Page 52 of About a Rogue
She could have protested, or stepped away; he only held her chin, and that but lightly. Instead she stood and let him make love to her mouth, not so hungrily as before but with a leisurely thoroughness that sent tremors through her.
When he lifted his head, she swayed. His arm went around her waist in an instant, and his hand, cupped around her jaw, held her cheek to his chest. For a moment she rested against him. He was the perfect height to lean against, remarkably solid and strong. His broadcloth waistcoat was warm and smelled faintly of sandalwood—like him. And she could hear his heart pounding away, almost as fast as her own.
I want you, and no one else.She wasn’t sure she believed the latter part of that, but she was convinced of the first part.
A door opening behind them sent her lurching away from him. As before, Max let her go. It was unnerving. She had thought a rogue would seize every opportunity to seduce her, that he would constantly be on watch for any sign of weakness in her refusal, ready to coerce and flatter and wheedle his way into her affections—before crushing them.
This, though. This was far more insidious. She was beginning to fear that he’d been right on their wedding day. The thought of asking him to show her all those pleasures he’d hinted at—the pleasures she was sure he’d had with his other lovers—was hovering at the edges of her mind until she thought it would drive her mad.
“Have you any questions, Mr. St. James?” It was Mr. Cooke, the letting agent, out of discretion or patience. He stood watching them with a faintly knowing smile. Bianca glared at him, wondering how much he’d seen.
“A few,” said Max. Unlike Bianca, he seemed to have shaken off any lingering effects of that devastating kiss and returned to his businesslike self.
So she thought, until she saw the flush on the back of his neck, where his hair was pulled back into a neat queue. Until she caught the swift but scorching glance he sent her way when Mr. Cooke wasn’t looking. Until she saw the tremor in his hand as he reached for the door as they left.
And as they rode home in the carriage, once more polite and dignified, all she could wonder was how long she could withstand him like this.
Chapter Nineteen
Despite not being in London long, even Bianca knew about Vauxhall Gardens. They weren’t new or novel, but they had outstripped Ranelagh in popularity and fame, and when an invitation arrived from Lady Dalway, inviting her and Max to join a party there in a few nights, she was undeniably intrigued.
To her astonishment, Max was not.
He read the card and put it aside without a word before heading up the stairs. Bianca, having been waiting for him to come home and fully expecting to be told it was all the rage among society and of course they would go, scrambled after him. “Do you not wish to accept?”
He said nothing until they reached the drawing room, and he had closed the doors behind them. “Do you?”
“Oh—well—I presumedyouwould want to.”
“Do you want to go?” he repeated.
Warily she looked at him. “Should I not?”
“So you do.” His brow quirked wryly.
Bianca flushed. “A little. Vauxhall is famous, even in Marslip.” She hesitated, but when he said nothing more, only picked up a discarded newspaper and read the page, she couldn’t resist asking, “Why do you not want to go?”
“If you wish to go, we shall,” he said instead, still reading.
Bianca pursed her lips in frustration. “Max.”
His head came up. He looked at her in surprised awareness. Bianca realized with a small cringe that it was the first time she had called him by his Christian name. Undaunted she forged ahead. “What are you not telling me? If there is a reason to decline, then of course—”
“There’s no reason.” He let the paper fall and came toward her. “You called me Max.”
She jerked her head without meeting his gaze. “It is your preferred name.”
His mouth curved. “It is, but I’ve never heard you say it.”
“Of course I have!”
“But I neverheardit.” He paused. “I like it.”
That admission, uttered in his low, rough growl that did terrible things to her self-possession, was almost too much for her. Bianca kept her poise by the thinnest of margins. “Why don’t you want to go to Vauxhall?”
His chest rose and fell in a silent sigh. “It’s nothing. Lady Dalway is very fond of the place, but I’m not.”
“Why? What is it like?” She lost all pretense of reserve in the face of his clear reluctance. Somehow sensing that he did not want to go, for reasons she didn’t know but was suddenly wildly curious to discover, had made her want to go more than ever. “I read there is an orchestra, and singers, and tree-lined paths in a grove, and even fireworks.”
