He stared at her outstretched fingers, at her upturned face. If he let her into the cottage he had taken during his break, he knew it would never be the same. He would see her there and smell her there until the day he left.
He wanted that and feared it in equal measure.
But he couldn’t refuse her. So he took her hand and led her to the house. Once inside, he found the shirt he had discarded to do his work. When he’d put it on he turned. She was standing in the middle of the big, open room, looking around with a smile.
“I like it,” she said. “It’s cozy.”
“It isn’t mine,” he explained, going to the fire to stir it and adding a pot of water to make tea. “I’m only letting it until my next case begins.”
Her mouth tugged down. “I see.”
“How are you here, Celia?” he asked. “How did you find me?”
She shrugged. “Gray and Rosalinde brought me. They left me at the end of the lane. They won’t return for a while now.”
He blinked. “They knew you were coming to find me and they left you alone?”
“I think they assume my intentions are far less honorable than yours will be,” she said with a light laugh.
He couldn’t help his own small smile. “They don’t know at all, do they?”
They couldn’t. All he wanted to do was lay her down on the rug in the middle of the room, to strip her bare and make love to her until she was shaking with release, begging him to stop, begging him to never stop. Claiming her until there was nothing left but him.
He turned away. “Andyoufound me how?”
“Stalwood,” she said softly.
He spun on her. “No.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He swallowed back a salty curse. He was going to have to have a stern conversation with the earl when he next saw him. To send Celia to him was unkind. Bordering on cruel. How could Stalworth do it?
“I love you.”
She said the words so calmly, so softly, and yet there was a certainty on her face that spoke of her strength. Her determination. He couldn’t help but stare.Wasthis all a dream after all?
“Did you hear me?” she asked, taking a step toward him.
“No, Celia,” he said past a bone-dry throat. “You—you love an illusion.”
“You know my mind now?” she asked, her tone laced with annoyance. “You may think you do, but you have no idea. I loveJohn Dane.You. And having just been in your arms, I assure you, you are no illusion. You are wonderfully real, though you’re wearing too many clothes at present.”
He shook his head. “You are playful with something so serious.”
She folded her arms. “You’re right. My love for you is entirely serious. I’m glad you recognize it.”
He slammed his hand down on a tabletop. “Damn it, Celia. Stop saying that. Don’t waste something so precious as your love on a man like me.”
She moved again, and he hadn’t the strength to step away. She reached him but didn’t touch him. She only stared up into his eyes and said, “What I feel is not a waste. I love you. And what’s more,youloveme.”
With her eyes, she dared him to deny it. Dared him to be strong enough. But he wasn’t. Not when her scent filled his nostrils, not when he could feel her warmth that was more powerful than a dozen suns. Not when she seemed so certain.
“I do love you,” he choked out, hating that his eyes filled with tears when he said it. He’d never said it to anyone in his life, never once before. Now it filled him to the brim and made everything tilt sidewise so he had to fight to remain upright. “But if I got down on a knee now and offered myself to you, it would be an offer ofnothing. No title, no grand amount of money, no big house on a hill.”
She wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure where everyone got the idea that I am some title-hungry money-grabber, but I assure you it is not true. If I were to have you,allof you, that would be more than enough for me. None of the rest ever meant anything to me.”
“And what about your grandfather’s secret?” he asked.
