“I felt your care in your hands and your kisses. That’s why I believe you didn’t ruin Dorothy.”
He sighed, although her declaration of trust settled warm and sure around his aching heart. “I probably should have told you about my uncle.”
“Why? You owed me nothing.”
“Perhaps not at first. Once you became my mistress, you had a right to know about the shadows in my life. I’m so ashamed that a man who shares my blood wreaked such harm.”
“Harm which I blamed on you.” Remorse thickened her voice and her hand clenched on his knee. “I have more to feel guilty about than you. I lied from the start.”
Wondering if she’d reject his touch, he laid his hand over hers. To his surprise, she laced her fingers through his. After their raw passion, that simple, affectionate gesture shouldn’t cut so deeply. But it did. Perhaps because there had been times tonight when he’d thought she’d hate him forever.
“You weren’t to know that my uncle had assumed my identity.”
She looked troubled. “Is that it? Months of deceit and you dismiss it by saying I meant well?”
Leath shrugged. “I forgive you.”
He hardly cared that she’d lied. If not for her quest, they wouldn’t have met. While she’d caused him an ocean of heartache, and was likely to cause him an ocean more, the idea of never knowing her chilled his blood. Eleanor had enriched his life beyond his wildest hopes. Even if she abandoned him now, she’d leave a better man than the one she’d encountered outside his library that windy September night.
Her softening gaze pierced his heart. “You’re remarkable, Leath.”
His grip tightened. “You called me James at the cottage.”
“James,” she murmured, and the soft music of his name on her lips dissolved all lingering resentment. “Despite everything I knew about you, I couldn’t ignore the evidence before me. You’re a good man.”
“Thank you.” He raised their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “Then when you found those letters, you were afraid you’d been duped.”
“Like Dorothy,” she murmured, rising on her knees and cupping his jaw with a tender gesture that made him wonder if she returned his love at least a little. “And I wasn’t my usual sensible self that morning in the cottage. I still hadn’t reconciled myself to becoming a fallen woman.”
“What about now?”
“Now I can’t help cringing to think that everyone will guess exactly what we’ve been doing in this library.”
“I’m a big reader.”
Despite her reluctant laugh, a blush heated her cheeks. “What you did to me was so exciting. I’d like you to do it again.”
“I promise, my love.” He didn’t choose the endearment lightly. “When we’re married.”
He wasn’t surprised that she tugged free and shifted beyond reach. “The Marquess of Leath can’t marry his housemaid.”
That was exactly what his mother had said. And again his whole being r
ejected the statement. “Why?”
She regarded him impatiently. “You know why.”
“Tell me.”
She rose and prowled around the room, her knee-length chemise revealing shapely calves and ankles. “Cinderella is a nice story, but in the real world, great noblemen don’t marry girls like me.”
“Like what?”
“Girls of no pedigree. Girls who work for their living.” She ducked behind the couch. “Girls society will despise.”
“Sedgemoor doesn’t despise you,” he said neutrally. “What the devil are you doing?”
She rose, struggling to fasten the gown that had given him pause when he’d first seen it. “Getting dressed.”