acquaintance than anyone had since his accident.
“I am astonished you believe knowing someone for the span of a frantic carriage ride and one short call is sufficient,” she said tartly.
There it was, her stubborn nature returning. Her spine straightened, as if she were receiving a fresh round of courage. And despite his deep appreciation for her spirit, desperation prickled at his neck.
Damn and blast. He’d thought he was winning this latest battle between them.
“I’m afraid we haven’t the luxury of more time,” he said honestly. “After everything that happened last night, we must make our decision now, with all haste. In scarcely any time at all, the Duke of Montrose is going to return to this salon. I would prefer to have your answer before then.”
