“I have never been asked to be a gentleman’s mistress before. You must pardon my clumsiness . . . my lack of experience. I didn’t expect a proposal such as this to ever come my way. I certainly would never have sought it.”
“And I have never asked a woman to be my mistress before,” he retorted, and then chuckled at the expression on her face. “Did you really think I had a dozen or so already? That’s very flattering of you, Eugenie.”
Eugenie was surprised and couldn’t hide it. She’d imagined he’d some little dancer tucked away—innocent as she was, she knew that was the usual situation with rich and powerful men. And a duke could afford more than one, surely?
He read the questions in her eyes—he seemed able to see inside her head with startling ease. “I want you, Eugenie, and only you. I don’t know why it is. Cannot fathom it. I find myself looking for you wherever I go. Looking forward to seeing you, speaking to you, holding you in my arms.”
He didn’t mean to flatter her; quite the opposite in fact. He spoke of his emotions reluctantly, as if he found them incomprehensible. And yet she was flattered. Not that she could take him up on his offer.
“We deal well together, don’t you think?” he went on, clearly wanting an answer.
“We barely know each other,” she said bluntly.
He rested his hand on the curve of her neck, stroking her skin softly, gently, as if she were one of his precious racehorses. “I know all I need to know.”
The touch of his hand, the sensation of being caressed so, caused the trembling to increase inside her. Eugenie turned her head and met his eyes, seeking the heat in them, and knew a temptation such as she’d never known before—to place herself in his power and let him do whatever he wished with her.
For one wild, insane moment she actually considered accepting his offer. Jumping into the fire and letting herself be burned. But the next moment her powerful determination and her sense of self-worth bobbed to the surface. She could never take second best, and that’s what being his mistress—any man’s mistress—would mean. She’d rather remain a spinster all her life than accept less than being a wife.
Sinclair couldn’t see it and probably never would, but in her heart Eugenie knew that despite her lower birth and her rackety family she would make him a perfect wife. They would be happy together—if they could get over the scandal that society was bound to make of them. A pity the gulf between the two of them was so insurmountable.
“Sinclair . . .”
His fingers were still brushing against her skin, lightly, back and forth. That surprising and tantalizing heat increased inside her, bringing with it a need that was building by the heartbeat. Building so strongly in fact that she knew she was going to have to exercise a great deal of willpower and fortitude to resist him.
She reached up to remove his hand, but he clasped hers, linking their fingers.
“Please, Sinclair, stop. You make me breathless,” she said, and she sounded as if she’d been running.
“At least you haven’t fainted. Does that mean you’re willing to reconsider my proposal?”
“I’m not the kind of girl who faints.”
He bent his head and despite her protests she found herself stretching up, lips apart, eager for his ki
ss. His breath brushed her skin, teasing. His kiss had barely begun before it ended, and she knew she wanted more. The hunger inside her demanded to be satisfied.
She made a sound, searching for his lips, and he laughed triumphantly and kissed her again, more forcefully this time.
“I want your answer,” he said, his voice a low growl in his throat. “Say you will be my mistress, Eugenie.”
Her eyelids lifted slowly, sensuously. She reached to touch his jaw with her fingertips, enjoying the feel of his rougher skin. “No.”
He stepped back, frowning, still holding her. He’d been so certain of her answer that now he seemed staggered. “No?” he demanded, his old arrogance surfacing. “Just ‘no’?”
Eugenie glanced up at him in a manner at once shy and coquettish. It had the desired effect. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, and this time it was difficult for both of them to stop. It was as if he was placing his mark on her, claiming her as his in some primitive masculine way. When he finally drew away his chest was rising and falling heavily, and there was a flush on his cheeks.
“That doesn’t feel like a ‘no,’ ” he said huskily. “You want me, too, don’t you? Be your blunt and honest self, Eugenie.”
Eugenie didn’t need a mirror to know her eyes were dark with desire. “I won’t lie to you,” she agreed, placing her palms against his chest. She could feel the heat of his body, and the heavy thud of his heart. “When you kiss me I feel as if I might do something dangerous. And to be your mistress would be dangerous, Sinclair. Whatever you might think of me, I am a gentlewoman. At Miss Debenham’s Finishing School I learned how to make conversation and behave politely in all situations, how to dress, how to organize and run a household, how to stitch neatly and arrange flowers. I did not learn how to be a duke’s mistress.”
He moved to protest but she put her finger against his lips.
“Hush, I am not done.”
When he seemed to be resigned to letting her continue, she went on.
“Sinclair, I am very sorry but the final answer must be no.”