Meanwhile, she wouldn’t give the Duke of Thornecliff the time of day.
Yes, they were the same person, but in that moment, Thorne found no comfort in that.He was still infuriated by her preference for his alter ego—and infuriated with himself for caring.
What was it about Lucy Lively?Since the first moment he saw her, across the crowded public taproom of a barely adequate coaching inn in the arse end of Wiltshire, she had been under his skin.
Unfortunately, five years evidently hadn’t cured him of his obsession either.
If he had an ounce of self-control, he’d leave her on this bridge without another word.
But Thorne had long ago given up on denying himself the things he wanted.And by God, he wanted her.
Not for a few stolen kisses in the moonlight, either—he wanted a proper seduction.He wanted her complete and total surrender…to the Duke of Thornecliff.
In this game they played, the only way to triumph would be to seduce her as himself.
She already wanted The Gentle Rogue.It was too easy.Taking what she offered so freely now might satisfy a momentary hunger, but it could never sate the primal need that burned in him when he looked at her.
Not that he needed her to wanthimthe way she wanted The Gentle Rogue.He craved the challenge of it, that was all.
He would have her as the duke.Or not at all.
The challenge of it sparked through him like a lit match to a fuse, a bright, searing rush that banished the boredom he’d felt creeping about the edges of his life.
He would conquer her as Thornecliff.Perhaps she would see it as a betrayal, if she ever found out the truth.But he wouldn’t humiliate her deliberately.He would be magnanimous in victory.A gentleman.
Not that he was above using the Rogue to get what he wanted.
Flashing her the smile that had loosened the stays of many a straitlaced lady, he said, “If you’re no longer a child, then you should be old enough to know better than to chase around after highwaymen.”
For the first time, a hint of frustration tightened Lucy’s voice.“I’m old enough to know what I want.”
Despite himself, perhaps to punish himself, Thorne wanted to hear her say it.“And what do you want, Lucy?”
Say it.Say you want to give yourself to a man whose face you’ve never seen, when you won’t even give a smile to?—
“I want to know you,” she said softly, “the way you know me.”
Thorne couldn’t help his reflexive, instinctual recoil at the very idea.
Know him?That was the last thing she should want.The last thing anyone should want.Most days, if Thorne could disavow all knowledge of himself, he would.
Misinterpreting his expression, which must surely be one of outright revulsion, Lucy hurried to add, “I’m not talking about trying to unmask you.I would rather it to be your choice to trust me with…well, everything.”
He couldn’t help it.He laughed, the sound harsh enough to scour the inside of his throat.“We’ve been over this before.That will never happen.”
“What if we spent more time together?Trust takes time to grow,” she insisted.
The cheek of her.The brazen, unmitigated— “You don’t need to be spending time with a common criminal.”
“You’re not a criminal!”Red suffused her cheeks.She looked ready to do battle on his behalf.On The Gentle Rogue’s behalf.
Thorne felt like kicking something.“Only because I haven’t been caught yet,” he pointed out harshly.“You’re a lady.The sister of a duke.You should be spending time with?—”
“With dukes?”she scoffed, her chest rising and falling quickly with the force of her breaths.“No, thank you.”
“Yes, with dukes,” Thorne said recklessly.“Why not?”
“Because apart from my brother, every duke I’ve ever met is either old and dull or young and…”
