She had to be careful. She had to remind herself she would soon have to leave. Because as she watched his hair fall over his forehead yet again, she realized she was very much in danger of forming an attachment.
“Wine?”
She nodded.
He sauntered over to the table at the opposite end and poured two glasses from a full decanter. “Such a deep and satisfying red.” His eyes fell to her lips as he handed her a cup. “Shall we toast to your future as a woman of means?”
“Or to my present, as your?—”
“Lover,” he interjected. “I’ll not permit aspersions.”
How imperious...and kind. She touched her glass to his. “To my lover, then.”
“And to mine.” His gaze gleamed as he drank.
They sat down together on the cushioned sofa—she, nearer the high, curved edge.
“Your rigid posture won’t do at all...the sole purpose of a méridienne is feminine repose.”
“Feminine repose?” She lifted a brow. “Shall I create a tableau?”
“Certainly.”
“What famous painted pose would you prefer?”
“Something Italian, I think. 17thcentury, perhaps?”
“Are you familiar with the works of Artemisia Gentileschi?” She blinked innocently.
His smile widened. “If you’ve murder on your mind, we’ve come to the right room.” He unwound his already loosened cravat and tossed the crumbled silk aside. “Perhaps I should offer you my neck and plead for mercy.”
“Mercy,” she repeated. She downed the rest of her glass, barely tasting the earthy richness. “I wonder...wouldyou ever place yourself entirely in my hands?”
As I have in yours,she left unsaid.
“I already have.”
She saw no mocking light in his gaze.Hadhe placed himself in her hands?
How could he, when he was so much stronger physically, and more powerful socially and had every possible advant?—
Suddenly she remembered the penny...and the haunted, lost look that had won her the wager and then she thought of the wreck. Her heart spasmed.
What was he?Whowas he?
He drew her close. The heat of his body seeped into her person; she cared less and less for answers. He was a man. And she was, quite frankly, drawn by the contrasts between them.
His chin’s rough stubble. The hard muscles of his shoulders and chest.
What made the basic differences between them erotic and exciting?
“Feeling reticent, my love?” He cupped her cheek. “So many thoughts flickering across your features. Are there none you wish to share?”
“None,” she replied. “At present.”
As he searched her gaze his mouth softened with sympathy. “I’m not being very lover-like, am I?” He crouched down. “Allow me to see to your comfort?”
“As thedukewishes.”
