Page 40 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
His gut clenched with the thought of her leaving. “That easily?” he asked.
“Neither of us is looking for anything permanent.”
She had the right of it there. He would grow tired of her soon enough, and she definitely wasn’t the sort he’d take to wife. He needed a respectable woman who could cloak him in her virtuousness.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as forthright—” He stopped, shook his head. “You speak in a forthright manner, but I fear you are full of deceptions.”
“My desire for you is not false.”
This time the tightening in his gut nearly doubled him over. “How have you remained untouched?”
“I never before met anyone with whom I wished to be so intimate. You could have gotten me for half the amount.”
He laughed. “I like you, Rose. Damned if I don’t.”
“I like you as well, Your Grace.”
“Not so well if you had no compunction about swindling me.”
Lifting a shoulder, she peered at him over the rim of her glass. “As I said, I had creditors breathing down my neck. I was a bit desperate, and you did confess that money meant nothing at all to you.”
“I was foolish enough to say that, wasn’t I?”
She glanced around. “When you have so much it’s easy to forget there are those who have so little.”
He would not feel guilty for all that he possessed. In spite of his errant life, he had managed his estates well, ensuring they were profitable. “I make considerable contributions to charity.”
She gave him an impish grin. “Is that the name of a harlot you frequent?”
He barked out his laughter. He’d never known a woman so open about matters of which ladies never spoke. “You are a contradiction. Until an hour ago, you were a virgin, and yet you have no compunction about spewing bawdy talk.”
“I’ve led a singular life, which I will not discuss. I’ve been on my own since I was ten and seven, no chaperone to ensure I remain pure in thought and ignorant of all that transpires between men and women.”
He knew many a girl who had married at seventeen. Why did he find it appalling to think of her being on her own at so tender an age? “How did you manage to survive?”
“With skill, cunning, and perseverance.”
“And a fair amount of swindling?”
“I never take from those who can ill afford to be taken from.”
“You believe that somehow makes you noble?”
“No, not at all. And I know I shall pay dearly for it. Just not yet.”
“On the contrary, I believe it is time you paid for leading me to believe you are far more experienced than you are.” Setting aside his glass, he stood. He didn’t see fear in her eyes, but merely curiosity and desire. Always the desire. He’d never met a woman who made him feel as though she yearned to be with him. Oh, women certainly sought out his company, flirted with him, teased him, tempted him. But they never made him feel as though something deep within them called to something deep within him.
Crossing over, he took her glass and set it on the table. She didn’t object, she barely moved, her gaze never leaving his. He no longer trusted himself to read her moods, to read what she might be communicating. She had fooled him once. She could be doing it again.
Yet she’d come here to his lair, to poke the tiger. She had to know that he’d have not bothered her if she’d stayed in her room and simply gone to sleep. He might have felt differently in the morning. His temper might have cooled by then.
Instead she’d joined him. She had to have known where her actions would lead. Bracketing his arms on either side of her, folding his hands around the arms of the chair, he leaned in and took her mouth. She responded as though she were kindling and he’d struck a match. In spite of his impatience and rough taking of her earlier, she opened her mouth to him, her tongue swirling over his. No shy miss. Not at all.
She gained nothing by pretending to want him. She had the money. He had met her terms, although he was already regretting that he’d agreed to let her have an hour alone in the afternoon. He wanted to be with her every moment, every second until the time of their bargain came to an end. Slipping an arm beneath her legs, another around her back, he lifted her and cradled her against his chest. He didn’t want to consider how well she molded against him, how perfectly she fit. Nothing in life was perfect. Nothing fit exactly.
Yet he could almost swear that she did as she settled against him.
“I do know how to walk up stairs,” she said.
