“Bertie will hate to go into mourning again,” Lucasta murmured. “But perhaps at the end you might have a grand come-out gala for her, and bring Judith out as well.”
“Judith.” His shoulders stiffened, and he drew back his head to stare at her. “Why are you so concerned to expose my sister to ridicule and shame?”
Lucasta’s mouth parted. “I am only thinking of what she wants?—”
“You know nothing of what she wants!”
Lucasta pulled away, stung by his obstinacy. He would do this now? “I happen to have spent many hours of conversation with her about her dreams. But it seems her wishes for her future do not matter to you. You have already decided what she will have, and what she deserves. You care only about whatyouwant.”
A dark glitter entered his eyes, and he leaned toward her. They were already very close, and the action made the large buttons of his coat brush against the scarf she had wrapped about her bodice.
“And what,” he said in a hoarse mutter, “do you presume it is that I want?”
A thrill of alarm singed along her spine. The shadows in his eyes were the same gray as a cloud of smoke drifting past the window. She did, in fact, know nothing of an adult, healthy male’s wants or needs.
But with his breath on her neck, his scent filling her head, the heat of his nearness raising a prickle of awareness along her skin, all that filled her awareness was this inexorable pull to be near him. It was a deep, yearning ache in her belly that only eased when she touched him.
“I think you wanted to make a fool of me,” she said, battling to steady her voice. She couldn’t give in to her body’s longings or the deeper desire to push away the haunted, empty look onhis face. She must remember where she stood with him. “You meant to make me a figure of ridicule and fun. The Gorgon. The Medusa. Let Smart Jeremey show her a hint of attention and watch everyone run to pet and make much of her. I agree it would make an amusing spectacle.”
He winced. “You did not deserve that.”
“Oh, most likely I did, in part. I’m sure my pride and vanity could use pruning. But you took it too far.” Her throat tightened, hurt threading her voice, and she drew a deep breath for strength. “You came to meet my foundlings. You introduced me to your brother and sisters and Mrs. Cadogan. You brought Bertie to me. You—dressed me.”
Her voice hitched, and breath left her as she recalled standing in his shop, shivering with delight as he swathed her body in thick, luscious silks and brocades. “You—” He’d kissed her. An unbearable liberty. Even more unbearable to think he might never kiss her again. “You made me—”Want you.
She couldn’t saythat.Widgeon! He’d tricked her, manipulated her, made sport of her. How Ashley and Plimpton and all of them must have roared with laughter to see her go starry-eyed the moment Lord Rudyard led her out in a dance. “You toyed with me,” she managed.
“I meant all of it,” he muttered, his face growing haggard, taut, as if he harnessed his own emotion with great difficulty.
“To mock me?”
“I meant…” He raised a hand to touch a lock of hair at her temple, and the heat of his nearness sizzled her skin. “You bewitched me,” he said hoarsely, as if the words were drawn from him against his will. “I wanted to hear you sing to your foundlings. I want to hear you sing every day of my life. I wanted you to meet my family because I knew you would love them as I do. I know it makes me a cad, when I made you no promises, no offer of marriage, but when I kissed you…” His breath was arasp. “I could think of nothing else then, and I have thought of nothing else since.”
That wasn’t true, the rational part of Lucasta’s brain wanted to argue. He’d thought very carefully about how to hurt her when he found she’d planned for Judith to appear in her benefit concert.
But the rational part of Lucasta’s brain had very little claim on the rest of her at the moment. The rest of her was focused on the turmoil in his expression, the longing in his eyes, the firm, sensual shape of his lips and the persistent, begging ache spreading from her belly into her chest.
He stroked her temple, and the soft slide of his fingers along the side of her face made her breath stop. “Lucasta,” he said, “forgive me.” His face was so bleak, his brow furrowed with regret.
Oh, she was a foolish, foolish girl, to turn to treacle at his touch. So this was how a girl lost her head over a man. She forgot her hurt over his calculations, his designs. Before her stood the raw, real man, stripped of his elegance, his defenses, his mocking demeanor and the careful shield he held to the world.
She had slipped around his fortifications to find the real Jem standing before her. And everything in her leaned toward this man and his touch like a young sprout seeking the sun.
“Very well,” she said huskily, trailing her fingertips across his jaw. “I demand a forfeit. A kiss. One kiss. And then we will shake hands and part, and there will be no more—toying of any sort.”
His eyes flared, and something inside of her opened at the desire on his face. Wanton, shameless girl. When had she become so bold as to ask for what she wanted?
“I have made you no declaration,” he said softly. “I am not in the position…”
She steeled herself not to flinch at that crushing admission. He didn’t want her, not really. Not in the enduring, deepest waysshe wanted him. She needed to step back now, take herself away, retrieve what she could of her heart and her self-respect.
Go,said her head. Lucasta always followed her head.
Except with him. The rest of her wanted to kiss Jem, more than she wanted self-respect, more than she wanted dignity. The ache would not be denied. The part of herself that stood before him just as raw and exposed as he was answered that desperate look in his eyes. She knew with certainty that he longed for her every bit as much as she longed for him. The space between them fairly shivered with the weight of that need.
One kiss goodbye. She would grant herself that. She curved her palms around his jaw, stroking the stubble emerging on his chin, the lines left by muscles tense from the trials of the day. She wanted to ease that weariness, and she wanted to revel in his desire, and she wanted to tell him she forgave him. She wanted to linger in his mind after she was gone.
“I did not ask for a declaration,” she whispered. “I just want you. I suppose…”
