Page 45 of The Confessions of a Lady
Liam reached for the wine bottle, uncorking it, and offering it to her. Without waiting for a glass, she put the bottle to her mouth and took a deep swallow, wiping the wine from her bottom lip before handing it back.
God damn it. Is everything she does erotic?
‘Perhaps more than one confession,’ Liam muttered as his breeches grew impossibly tight.
‘I’m hardly fit to hear your sins, my… Liam.’ Her cheeks grew pink, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Not my Liam. I was going to say my lord.’ She spoke through her fingers.
Liam chuckled, taking his own swig of wine. ‘Your Liam. I like that.’
‘Don’t.’
The beau monde would never allow a maid to claim ownership over a marquess. It was impossible. Unthinkable. Ridiculous. And unfair of him to lead her down a path neither of them could traverse.
It’s all impossibly ridiculous. Stupid rules set up to keep the poor forever separate from the wealthy.
She was a strong, capable, beautiful woman. Despite the list she rattled off that separated her from a proper lady, Penny wasn’t lacking in any of the merits that mattered. Honesty. Courage. Industry. Wit.
Beauty. Honour. A delectable mouth.
And yet society deemed certain women as worthy because they were born into the right pedigree with dowries large enough to entice lords such as himself, and others as expendable because their fathers came from Whitechapel instead of having membership at Whites. It was obscene. And Liam was part of the problem. The laws he endorsed only further separated the poor from the peerage.
‘Don’t what? Imagine a world where I could belong to you?’
Penny put her piece of pie back on the plate and stood. ‘Men rarely belong to women, my lord. Even in the higher realms of the beau monde. It is always the opposite. And no world, imagined or real, would allow a marquess to belong to his maid. I should go. There is much to be done for the upcoming ball and I’m sure Mrs Harding will need me up early to help with the preparations.’
Liam stood with her, reaching for her hand. ‘I don’t wish for you to go.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her palm.
‘You would force me to stay?’ Penny’s fingers curled around his cheek just as her words curled around his heart, reminding him of everything he fought so hard to resist. Because he would not force her to stay, no matter how desperately he wanted her. No matter how easy it would be to wield his power and bend her to his will.
‘My father would have forced you to stay.’ The words tore out of him, taking with them more than he meant to offer. He didn’t speak of his father unless forced. It was a part of his life he hated. A part of himself he hated. Her earlier doubt opened wounds he hadn’t realised still bled. ‘I think it is why I reacted so poorly to your questions about Daisy. If any of my father’s maids went missing, the reasons were not good.’
‘But you would not do that to one of your maids?’ She asked the question carefully.
‘I would not.’ His voice almost broke. ‘I would never force a woman – or anyone in my employ – to do something against their will.’
Penny brushed her thumb over his cheek. ‘I never knew your father. But if he is as you describe, then I don’t think you are anything like him, Liam.’
God, I hope you’re right.
Liam cleared his throat. ‘I won’t force you, but I am asking you to stay. Because I want you here. Whatever answer you give, I will respect.’ He might not be confident in his own nature, but he was confident in that. He would never force her hand.
Penny’s fingers stilled on his cheek. ‘Was he a cruel man? Your father?’
Reaching up, he covered her hand with his own, pressing both to his cheek. When he asked her to hear his confessions, hemeant to share his fantasies, his desire to strip her bare, taste her honeyed quim, make her scream his name, show her how high and far and fast she could fly. He did not intend to speak of the darkness that formed him. And yet, her questions ripped open a seam he couldn’t close. ‘He was.’ Two words that tore him apart.
Penny didn’t pull away. She didn’t step back. Instead, she leaned closer, lifting her other hand to wipe something from his cheek.
Jesus. Tears.
It was horrific. What kind of seduction involved weeping?
Not a very good one.
Because that is what he had planned with dinner service tonight. An opportunity to seduce Penny. To show her pleasure. To give her a piece of his physical self. Not to serve up his blackened soul in a broth of tears.
He cleared his throat, pressed his lips together, and tried to think of very manly things. Fencing. Hunting. Spitting from high places. It didn’t help.
‘Tell me, Liam. Tell me about your father.’
