He sighed and let her draw him down beside her. “Why the hell do you want to kiss a man who’s lied to you?”
“I’m insane.” She leaned forward in encouragement.
He caught her chin and held her still. She closed her eyes, looking like a little girl awaiting a treat. His heart filled with tenderness so profound, it hurt. Gently he explored her mouth and received in reward a drift of honey through his soul. When he raised his head, the world seemed a glorious place.
Slowly she opened her eyes. “See? Sweet.”
He growled again, but his heart really wasn’t in proving himself king of the beasts. “You know nothing about men, Miss Barrett.”
“I think—” Her shyness contrasted beautifully with burgeoning assurance. “I think that while I mightn’t know anything about men, I’m coming to know something about you.”
“I thought I was a villain and you never wished to see me again.”
He should hustle her from the stables, but curiosity delayed him. His hand traced the shoulder under her sagging bodice, down her arm to her hand. He had a horrible inkling that anyone who saw him holding hands with Genevieve would concur with her assessment. Right now, he was sweet, confound it. If she wanted to punish him, this vulnerability was the punishment of the damned.
His voice lowered into seriousness. “I deserve your anger.”
“You do.” She responded with characteristic candor. “But you’re not utterly irredeemable. And you kiss like an angel.”
Like an angel? He barely resisted the impulse to preen like a blasted peacock. He arched his brows. “Just kiss?”
She blushed. What an intriguing mixture of inexperience and sensuality she was. “And other things. Stop cadging compliments.”
He shrugged, then voiced the nagging question. “Why did you just give yourself to me, Genevieve?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the silence extended, Richard’s expression resumed the affability that he raised against the world. Genevieve was shocked to realize that somewhere in their tumultuous interactions, she’d peered beneath the mask. The perception was reassuring, fortifying her instinct that despite his lies, she’d glimpsed the true Richard Harmsworth.
“Forgive me. I have no right to ask.” His grip on her hand loosened.
Curse him, she didn’t want him to release her. She wanted him to hold her close forever. It terrified her to the bone quite how much she wanted him to stay.
“You push and push,” she said resentfully. “Then when I cooperate, you question me.”
She could hardly accept that she’d become a fallen woman, let alone put it into words. Last night, she could blame her recklessness on heightened emotions after the abduction. This morning, she’d had no excuse but lust.
“Because you push back. You were livid last night.”
“I was.” In the last hour, she’d accepted that while he’d undoubtedly deceived her, he’d intended her no harm. If he had, she couldn’t have thrown herself at him as she had.
Lowering her head, she studied her fingers curled around his, paler, smoother than his tanned skin. Something about the capable elegance of Sir Richard’s hand made her feel safe and… loved.
Dear God, she really was in trouble.
He cupped her jaw, tilting her face until she met his eyes. His dark blue gaze was steady and concerned and made her feel like the only woman in the world. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But still she couldn’t shake the impression. He looked like someone she could trust.
Could she?
“You no longer believe I pursue you for the jewel?” he asked softly.
She was now convinced that his desire at least had always been honest. “Perhaps at first.”
He still looked troubled. “No, you were always the prize. Now I’ve ruined you.” To her regret, he slid away, disturbing a cloud of dust.
She felt on stronger ground here. It saved her from admitting how she yearned for him. “You tried to do the right thing.”
His laugh was bitter. “Much good that did me. I can’t resist you.”