“I possess the will to resist you.”
He leaned toward her. “Would you like to put that will to the test? Not with a kiss, but with a good many other things that are just as pleasant?”
“For some reason, I don’t see your kiss as beingpleasant.” Pleasant wouldn’t drop her to her knees.
Grinning, he settled back. “It’s good you know what to expect.”
She couldn’t stop the retort from rolling off the tip of her tongue. “I wonder if you do, my lord, if you know whatIwill deliver.”
With that, she pushed to her feet and walked from the chamber. When she reached the stairs, she dashed up the steps. Every other man had been in awe of her beauty, and she’d been able to easily wrap each around her little finger. Langdon was different, not easily wrapped.
If she experienced Langdon, would she want to give him up? Perhaps he was merely an itch and if she scratched it, this obsession with him would go away. Although in her experience, a scratched itch usually became more intense, wanting to be scratched, scratched, scratched again.
It might be best to never give him that smile, never receive that kiss.
She strode into the bedchamber and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. It was chillier, the fire reduced to embers since they’d not been in here to keep it blazing. She knelt before the fireplace and lifted a log from the stack beside it.
A large hand swooped in and took the wood from her. “I’ll see to it.”
Jerking her head up, she stared at Langdon. “I can manage.”
“Don’t need you getting a splinter. It occurred to me after you left that the fire had probably gone out.” He jerked his head to the side. “Go on. Into bed with you.”
Since he had no steps, getting into his massive bed required a little running start and a hop. She managed it without revealing too much, settled on her side, and brought the covers in snugly around her. She watched as he added logs, stirred the embers, and brought the fire back to life, much as he’d brought her last night, with care and attention to details.
“I wish you’d sleep in here. I feel badly about kicking you out of your lovely bed.”
“Before I brought any furniture here, I was sleeping on the floor. The sofa is a luxury compared to that.” He gave the appearance of speaking to the fire, not her. If he looked her way, would he be tempted to join her?
“We slept splendidly together last night.”
“I know you better today.”
“And that’s made a difference?”
“You’re more complicated than I expected.” Resting on the balls of his feet, he twisted around. “That makes you more intriguing. I have a weakness for things that intrigue me.”
“I told you all about me. It seems only fair that you share the truth of you.”
He unfolded that magnificent body of his, leaned a shoulder against the mantelpiece and crossed his arms over his chest. “My father is an earl—not a pretend one. My mother is the daughter of a duke. They came to know each other when she sought out his help.”
“What sort of help would the daughter of a duke need?”
“She wanted him to kill someone.”
She was well aware that her eyes had rounded, big like saucers. “That’s your parents’ story. Not yours. I want yours.”
He looked at his stockinged feet and back up at her. “You’re proof that our parents’ stories shape us. He had an unsavory reputation, my father. My parents have worked hard to see it forgotten. I’m very much aware that as their legacy, I must be above reproach.” He shrugged. “I went to Eton, then Cambridge.”
“At which did you learn to cheat?”
He grinned. “My father taught me that. Further proof that our parents shape us. Until last summer, until the railway accident, I don’t know that I’d ever faced a true challenge. Now I face it every day.”
She sat up. “What do you mean by that?”
He shook his head.
“The nightmares?”
