He stepped forward, grasping her shoulders painfully in his hands. “If you’re lying now, so help me, India...”
He didn’t complete the thought. Instead he yanked her to him and covered her mouth with his in a scorching kiss. He swallowed her gasp of surprise and deepened his kiss. At first his touch was angry, forceful, then it softened and she let out a small moan.
One hand tangled in her curls. The other ran the length of her back, touching, caressing, covering as much of her skin as he could.
She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe for fear of ending such an exquisite kiss. He wasn’t holding anything back. Neither was she. Here in the shelter of him, she began to feel hope that maybe, just maybe he felt something for her beyond the pain of betrayal.
When he finally pulled away they were both breathing heavily. He looked at her, his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotion. Fear, anger, uncertainty...desire.
“Tell me again,” he said, only the tiniest of shakes evident in his voice.
“I love you.”
“Thenwhy?” he demanded, his eyes pleading with her to make him understand. “Why put us both through this?”
“Can we sit down?” she asked, motioning toward the fire.
He gestured for her to precede him.
She sank down on the soft ground, cross-legged and stared into the fire. He sat down beside her. His hand cupped her jaw and he gently turned her until she was looking at him.
“If we’re going to talk, I want you to at least look at me.”
She turned slightly so she could better see him. She gripped her hands in her lap. They still shook, her nervousness clawing at her stomach, lapping at her muscles.
“That first day. When you came to ask me to translate the journal. I saw something startling. Something I didn’t know how to react to right away.”
He nodded. “I knew you were holding something back.”
“I didn’t want to become involved. That much was true. And I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t received a letter from my father.”
Ridge regarded her skeptically. “So your father really is alive?”
“His letter can explain it far better than I,” she said wearily.
She didn’t want to have to explain the whole drawn out affair. She dug into her bag that lay on the ground and drew out the rumpled letters she had received from her father. She opened them both then handed Ridge the first one.
He took it from her then angled it toward the fire so he could see the writing. After a moment, he pulled his spectacles from his coat trousers and put them on.
As he read, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened. And finally he put the letter down, disbelief shadowed in his face.
“You don’t believe it,” she said.
“Would you have me believe it?” he asked.
“The first day you showed me the journal, what I read in Sir Roderick’s handwriting is all that my father said in his letter.”
“So you duped me from the very beginning, pretending to help me all the while keeping me ignorant of the truth, using me and my money to further your ambition. Were you laughing the entire time?”
She curled her fingers into tight fists. So tight that she was sure the blood had left her hands. “I never laughed at you, Ridge. I hated what I had to do.”
“What you thought you had to do,” he corrected.
“I couldn’t leave my father for dead,” she protested. “He’s all I have left.”
“Not all, India. You could have had me.”
She stared at him in silence, not knowing what to say in response.
