Page 50 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
The faintest of smiles curved her mouth. Gazing down at her, he drank her in. She was so bloody tempting. As he watched her, she pulled in a breath, as if to steady herself. Had she sensed the hunger in him? Did it please her? Or did it threaten to tear the fragile bond they’d managed to forge?
Blast it. He was a fool to think he could stand so close to her and not want to kiss her. Not want to touch her. Not want to hear his name on her lips, breathless with need.
Releasing her from his light touch, he turned away and went to the window. None too gently, he shoved the curtains aside. “The light is fading. Ye’d best be finishing up whatever it was ye’d planned for today.”
Macie followed him. “There’s still time.” She reached for him, brushing her fingers against the edge of his jaw. “You’re not like the others. Somehow, I’ve always known that much is true.”
Gently, he caught her hand in his, stilling her. He had given his word he would protect her. Even from himself. He bloody well had to remember that simple fact.
Fool that he was, he wanted to kiss her. Now, it was his turn to play with fire.
With one finger, he softly tipped up her chin. He drew the pad of his thumb over her mouth, over her plump lower lip. If she responded to his caress—if she wanted him—could he force himself to turn away?
Macie met his gaze, the slight curve of her smile betraying a hint of pleasure at his touch. Her forest green eyes searched his face for a truth he could not allow her to see.
Unexpectedly, the sound of the door chimes cut through the thick silence. She blinked, as if jarred out of a haze.
“That must be Nell,” she said, taking a step back as his hands fell away. “Her fitting must not have taken as long as we’d expected.” Was that a note of disappointment in her voice?”
“I’ll let her in.” Finn turned to the door, giving silent thanks for the interruption.
Macie’s hand brushed his, stopping him in his tracks. “Before you do, I have one question.”
He met her gaze, seeing an unfamiliar hesitation. “What is it, Macie?” His voice sounded gruff to his own ears.
“Is it so very hard to see, Finn?” Her voice was slightly husky and flavored with emotion. “The truth of who I am... the woman. Not the heiress.”
“Ye are an original, Macie. One of a bloody kind. Any man who doesn’t want ye for who ye are... he’s a blasted fool.”
Chapter Fifteen
Shifting restlessly onthe chaise in her study, Macie stared down at the novel she was reading. Actually,attemptingto read. As her eyes took in the words on the page, Miss Austen’s witty dialogue was all but drowned out by the echo of Finn’s words in her thoughts.
Any man who doesn’t want ye for who ye are... he’s a blasted fool.
Nearly twenty-four hours after she’d posed the question that had long weighed on her, Finn’s gruff voice played in her memory. Again. And again. His tone had been low and flavored with an emotion she could not quite puzzle out.Quite intriguing, indeed.
Setting the book aside, she closed her eyes. Truly, was it his surprising pronouncement that had put her in a stir? Or was it the possibilities of what might have gone between them if Nell had not returned home at that precise moment. Had he wanted to kiss her? Would she have savored the press of his lips to hers?
Good heavens, what had come over her? She knew better than to allow this man—of all the men in London—into her heart. Pretending that a romance had blossomed with Finn—no, not a romance, a mere infatuation, she corrected herself—had promised to be quite a clever charade. He had been the logical choice. But now, it was not nearly as simple as she’d thought it would be. She’d never imagined this man who’d been so veryvexing would speak the words that soothed the doubts she’d harbored for so very long.
But she had to keep her head about her. Despite the moments when it seemed a true bond was being forged between them, Finn was a rogue. For a man like him, a kiss, a caress—even a tumble in her bed—would be little more than a fleeting moment of desire. He knew about passion. He could bring a woman pleasure. Of that, she had no doubt.
But love? Well, that was another story, wasn’t it? She couldn’t allow herself to be swept away by a delicious romantic fantasy. If she did, her heart might bear the scar long after their deal was done. Long after Finn had satisfied whatever bargain he’d worked out with her brother.
Drat. Drat. Double drat.Someday, she’d look back upon this moment and wonder at these fanciful longings.
It simply isn’t meant to be.
But would a love affaireverbe meant for her? For years, she’d driven away one entitled Lord Nob after another. Would she need to settle for a placid existence in which she would never feel the depth of passion her mother and father had shared over decades of love and laughter and the occasional heartache?
Allowing herself a sigh, she tucked a ribbon into place and closed the book. Perhaps later, with any luck, could focus on the witty characters on the pages.
She glanced at the grandfather clock. It wouldn’t be long before sunset. The hazy light cast shadows on the wall, and she allowed her imagination to run wild for a few moments until the sound of brisk footsteps caught her attention.
Mrs. Tuttle marched into the room, chin up, looking as if her every nerve was as prickly as a porcupine’s quill. “Miss Macie, he’s here again.” She did not try to hide her exasperation.
“He?” Macie replied blandly, though she already knew the answer.
