Good heavens, it seemed to have been fashioned for a monster.
Which was just what Dominic Winter was, she reminded herself sternly.
He seated himself on the bed at her side, the dip in the mattress from his large body forcing her to plant her hands on the counterpane to keep from sliding against him.
“You must think me an imbecile,” he said, his calm pronouncement quite taking her by surprise.
She thought him a great many things. But it was plain to see he was an intelligent man. Her heart pounded. Adele feared she was doomed regardless of her response.
“Of course I do not think that, Mr. Winter,” she managed past the trepidation clogging her throat.
“Perhaps, then, you believe yourself such an incomparable beauty you thought I would be overwhelmed by the urge to bed you after I saw your face.” His dark gaze assessing her as he spoke.
“No,” she denied, a strange sensation unfurling at the way his eyes traveled over her.
Fear, surely.
His stare dipped, lingering on her lips. “I will admit, I am surprised a fool like Sundenbury could secure a woman as lovely as you. Did he promise you a pretty fortune for your favors?”
Max was not a fool.
A scapegrace, mayhap. Reckless and wild. In need of taming. But how dare this villain pay him insult? Adele clung to her outrage, chasing the other, unwanted feeling Mr. Winter provoked in her.
“My relationship with his lordship is none of your concern,” she told him coolly, wishing she was not currently seated upon a bed. In dangerous proximity to this criminal.
“You are either as foolish as Sundenbury, or you have the daring of ten men.” He reached out then, trailing his forefinger along her jaw.
Adele forced herself to remain still. His touch was gentle. The pad of his finger was rough. Not unlike the contrast between hard and soft, darkness and light, right and wrong. She shivered, but not because she was cold.
The rasp of his skin over hers sent heat burning through her.
“I will give you anything you want in exchange for his safety,” she forced herself to say.
His touch trailed down her throat next. “Anything?”
Adele forgot to breathe. “Anything.”
* * *
Why had he removed her veil?
Dom could have kicked himself in the arse for his miscalculation. He had intended to prove the lie of her actions. To startle her into wakefulness and be done with this game they played. Instead, the sight of her fragile beauty affected him. But still, she had kept on with her pretense of having swooned.
Touching the swell of her breast—that, too, had been tragically stupid. The act of a simpleton.
It had produced the desired effect in the cunning beauty before him. But it had also produced a decidedly unwanted effect in him. The same one which had been plaguing him ever since he had first touched her.
Now he was touching her again.
Her skin was creamy and smooth. Soft and warm and silken. Dom wondered if Sundenbury caressed her like this, if he had ever marveled over the texture of her skin or paid her homage as she deserved.
Then he cursed himself once more.
She had just told him she would give him anything in exchange for her lover’s safety. Little did she know, the safety of the marquess would also work in his favor. If Dom had to wager a guess, the Suttons were behind the attack on Sundenbury.
But she didn’t need to know that.
And he did not need to continue touching her.
