“No.”
“I’m not offering charity.”
Sarah had an inkling of where his argument was going. And it both astounded and amused her. “You believe that my being your mistress will allow you to take care of me while making me feel productive?”
He considered her words a moment. “That is my intention.”
“And you don’t understand why I would refuse your offer, do you?” she continued.
“Quite frankly, I’m astonished. I believe this solves several problems.”
“And would you make such an offer to a lady of rank? Or one who is considered genteel?”
Now, he began to sense that he’d best be wary. His sharp blue eyes slid away from her gaze. “You know that would not be right.”
“Because?” she prodded, with the primness of a governess.
“Such an offer might be considered an insult.”
Sarah leaned forward. “My father is Lord Twyndale, the late one. I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, Your Grace, but how does that make me less respectable than his daughters born by his lady wife?”
“I believe you know the answer to that.”
“You are right. I fought it for years. In fact, my sense of worth doesn’t come from who my father was. It comes from who I believe I am.” Proud words. Bold ones. They wrapped themselves around her.
Baynton heard them. He might not believe them, but between them passed a moment of complete understanding.
And she expected him to apologize. She was ready to hear him babble on about how he mistook her situation. She was even ready for him to ask forgiveness, which would please her very much. She doubted if he spoke those words very often.
Instead, he sat silent, his expression unfathomable—and then he leaned toward her, cupped his hand around her face before she realized what he was about, and kissed her.
Shock paralyzed her mind.
His hands were warm against her jaw. His lips upon hers hot.
It was not the kiss of an experienced lothario. There was no demand to it, only naked yearning and a sense of wonder.
In spite of her best interests, Sarah responded.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed. Years ago it was. She would not count the sloppy kiss of one of the young actors who had caught her in the wardrobe room. Baynton wasn’t groping her. He was speaking to her, and wasn’t it lovely to be spoken to in just this language? To have a man offer to worship her? To envelop her in his arms? His body?
She’d forgotten so much but his kiss made her remember.
Her lips parted, softened. She found she didn’t wish to hold back. She discovered a desire for something more.
The duke caught her movement and mimicked it.
Baynton was a novice at seduction. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing. His kiss was earnest, honest, and, surprisingly, delightful.
For one sparkling moment, Sarah breathed him in and it was good.
Very good.
One of them sighed. She realized the soft sound of pleasure was from her. The duke was too busy placing his arms around her, drawing her closer.
For a span of time, she could see herself and Baynton in the room. See them kissing and the growing heat. If she wasn’t careful, his hand would be on her breast—
His hand went to her breast and Sarah jumped out of her chair. She moved to place the table between them. She touched her lips. She had to. They didn’t even feel the same.
