He bent and scooped more stones from the heap in the wildflowers at his feet. With dogged persistence, he threw each one at the tree, every time hitting the center of his mark. The accuracy was uncanny. And sad. His skill was stark testament to the solitary hours he’d spent perfecting this.
When he’d pitched the last pebble, he glanced over his shoulder. Although she’d approached quietly. Although she hadn’t said a word.
“Grace.”
Nothing else. Just her name. It lay between them like a challenge.
The potent memory of her naked skin gliding against his rose like lava in her blood. Before she met him, she’d never felt lust, but she felt lust now. It blinded her to everything but her need to touch the marquess.
Cursing her blush, she stepped forward. “Lord Sheene.”
He turned slowly. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to her. Anger? Disdain? Disgust? After her failed seduction, she deserved all three, although at least he knew now that his uncle had forced an impossible choice.
She was astonished to see unveiled hunger burning in his eyes. She shivered as the charged silence built. Extended.
A soft sound of yearning emerged from deep in her throat. Her heart thumped out an erratic, heavy rhythm. His eyes deepened to dark honey and
he made a convulsive movement toward her.
“When you came to me…” His voice was ragged.
“No.” She flung out a hand to ward him off. How could she find words to express what she’d felt last night? The fear. The shame. The desire.
She couldn’t. Not in daylight.
“Very well.” His jaw adopted a granite line. She suddenly remembered that he stemmed from a long line of ruthless magnates. “But we will discuss it.”
“Just…just not now.” She grabbed a steadying breath. “What were you doing with those pebbles?” Her color rose higher at the question’s banality.
He dusted his hands off and stepped closer. “My father taught me to shoot. This keeps my eye in—and helps me think.”
She didn’t need to ask what he thought about. Lord John’s threats still preyed like ravenous leopards on her own peace. His gaze sharpened on her. “What do you want, Grace?”
You.
She bit back the swift answer. Although, heaven help her, it was true. And after last night, she knew he wanted her too. That knowledge lay between them like an unsheathed sword.
She stepped over the invisible but deadly blade. Her lips stretched in an uncertain smile. “We could walk.”
“We could.” He bent his glossy head in grudging assent but his eyes held an implacable glint as they focused on her. “You can tell me about your life.”
She started back as if he’d punched her. She never spoke to anyone about her past. Never. Never. Never.
“I can’t.” It was the whine of the indulged child she’d left behind with her life at Marlow Hall. The girl who wouldn’t practice her pianoforte or do her French translation. That girl was a ghost she’d banished years ago. “It’s not an edifying story. I don’t…”
How could she reveal the depths of her selfishness to this man she admired above all others? She didn’t want him to despise her, as he would despise her when he knew the damage she’d caused.
“Grace, your secrets are your own,” he said gravely. “Keep them or share them. I have no right to insist.”
The calm acceptance in his rich eyes soothed her fears, lured her to contemplate unprecedented confidences. Suffering had granted Lord Sheene a unique wisdom. If anyone could understand her topsy-turvy history, the mad marquess would.
No other man had seen her naked body. Perhaps it was fitting that he should glimpse her naked soul.
She squared her shoulders. “No, I want…I want to tell you.” Strangely, it was true.
Both were silent as they stepped onto the faint track through the trees. Wolfram bounded out of the undergrowth and trailed after them, although he soon grew bored with their sedate pace and set off on exploratory tangents of his own.
The narrowness of the path meant only a couple of inches separated her from Lord Sheene. Close enough for his warmth to tease. The loamy woodland smells carried a tempting hint of his soap. Even through the anxiety swirling in her mind, she was unbearably aware of him as a man.