Page 2 of His Grace, the Duke
“No... it’s brilliant,” he muttered. It was a lie that worked on so many levels too. “I’ll write a note to George as soon as we get to Corbin House and have him bring everyone to Town. Next Friday, we’ll throw a party to celebrate the engagement. Naturally, I needed your assistance in the planning. You clearly have a good eye for it.”
She smiled faintly. “Your mother is the planner. I just did as she bade me.”
Both their smiles fell at mention of his mother, for was she not the reason they both felt the need to flee so recklessly in the night? His mother who was threatening to steal their happiness by shackling Burke in marriage to Oliva Rutledge, a woman who hated the very idea of him. James would lose his best friend and watch him suffer in a marriage doomed to fail. Rosalie would lose her... what were they now? Friends? Lovers? Burke admitted to sharing carnal relations with her in the music room. James had been trying very hard not to picture it. Did Rosalie know he knew?
His own memories of last night sat like a stone in his chest. God, he’d said such hateful things. The moment the words were spoken, he regretted them. It was a reflex, born out of misplaced anger. The look of pain on her face still haunted him. He had to say something. He had to apologize... or at the very least explain.
“Rosalie . . .”
She turned to face him. “Yes?”
He sighed. “About last night . . . in the library . . .” She went utterly still.
“I was angry and upset,” he explained. “I said things I didn’t mean. I’d appreciate it if we could... can we put it behind us? Can we forget it ever happened?”
Something flickered in her eyes. It came and went so fast, he couldn’t read it. “What part exactly didn’t you mean, my lord? The part where you called me low-born and loose...Or the part where you claimed all my air with your tongue in my mouth?”
Shit.
He shifted awkwardly on the bench seat. “I suppose... both.”
She turned away to face the window. “Fine. Consider it forgotten.”
Those four words launched like arrows shot from a bow.
He rubbed at his chest, sure he might feel one of the shafts. “We’re ready out here, m’lord,” the coachman called.
James tore his eyes away from Rosalie. “Drive on,” he called back. In moments, the carriage was rattling off as the new team pulled them ever closer to their destination.
After a few minutes of silence, James felt Rosalie’s eyes on him. He turned slowly to face her. She looked so tired, so vulnerable. He wanted to wrap her in his arms again.
“Don’t for one moment think that I can’t see through this ruse,” she said, her voice simmering with frustration.
He opened his mouth to apologize again, but no words came out.
She scoffed. “James Corbin, Viscount Finchley... you forget that we stood in that library as equals. I got inside those thick walls of yours at last. I know you’re doing the noble thing here, pushing me away. I know you and admire you... and I kissed you back.”
James had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
She leaned a little closer and her intoxicating spiced floral scent enveloped him. He’d been caught in her perfumed snare for hours. “I know duty means everything to you. So, we’ll not mention it again, but only if you tell me the truth here and now... will you dream of it?”
“Christ, Rosalie. Don’t ask me for what I cannot give.”
Her gaze softened. “You can’t give me the truth?”
“Not this truth,” he muttered. “Not when it will do neither of us any good to hear it.”
“The truth is all we have, you and I,” she replied. “From themoment we met, you’ve given me your truths, no matter how cruel. Without truth between us, there is nothing.”
She sounded so forlorn. He just wanted to make her happy again. He wanted to see her smile.Hewanted to be the reason she was smiling.
“Here is my truth,” she went on. “You’ve filled my dreams since the first night I met you. Even when you showed me nothing but open animosity, I dreamed of you. I dream of a gentler touch from your hands, gentler words from those lips that kiss me so well.”
Her eyes trailed down his face, settling on his parted lips. He knew she possessed more than one sketch of them drawn with her own hand.
Bloody fucking hell.
This woman was going to be the death of him. It took everything he had to turn away, looking resolutely out the window, rather than take her in his arms again. He wasn’t the sort for intimate reveals. No woman had ever held his interest long enough to be worthy of his heartfelt vulnerability. But she was right: She’d gotten inside his walls last night.
