Page 6 of The Risk of Rogues
“Once we moved to Lancashire, Papa fell ill. Mama and I took care of him for three years. Then he died, and the year of mourning ensued.” She wiped away tears she hadn’t even realized had fallen, then steadied her shoulders. “After that, Mama insisted we have a season for me.” She glanced away. “It did not go well.”
“Is every man in society a fool?”
The fact that he seemed in earnest cheered her. Momentarily. “Contrary to what you probably assume, I don’t have much of a dowry. The money our family had when I was younger went into shoring up the faltering estate after Papa inherited it and then fell ill. So without money...”
“It shouldn’t have mattered.”
“Well, it did, obviously.” A thickness clogged her throat. “And as you may have noticed, my looks are not the fashionable sort. My hair is too ginger, I have these dreadful freckles, and I—”
“You’re beautiful,” he said with the force of a vow. “Don’t ever letanyonetell you otherwise. And the size of your dowry means nothing to any chap with sense.”
It was the sweetest thing any man had ever said to her. A smile curved her lips despite her attempt to hide it. “All the same, society considers me on the shelf.”
He looked indignant. “You’re not abook,Anne. You’re a vibrant, intoxicating woman who does as she pleases, and that doesn’t change with age.”
“But it does change with circumstances.” She eyed him cautiously. “You haven’t been around me in eleven years. You don’t know me anymore. And I most certainly don’t know you. If I ever did.”
That seemed to pull him up short. Instantly, he drew into himself. “What do you mean?”
“Come now, Hart. We spent our courtship flirting and kissing and talking about inconsequential things like how silly dandies looked walking on pattens. I didn’t even know you gambled until Papa said so. Delia was the one who told me your mother was a devout Methodist. And I never heard you call your father an ‘arse’ until just now. I barely knew the real you.”
He shrugged. “We were young, and more intent on enjoying each other than baring our souls.”
“Yes, but we’re not so young now.” Tentatively, she voiced her true concern. Well, one of them, anyway. “Yet you still have no aspirations.”
“Idohave aspirations,” he protested.
“Oh? What are they? You left the army, from what I understand. Have you returned to studying law?”
A shadow passed over his face, as if he hadn’t expected the question. “I can’t talk about my plans quite yet. I’m in the process of setting things in place.”
Disappointment sliced through her. How absurd. She’d already decided she wouldn’t take up with him again. Hadn’t she? “In other words, like most inveterate gamblers, you hope to make a great bet that will gain you a fortune.”
He looked genuinely shocked. “What? No! Gambling is just an entertainment for me, as creating hats is for you. Do you truly believe me such a fool as to place my future on the turn of a card?” He moved close enough to touch her, his massive frame engulfing her, making her feel small when she was anything but. “You didn’t used to think so ill of me.”
Oh, dear. As if the years were peeling away to reveal the core of her youth, all her old feelings for him were exposed, raw.
Curse him to the devil. “I didn’t used to know about the gambling.” Though it probably would only have enhanced his appeal. She’d always chafed under Papa’s rigid rules. “I don’t know what to think of you these days. Things are different between us now.”
“Are they?” Reaching up to caress her cheek, he added in a rough murmur, “They don’t seem so different to me.”
“Hart, please—”
He kissed her, gently at first, as if testing her response. And when she only stood there, wanting to see if this, at least, was as good as before, he looped his arms about her waist, tugged her into his embrace, and kissed her more thoroughly.
Ohhh, yes.Perfect.
The kiss was unwise, ill-considered, and utterly wrong, yet she sought it as eagerly as a butterfly seeks out nectar, grasping at his shoulders, letting his mouth explore hers... letting his tongue lick along the seam of her lips.
It turned out she was wrong about one thing. Kissing himwasn’tas good as when she was sixteen. It was far better. Now that she was a woman, the bewildering passions of her youth had become a smoldering need that burned hotter with each sweep of his tongue. Her hand slipped down to his chest, where she could feel his heart beat in time to the sound of hers in her ears.
“Ah, my lovely Anne,” he whispered against her lips. “Open for me. Let me in.”
So she did.
Three
HART EXULTED ASshe let him deepen the kiss. Perhaps theyhadchanged, but not in this. She was his, still. Whether or not she would admit it.
