Yes, she knew he wanted her. His desire called to her most secret yearnings. Yearnings she found harder to deny with every hour. Volcanic heat built between them. But any explosion would leave only devastation behind.
She recognized that. Yet she couldn’t block the thrill that crackled through her as she imagined him kissing her again. Properly this time.
Oh, Grace, you’re a wicked woman.
She shivered again. He noticed as he always did. “You’re cold. I’ll take you back to the cottage.” He bowed and presented his arm. They could be in Mayfair instead of trapped inside this luxurious cage. Another shadowy glimpse into the life he should have led. The reminder, as always, filled her with a roiling combination of futile anger and piercing compassion.
“Grace?” His eyes darkened with familiar self-mistrust. “Or do you prefer your own company?”
“No.” She placed her hand on his arm and was shocked to feel how he trembled. His veneer of control was wafer-thin.
For a few fraught moments, they walked in silence. Grace’s lips stung from his attentions, the way they had stung last time he’d kissed her. Regret tightened her throat. Regret for what she d
rove him to, certainly. But even stronger, regret that he withheld the sweetness of his unfettered kiss.
She knew him well enough to recognize that tenderness formed the bedrock of his soul. Tenderness and strength, although it was the tenderness she longed for most of all. Yet his kisses had been hard, quick, unemotional. Almost cruel.
Her courage faltered but she couldn’t suppress the curiosity that gnawed at her. “Why did you kiss me like that?”
He tensed under her hand but didn’t, as she expected, pull free. “I told you why. We needn’t dwell on it. Unless, of course, you find my humiliation diverting.”
The last taunting remark reminded her of his sarcasm when she first arrived. Then his jarring wit had been a defense against the woman he believed his enemy.
What did he defend himself against now?
Her fingers curled against his shirt sleeve, forcing him to stop and face her. “Why were you so rough?”
He flushed under her searching regard. A muscle flickered in his cheek as he jerked free. “I’ve already apologized. What more do you want? Blood? I’m sure I can oblige.”
“You know that’s not true,” she said softly.
His voice was harsh. “You leave me no pride. You must guess you’re the first woman I’ve seen since I was fourteen. You must guess what that means.” He drew in a jagged breath. “Now, for God’s sake, leave me alone.”
She hardly heard his biting command. Instead, she stood in appalled silence.
Curse her for a blind, insensitive fool. How could she not have known? He’d fallen ill when little more than a boy. Since then he’d been Lord John’s prisoner. Every day it became more heartbreakingly apparent how much his uncle had stolen from him.
The marquess watched her, his remarkable eyes filled with despair. “Go on, laugh. I’m twenty-five years old and until I saw you, I’ve never touched a woman in passion.” His expressive mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “My uncle should exhibit me as one of the wonders of the age.”
His pain clamored to her. Louder than the demands of self-interest. Stronger than the tenets she’d always followed.
You can offer him recompense.
The insidious suggestion welled up from deep within. From the dark realm where lust and loneliness skulked. She stiffened as though someone aimed a pistol at her head.
She found her voice. “Kissing is simple enough to learn,” she said huskily.
“Perhaps.” His expressive mouth settled in an unhappy line. “If one has the opportunity.”
Grace chewed nervously on her lip. The marquess’s eyes sharpened on the movement. For all his inexperience, he was still a man with a man’s responses and needs.
The reminder tipped her uncertainty into rash decision. She took a deep breath and spoke before she could stop herself. “I offer you the opportunity.”
His vivid face creased in a frown and his eyes deepened to somber bronze. The soft gloaming cast shadows across his black hair and tall, leanly muscled body. She was always conscious of his attractions. Now his masculine beauty transfixed her.
“Are you sure about this, Grace?”
She was far from sure. But she’d traveled too far to retreat. Her heart raced and her hands twisted at her waist in an anxious dance. “A…a woman likes to be treated gently, my lord.”