“Something is already between us,” he said hotly. “Why resist? Just think of the future you could have.”
“As your mistress?” she spat.
“No!” he replied with startled vehemence. “As my wife.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs as if caged and desperate for release.Wife. He’d said wife. Long-dead hopes hovered, ghoulish and mocking.
“We’ve Markham’s blessing,” he continued. “All we need now is yours.”
We. As in the two of them. Together. A simple yes and she’d be betrothed. Again. The ground swayed.
The marquess was vital. He was strong. To have such a man as hers. To have, to hold. To spar, to kiss. To depend on, to love.
How heavenly the image. How damning the need.
Bromton may be honorable—she had no means to tell. He was definitely confident. But kind? If he had any inclination to be so, she hadn’t any evidence.
What kind of man would suggest marriage after such a short acquaintance? Such a man could not possibly believe in love. And a man who did not believe in the existence of love could never understand why she’d given in love the one thing she could not recover. Besides, even if he could understand, any marquess would certainly expect a virgin bride, which she could never be.
“You do not know me,” she said, voice shaking.
“I trust Markham,” he said. “He believed we’d suit. Now that we’ve met, I quite agree.”
Oh, goodness. “I cannot make you leave Southford—Lord knows, I’ve tried.” She ran a trembling finger across her bottom lip. “Another kiss may even weaken me enough to ensure seduction. But…” But then he’d learn the truth. “But I will hate you for it. And you will end up hating me.”
With speed and agility that would have impressed Julia, she ducked under Bromton’s arm. She forced herself to keep moving, though her petticoats tangled in her legs and rushing air forced her unshed tears to sting.
…
Bromton remained rooted as Katherine disappeared. Her absence proved no less devastating than the shock of the cut to his skin. In Katherine, his soul had recognized a counterpart as well as an answer to his need, and her refusal thieved his power. All because he’d given in to an unrestrainable, blazing desire.
What the devil had happened to his control?
Never in his life had he been so consumed with lust. Ferocity had enlivened every sinew as he’d stalked her toward the billiards table, each footfall an ominous signal. Once he had her pinned, her musky scent had betrayed her welcome, and he had very nearly lifted her onto the hard surface and driven into the anticipatory heat awaiting him between her legs.
Ah, the climax he could have had—consummate release answering primal invitation. His cockstillstood stiffer than a rutting bull, his body prepared to charge.
Hell. He’dclaimedKatherine with that kiss, intent to pluck all her needle-sharp certainties.
For a flash, she had opened, pliant and warm and yielding, her soft breasts crushing against his chest in delicious surrender. She had been more than just a willing woman in his arms. She’d beenhiswoman, and tasting of sweet Eros while she’d been molded to his thighs.
Then, heady triumph had robbed his sense, and he’d demanded all she had. Of course, she had balked.
He let her go. Not just because his condition inhibited chase. He’d skated razor’s-edge close to force, and force was a line honor would not allow him to cross. A gentleman would never—
He snorted.
As if he could lay claim to the title of gentleman. Hisrealfather could be Bromton Castle’s second under butler for all he knew. His jaw tightened. He was no gentleman, and his infamous control was disintegrating—just another dammed lie.
Truth was, any control he once possessed had begun leaching from his limbs the night he’d learned he was a bastard and had been well-nigh gone by the time he’d put Katherine’s likeness into his pocket.
He curled his fingers around her miniature, ashamed of his longing to pull the locket from his pocket and trace the line of her lips.
God, he desired her. Not just because of those cherry-ripe lips, or her ink-stained cheek, or her saucy look of challenge—which would not have attracted him in anyone else—but because she’d voluntarily returned his kiss with a nascent passion that begged to be awakened, a drumbeat, carnal call that would have ended with her in his bed, even if he had no need for an heir.
He fell back against the table’s hard top. An errant ball bit into his shoulder, and he tossed it aside. A dozen candles burned in the chandelier above, each individual flame a reminder of fire’s ability to consume. As he stared at the flickering dance, a hot bit of wax fell onto his cheek. His skin burned under the sweet-scented splatter.
Perhaps the next drop would blind him. No doubt, he deserved to be punished.
