It was awful being so fair-skinned—she could feel hot color slain her cheeks. "I beg your pardon," she said. "That was most improper of me. "
“Aren’t we past the point of being proper with each other?"
"I think we should do our best to return to that state. We're likely to run into each other on
occasion, and we'd be better off pretending we never…er…never…”
"Tupped?" he offered helpfully. "Swived? Shagged? Screwed? Fucked? There are any number of words for it. "
"Are they all so ugly?"
He moved closer to her, as if he couldn't help himself. "I don't think they're ugly at all. They're honest. Physical. Arousing. Come to bed with me. "
The last followed so suddenly upon the previous words that for a moment she didn't comprehend. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. " His voice was low and hungry. "Come to bed with me. It's a huge house—no one will walk in on us. We'll find a place. A nice, private place. I want you, I've been driven mad with wanting you, and nothing I do seems to change it. Take my hand and come with me. "
The blood was pounding in her body. In her ears, between her legs, in her heart. Time seemed to stand still. Now was the lime to claim her revenge. Now was the time to finish it for good. To say "no, thank you" very politely and walk away. There were hundreds of other women he could have. He was poison for her, beautiful, glittering poison. Walk away, she told herself.
He put his hand out, his long, gorgeous fingers outstretched to her. She stared down at them, and to her astonishment she saw a faint tremor.
"Yes," he said. "I'm shaking, I want you so badly. What do you want me to do, Charlotte? Beg?"
She knew the answer, they both knew the answer, but neither of them spoke it. He'd make a terrible husband—he'd whore and gamble and drink and break her heart.
"What do you want, Charlotte?" he said again, sounding almost angry.
She met his hard blue eyes. "You. "
21
He took her hand in his, his grip sure and steady, and led her into the house. She followed him almost in a daze. Was she really doing this? She most certainly was.
Author: Anne Stuart
He was lying to her, of course. Not for one moment did she believe he was so caught up with longing for her that he'd throw caution to the winds. And yet he seemed to be doing just that. A romp between the sheets at a notorious gathering was one thing. With a pillar of the church and a vengeful Lina around there was a good chance he'd be forced into marry her.
So why was he taking such a chance?
He said he'd been mad with wanting her. The madness she could believe. The wanting was more of a question. He'd let her go last night, and she still wasn't sure who'd won that particular battle. If she thought she'd proven she could walk away from him, she'd failed. He might be convinced she was invulnerable. She knew she couldn't think, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. All she could do was long for him.
No, he must be lying about how much he wanted her. Once more he was trapped someplace without a more beautiful, experienced alternative. But he was such a lovely liar that she was willing to believe him.
Just as she'd believed him when he told her they were both trapped in the room near the abbey, and he'd lied about that as well. He could have had anyone else, and he'd chosen her.
In the end, his reasons didn't matter. This was her choice, her decision. She wou1d have him, for an hour, for a day, for as long as he wanted. She was tired of lying to herself.
The servants looked at them curiously as he pulled her through the house. It was a huge old place, with whole wings of it shut down. He seemed to know his way around it—within a few minutes they were climbing higher and higher into a part of the place that clearly hadn't been occupied in decades.
“Where are we going?" Not that it mattered. She would follow him anywhere.
“The children's rooms," he replied. "Unfortunately Montague hasn't been able to fill them. " He glanced back at her. "We used to visit Montague's family when we were young. My sisters and I were relegated to the nursery, while my brother got to sleep in the main part of the house. I was very jealous. " "You have an older brother?" "No," he said. "Not anymore. He died. " Of course he did, she thought, stricken. He wouldn't be Viscount Rohan if there was an older son to take the title. She didn't make the mistake of saying she was sorry—his voice precluded sympathy. Clearly it was a pain that still clung to him.
He pushed open the door to a room shrouded in shadows and Holland covers, and pulled her in, closing the door behind them. He dropped her hand, and they stood there in the darkness, unmoving. "Why did you come with me?"
A trickle of fear danced in her belly, and for a moment she wondered if she was going to be sick again. He'd been toying with her, seeing how far she'd come, and now he was going to laugh at her and tell her he'd never wanted her, that this was revenge for leaving him last night. She panicked, and before he could strike the first blow that would devastate her she managed a cool laugh. "I was bored. "
She could see his responding smile, seeing straight through her. "So was I. . . Aren't we glad we have each other to keep us entertained in such a tiresome place?" He took a step forward, and without thinking, she backed away, the uncertainty still moving through her body.