“Your towel, madam.”
She reached out to take it from him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“With disappointment that I’m no longer naked. I’m having enough troubling trying to remember you’re supposed to be my sister.”
She moved closer, knowing it was a bad idea, but no man had ever looked at her the way Rockwell was doing, nor had her body reacted to any man like this before. It was as if it had a mind of its own. “But I’m not your sister.”
Rockwell briefly closed his eyes. “What are you doing? This is not a game. Do youwantto end up married to me?”
She shook her head but held her ground. “I don’t intend to marry unless it’s for love. You mentioned I’d be missing out if I remained a spinster. Well, I can be a spinster, but that doesn’t mean I can’t experience desire and passion.” So she dropped the quilt to the floor.
Once again, heat flared in his eyes. He took a step towards her until her breasts almost rubbed against the satin of his robe. “But what if you met a man you could love and—”
“If he loved me, he wouldn’t care about my past. If he does, he’s not the man for me.” She tentatively reached out and cupped his cheek. “No one needs to know what we do in Ireland. Besides, you’re saying I’m already ruined for being with you here in Ireland. So perhaps I want to be ruined for real.”
He reached up and gripped her wrist, gentling peeling it from his face. “But I would know. If you want this to go any further, realize you’re agreeing to marry me. And I warn you, I’m not husband material. But I can promise you passion. Just not my heart.”
She stepped back, stooped to gather the quilt around her once more. “Then we are at an impasse. I’m happy to explore passion with you, but I won’t marry you unless I own your heart. I guess it will be a frustrating trip.”
With that, she pushed him out of her room and slammed the door.
Men were so confusing. Rockwell wanted her. She saw it in his eyes and the way his robe was moving when she revealed her body to him. Yet honor got in the way.
She sighed as she donned her slip to sleep in and crawled into her cold bed—alone. Really, she admired his honor. That was what made him a good man, and why she utterly believed him when he said he wouldn’t make a good husband.
He would never lie to her.
The fear that grew deep in the pit of her stomach was that if they didn’t get home soon, the ruse would be revealed, and Rockwell and her brother would make her marry him. Franklin wasn’t stupid and would not believe the story. She was ill for too long. He’d want to see her. Or worse, contact Blackstone and ask what was wrong with her.
Wouldn’t it be ironic if Rockwell behaved like a gentleman on this journey and ended up having to marry her, anyway?
She turned over for about the hundredth time and punched her pillow.
What she was even more scared of was that maybe she didn’t care they would have to marry. Having a man like Rockwell for a husband could be very desirous—while he was at home in England, anyway. The nights would be long when he went adventuring.
An image of Rockwell with mistresses or ladies in countries he sailed to, made her cringe and wish she’d never thought marriage to Rockwell would be anything but a disappointment.
As she drifted into sleep, she promised herself that they would do everything they could to find Lord Furoe. And soon.
*
Farah slept lateand by the time she had risen and dressed, Rockwell had left the tavern, which meant she was stuck here until he returned. She’d promised. She sat in their private salon drinking another cup of tea and thinking about Lucien. She prayed they found him because both Lauren, his sister, and Courtney, his fiancée, would be so happy…
Perhaps a book might keep her busy, but just as she stood to peruse the shelves, the door opened and Rockwell strode in and threw his gloves on the table. “Well, the meeting with the grain merchant only led to more confusion. I showed him the small painting I have of Lucien and he thought it looked like a man who lived in a small village north of Dublin, Malahide. But he wasn’t sure, as the man had a thick beard.”
“So not all bad news.”
Rockwell sunk into the chair and rubbed his head. “But he was sure the man had a little girl with him—a daughter, he thinks.”
“Oh, that can’t be him then.” She sat watching his inner turmoil. “But you want to check?”
“This man is the first person to show any sign of recognition. I can’t ignore that.”
Farah eyed him and finally plucked up the courage to ask, “Why is finding Lord Furoe so important to you?”
