Page 33 of Unmasked by the Marquess
He nudged her with his shoulder. “Robin, I came here tonight to tell you that I can’t see my way to finishing what we started in the garden.”
Just as she expected. She refused to let her heart sink.
“But,” he continued, “I thought about what you told me that night you arrived dripping wet.”
“I’m surprised you remember anything that happened that night, as soused as you were.”
“I remember.” His hand brushed idly against the small of her back. “You said that you put your worries to the side and enjoy yourself while you can. I want to do that. With you.”
She needed to speak up before she became lulled by the feel of his hand on her. “I don’t want to be something you have to force yourself not to be ashamed of.”
“Robin.” His voice was a murmur, a rumble, a thing she felt in her belly. “I don’t feel ashamed when I’m with you.”
He was as good as telling her that he’d regret it only after the fact. But his eyes were dark and intent, his body warm and solid next to her.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Chapter Ten
It didn’t matter how tempting that music room sofa looked. Alistair wasn’t going to defile Robin in the house his father had built for a mistress. He was respectable. He had standards.
No, he was going to defile Robin in his own goddamned bed, as if that made it right.
This plan of laying aside his principles long enough to enjoy himself, to enjoy Robin, seemed dubious at best. But he hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t worry around her. He worried a hell of a lot about how this thing between them could result in anything but a disaster, but he did his worrying when she wasn’t around. When he was in the same room as her, all he could think about was freckles and laughter and how much he wanted to get his hands all over her, have her hands all over him.
“Let’s go.” The whisper of her voice set his nerves on end.
“Out,” he said from between gritted teeth, and made for the front door. He would have grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out if he didn’t think it would cause a stir, and besides, she was following along quickly enough.
His carriage was waiting. Robin hopped in as soon as he opened the door, flashing him a smile over her shoulder. Christ, shewouldbe happy at such a moment. Well, for that matter, so was he, but not a smiling sort of happy.
No, he was a doubt-ridden and vaguely nauseated kind of happy, which he hadn’t realized until now was a possibility. His emotions usually landed on one side of the fence or the other: one side was relief, the other anxiety. What he’d give for a fraction of the rapture Robin felt listening to a lunatic poet or embarking on a misguided affair.
After he slammed the door behind him and rapped on the roof to signal to the coachman, he looked over to see her pulling off her gloves. His cock jumped, the predictable bastard. “Did nobody ever tell you not to use your teeth?”
“Of course they have,” she said blithely. “Louisa tells me every day. I have all manner of terrible habits, you know.”
He seized one of her hands in his and started to pull off the glove properly. “First of all, you do not know where those gloves have been—”
“Of course I do. They’ve been on my hands. My hands don’t go capering about town without me. That’s what wrists are for.”
He had freed one of her hands and now held it firmly in his own, running his own gloved thumb over the wrist in question. “This is sophistry. I expect more from a Cambridge scholar.” Even in the dark of the carriage, he thought he could see her eyes darken at his touch, at the caress of leather over the soft skin on the underside of her wrist. “Secondly,” he continued, “you’ll ruin your gloves if you keep biting them.”
She opened her mouth as if to present him with a counterargument, but then shut it again. “I need my hand back,” she said after a moment.
He let go immediately. Ah, yes, all right then. She was going to be the reasonable one. He ought to be relieved that at least one person in the carriage had some sense. Very well.
But then he felt her hand cup his jaw. “That’s why I needed them off, you see. I wanted to feel this.”
“Feel what?” His wits were slow tonight. He needed everything spelled out for him.
Her fingers stroked along his cheek. “The scratchiness.”
Oh.“You probably need me to take off your other glove so you can properly appreciate both sides of my face.” Her fingers were warm and soft and he wanted all ten of them to himself.
She shook her head slowly, then swiftly pulled the other glove off with her teeth.Hell.“Not enough time.” That hand, once free, landed in his hair.
“Like hell there isn’t. You’re coming home with me, aren’t you?” Wasn’t she?
