He opened his eyes and she saw pleading in them. “Please do not leave.”
For some reason, she was sure he rarely used the word please. “I…I must. I cannot stay.”
He smiled a know-it-all little smile. “You must leave because I kissed you?”
“It wasn’t right,” she said softly. “We should not—We must not…”
“I was half asleep and dreaming. You can’t be angry at me for that, can you?”
“I’m not angry. I’m…”
“Oh, I see. It’s Harry. You’re worried because you liked my kisses better than his. Or does Harry kiss you? I seem to remember that he likes horses more than women, and experienced women more than virgins.”
Anger made her straighten. “For your information, I love Harry’s kisses,” she said, walking toward his side of the bed. “I love everything about him. He’s certainly better looking than you, with your black eyes and your scarred body. I’ll wager Harry doesn’t have a scar on his body.”
Trevelyan continued smiling. “But you know about my body but not his,” he said so softly she could barely hear him.
“You are despicable.”
She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist. She pulled, but she didn’t look back at him.
“I apologize,” he said. “I apologize for trying to make love to a beautiful woman who was in bed with me. It was indeed despicable of me. I apologize for envying Harry, who seems to have everything in life. You are right: it is contemptible of me. In future I will try to control myself.”
She glared at him. “That is not a sincere apology.”
“But then it can’t be, can it, for I’m not at all sincere. Hate me for it if you must, but I’d love to do it all over again. All over.”
Claire couldn’t keep from laughing. “You are despicable.” She pulled at her hand but he kept holding it.
“Stay with me. Talk to me,” he said, and for a brief second there was sincerity in his eyes, sincerity and pleading.
“About what?” The moment she said it, she knew she was lost, for even to her she sounded as though she wanted to stay. “I must—” she began.
“Why do you want to be a duchess?” he asked.
“What a ridiculous question.” She gave a hard tug on her hand and pulled away from him. “Perhaps we should ask every woman in the world whether or not she wants to be a duchess and see if any woman anywhere answers no.”
“Even the queens and the princesses?”
“I imagine queens and princesses especially want to be duchesses. Prestige without all the responsibility.”
“And you want prestige?”
“I want Harry. Now, I really must go.”
“No, please, stay and…and tell me a story.”
“You mean like Goldilocks and the Three Bears?”
“No, a real story. Tell me about…” He searched for something. Anything to make her stay, to make her remain close to him. She made him feel as though he really could heal, heal from all the wounds he’d suffered throughout his lifetime, not just from another attack of malaria. “Tell me about your parents.”
She was silent for a moment. “I’ll tell you a love story—a true love story. At one time my mother was a very beautiful woman.”
“As beautiful as that little sister of yours?” His eyes dropped to her bosom and his voice lowered to a quiet, seductive level. “As beautiful as you?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?” she snapped, but turned away, her face red.
He smiled and lay back against the pillow, obviously pleased at having had an effect on her. “Please continue.”