“You were a gentleman’s daughter,” he said softly. “And a gentlewoman yourself. Anyone with eyes can see you are a lady.”
“Hmmm.”
She’d hoped the noncommittal answer would veer him to other subjects, but of course it didn’t. He was focused now, driven, as spies tended to be when something struck them as odd.
“Wheredidyou learn to cook?”
“Our housekeeper didn’t mind showing me when I expressed an interest. I suppose she hoped it would keep me off my father’s path. She was wrong, of course,” she said with a sigh. “In truth, Father liked me cooking, for it is very much like making medicines. There’s a recipe, a precision, a science.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “I can see that would be true.”
“When Mrs. Smith died, I took over in her role as housekeeper and cook for my father,” she explained. “And assistant, when he needed it.”
Lucas stared at her in what was clearly confusion. “He didn’t want…more for you?”
“More?” she asked, feigning a lack of understanding when she knew full well to what he referred.
“A life outside of his world,” he clarified. “A husband. Children.”
She flinched as she set her plate aside and broke her gaze from his. “I doubt my father thought of me in that way. To him I was a tool. To be trained and used as needed.”
“Didn’tyouwant more, Diana?” he asked. “Don’t you want more now?”
She pressed her lips together. He was dancing perilously close to an edge she could not risk gliding along. So instead she moved to take his empty plate. “May I get you something else?”
He shook his head and caught her wrist, keeping her from backing away. His hands were remarkably strong and she could see there would be no point in fighting. Worse, she didn’t want to fight. She liked the weight of his fingers against her skin. She liked the intensity in his stare as he looked up at her.
She liked the dance between them, even if she knew the outcome could be nothing good.
“I don’t want more. I’m not hungry.”
She swallowed hard. “I cannot imagine that is true, Lucas. You ate so quickly and—”
He tugged her a bit closer. “I’m not hungry for food.”
“Lucas,” she whispered, though she offered no resistance as he drew her down, slow as molasses, into his lap.
She settled there carefully and now they were face-to-face. His breath stirred her lips, and he never broke eye contact.
“You want what I want,” he whispered. “Or do you deny it?”
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice cracking.
He tilted his head, his expression challenging her, telling her he knew full well what she wanted. That she knew what he wanted too.
Which of course she did. There was no denying what he wanted. It was evident from the heavy length of his cock that pressed against her thigh as she sat in his lap. Evident by his dilated pupils and the way his hands clenched against her.
But he didn’t say those things. He didn’t say anything at all. He merely cupped the back of her head and drew her closer. And just like in his bedroom earlier in the day, she did nothing to resist him. In fact, she tilted her head, granting him greater access as his mouth met hers.
For the briefest of moments, the kiss was gentle. But then it shifted and suddenly she found her arms around him, she was lifting against him, his mouth was open, devouring her with passion that had been bubbling beneath the surface for days now. Finally it overflowed and she felt no desire to fight it or him.
She wanted this. After years of loneliness and grief and pain, she wanted something…good. And she wanted it now.
As if he sensed that, he pulled away. He was panting as he said, “Come upstairs with me, Diana.”
She swallowed hard. This was her opportunity to regain purchase over herself. To deny him, to deny herself, and do what any other person in good society would consider the right thing.
And yet, she didn’t do that. She stood, holding out her hand to him, and he took it. Slowly they made their way up the back stairs, down the short hallway. At the door to his chamber, he stopped and faced her.
