Heat exploded in his head, dazzled him with light. Her mouth was voracious. Even while he sank into delight, he had the strange idea that she argued with him even through her kiss. She ran her hands up his chest to link them behind his neck. Through the fine shirt, her touch scorched his skin. His arms encircled her, drawing her closer.
How the hell could he ever let her go?
Panting and distraught, she tore herself free. She was shaking violently and her face was pale with tension. She glared at him as if she hated him, while her mouth glistened with moisture from their fierce kiss.
“I won’t go,” she said in a raw voice. “You can’t make me. I want to stay with you.”
What lunacy was this? He shook his head to clear it. Surely he’d misheard. Circumstances had forced her into a madman’s bed. She’d been abused and attacked and insulted. Any sensible woman would grab the chance of escape and run until she was a thousand miles from this estate and everyone on it.
Clearly Grace wasn’t a sensible woman.
His heart clenched in bewildered despair. Perhaps she didn’t understand. “I’ve worked out a way you can get away. This is your chance. You want to be free. You must be free.”
“I don’t want to be free without you,” she said stubbornly. She lifted her chin and gave him the same defiant glower that had stolen his heart the first time he’d seen her. He didn’t dare read the message in her eyes. Tears streaked her cheeks but she wasn’t crying anymore. “Whatever we face, we face together.”
Matthew’s heart kicked with shock.
Could this mean what he thought it did?
Could it?
Surely he wasn’t wrong about the inevitable, life-changing truth forcing its way into mind and heart. His anguished, adoring heart.
He sucked in a deep breath and dredged up every last ounce of courage to ask the inevitable question. “Grace…” he began, then crashed into silence.
He drew in another lungful of air. Ridiculous, but he kept forgetting to breathe.
He steeled himself to speak. Christ, he’d confronted death and illness and torture, but forcing these few small words out took every ounce of courage.
He met her fathomless indigo eyes and braced himself to go on. “Grace, do you love me?”
His voice sounded rusty, like an old man’s. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
The silence that followed lasted an agonizing eternity.
Still she didn’t speak.
Oh, Christ, he’d got it wrong. Somehow he’d got it disastrously wrong.
Yet for one brief, blinding second, he’d been so sure.
Despair like slow death trawled his veins. Self-loathing clenched his belly hard and tight. As if a woman like Grace Paget could love someon
e like him. Had he forgotten the cruel lessons of the last years? He was only half a man, condemned to live half a life. Sometimes, like now, that half life was all he believed he deserved.
She looked uncertain, unhappy. Of course she did. She wouldn’t want to hurt him. He couldn’t bear her pity, but what other response could she offer after the hellish mess he’d made of this? He cursed himself for his damned clumsiness. These last embarrassing minutes would poison the few days remaining to them.
“I thought I loved Josiah,” she said slowly. Her eyes didn’t shift from his face.
“You were little more than a child.”
“I’m a woman now.”
“Yes.” Helplessly, his gaze ran over her body, tracing each luscious curve, each inch of creamy skin revealed by the crimson silk. His eyes returned to meet hers.
“I know my heart, Matthew. I know what I feel won’t change.” She took a shuddering breath and extended one unsteady hand in his direction. Her voice shook with intensity. “When I tell you I love you, that means I’ll love you forever.”
What does a man do when his dearest dream comes true?