But since fleeing Leath, doubts about his guilt had tortured Nell. He’d spoken of his principles before and she’d dismissed him as a hypocrite.
Then last night…
Leaning one hand against the wall, she gulped and faltered to a stop. She struggled to get her breath back against the dizzying recollection of those big strong arms wrapping around her.
Until that last squeak of self-preservation, when he’d been so appallingly close to taking her, she’d been mad for him. She’d loved everything he’d done. The kisses. The caresses. The murmured praise and encouragement. The heat. The intimacy.
What she knew about this man should disgust and terrify her. He’d bedded women all over England. He’d come close to bedding her. She shivered to remember that hard, insistent weight pressing between her thighs. Yet he’d stopped when she asked, and she couldn’t mistake how he’d repented his loss of control.
When a woman lay at his mercy, what sort of rake let her escape unscathed? Nothing from last night fitted what she knew, except perhaps how the marquess attracted her like a magnet drew iron.
Was Dorothy mistaken about her seducer’s identity? Why would she blame her fall on Lord Leath if he wasn’t responsible?
And there was the inarguable fact that someone had seduced Dorothy.
Now what became of Nell’s quest once the marquess proclaimed her a lightskirt? Could she convince the Duke of Sedgemoor of Leath’s misdeeds with only Dorothy’s last words as proof? Especially when Nell’s own belief in his crimes wavered with every new day. She had a horrible feeling that Sedgemoor would dismiss her accusations as mere fancy.
Fate must decide.
She raised her chin and marched toward her ladyship’s apa
rtments, only to halt in the doorway on a betraying gasp when she saw Leath with his mother. For one searing moment, his gaze met hers. That sizzling contact transported her back to those torrid moments in his bed. Then he glanced away and continued discussing Lady Sophie’s latest letter.
“Nell, you’ll enjoy this. Sophie is redecorating the manor at Gadsden in the gothic style.” The marchioness waved Nell toward her usual chair near the chaise longue. A chair beside the marquess’s.
After last night, Nell couldn’t bear to be so close to him. She retreated to the window seat. “How lovely, your ladyship.”
The marchioness continued reading, but although Lady Sophie was an entertaining correspondent, Nell couldn’t concentrate. She stared out to the dismal day. Rain pounded on the glass and wind lashed the trees against skies as gray as Leath’s eyes. When his lordship terminated her employment, would she have to travel in this miserable weather? Would a carriage take her to the nearest coaching inn, or would he make her trudge through the storm?
“Nell?” the marchioness said.
“I’m sorry, your ladyship,” she said quickly.
She hadn’t heard a word of the letter, although she’d been aware of the marquess’s rumbling responses. It was impossible not to remember that voice softening to black velvet. She was damned. Because however she despised her weakness, she couldn’t bring herself to despise what he’d done to her. And deep, deep in her sinful soul, in a place that would never see the light of day, she regretted that he’d stopped.
More than confusion and self-hatred had kept her awake all night. There had been a humiliating dose of frustration too. Leath had readied her body for pleasure, then stopped before all those wonderful, unprecedented, astonishing feelings reached their unknown culmination.
“No matter.” The marchioness smiled fondly. “I’ll write to Sophie and make some suggestions before she goes on her headstrong way.”
Guiltily Nell wondered if her ladyship would smile fondly after she knew about last night. Nell was amazed that Leath hadn’t denounced her the moment she arrived, but after that one breathtaking glance, he hadn’t paid her a scrap of notice.
“She’s certainly headstrong,” Leath said, and Nell noted the affection in his beautiful voice.
“Your sober ways clearly had little influence, James.”
Such remarks only added to Nell’s perplexity. The marchioness, who was no fool, seemed convinced that Leath was a pattern card of behavior. Nell was sick of struggling to fathom the man’s character. He was a complete enigma.
An enigma who kissed like an angel.
“Not for want of trying,” he said cheerfully.
“You must admit she’s settled down since marrying Harry.”
Leath’s laugh was wry. “To my surprise.”
“After a scandalous beginning, they’ve gone on very well.”
“I’m not arguing, Mamma.”