“Good.” He nodded as if he were a puppet on a string. “I’m glad to hear it.” If they continued on in this vein, nothing would be accomplished other than him embarrassing himself in front of her. It had been much too long since he’d tasted her skin or buried himself in her honeyed heat. “Uh, what is the meaning of this?” He gestured at her to encompass her attire.
When she blew out a frustrated breath, she ceased to be the alluring Greek goddess and had returned to the Isobel he knew and was coming to love with every breath that he took. “I am trying to gain your notice.”
Not this again.He rolled his eyes. “You have it. There is no need for such theatrics.” Though he appreciated the hell out the gown, and if she’d give him half the chance, he would show her just how much.
“Do I?” Those sapphire eyes were wide as she approached him. “Can you swear that I mean more to you than the title?”
“You should know that by now. I would have given it up for you, Isobel.” He’d been dead serious when he’d proposed the idea to her yesterday, but when she’d turned it down, he’d felt both elated and disappointed. And damn it all, he still had no idea what she wanted from him. “The title is something I am, but you are a woman I need.”
A pout formed on her lips, and the hold on his control slipped. “Any man could say that.”
“Yet any man hasn’t.” Thank every god in whatever pantheon he could find that she’d remained so aloof from the men in the ton, for his way to her heart was clear. Unable to be parted from her any longer, Royce crossed the room. When he cupped her cheek and she nuzzled into his palm, his chest ached with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words. “What do I need to do in order for you to believe me?”
“Tell me something no other man has.”
“Gladly.” He surprised her by maneuvering her about. When he sat on the sofa, he tugged her down to him, guiding her until she straddled his lap. The moment her warmth enveloped him, and she laid a hand on his chest, inspiration struck, and it would play on her wickedly romantic side. “You’d mentioned that erotic poetry.”
“Yes? What of it?”
“Well, I think in this instance, the ancient Greek poet Sappho had the right of it when she wrote this bit from The Anactória poem:
…the sweetness of your laughter: yes, that– I swear it–
sets the heart to shaking inside my breast, since
once I look at you for a moment, I can’t
speak any longer,
but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a
subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can’t see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing,
cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes
ahold of me all over—”
He didn’t have the opportunity to finish the part he’d memorized, for tears had welled in Isobel’s eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Why are you crying?” Never would he understand why a woman’s brain worked as it did. Not even Trey with all his knowledge in that regard would figure it out.
“That was beautiful, but you’ll think I’m dense because I don’t know what it means, for every moment I spend in your company lately clouds my mind until all I can think about is you.” A wail followed the statement along with another torrent of tears.
“Oh, sweeting.”
“I’ve been overly emotional for a while; I don’t usually cry this much, which is aggravating in and of itself. I despise looking weak.”
He quelled the urge to laugh lest she think he made jest of her. It probably didn’t help that some women, once they began increasing, became watering pots. “Your reaction to everything just now isn’t your fault. It will pass, along with certain other unpleasant symptoms of your condition.” Royce held her head between his hands, caught the worst of the moisture with the pads of his thumbs. “The poet is talking about her love for another, of how she feels when they’re having intercourse.”
“It’s wonderful.” Her purr of laughter was no less erotic for her tears. “How clever too.”
“Indeed.” Perhaps it was time for him to seduce the woman in his lap instead of the other way around. In the world Isobel occupied, actions spoke louder than words, for she’d had enough empty promises from everyone to last a lifetime. He kissed her, drank from her lips again and again, tenderly, carefully, not yet wanting to push for deeper access. “My dear girl, you have distracted me in every way a woman can since I’ve known you.”
“Until you took the title, right?” Though her eyes had gone soft and were luminous with moisture, the rest of her body was tense as if she expected bad news.
“Before that,” he kissed her, “After that,” he kissed her again, “Even now.” He followed that up with another kiss. “It matters not. You hold the missing pieces of my soul, and I’m merely waiting for you to take the ones I’m holding to put into yours. Because I love you.”