Did he have to be sodistressinglyhandsome?
Enchanting, he’d called her. He, heaven help her, wasspellbinding.
He’d a wide brow, and his high cheek bones tapered down to a distinguished chin. His thick, sandy-brown hair fell over his forehead in a romantic wave. He looked, in fact, like one of the imaginary beaus she’d sketched when she’d been young.
Young and stupid enough to dream of a love match.
No.Shewould notallow his obvious good will to mute her anger.
No matter how much he’d intrigued her, no matter how much she’d wanted him, he’d stolen her dreams of love when he’d yanked her onto that dance floor. She didn’t want to yield to him any more than he’d already taken. He had forced her to yield to him in public. And now…
Well, now, she’d just profoundly, intimately,painfullyyielded to him in private.
Painfully…at first.
Once she’d adjusted her position, the sensation had been, not quite pleasant but—full. Friction had lit flinty sparks inside her, igniting an even deeper, hotter burn. Most confusingly, even though he’d been inside of her, still, she’d yearned for him to be closer.
She’d wanted to wrap his strange, hard body in her arms. All she’d found the courage to do was place her hands against his muscledshoulders.
And, ah, what an unexpected, overwhelming feeling…
NO!She absolutelywould notgive him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he had—
His face blurred. No. No.NO.
“Ssst,” she said aloud, as if scolding one of her younger sisters to be quiet in church. But she couldn’t stop tears from clouding her eyes and fattening enough to bubble over her lids, wetting her lashes.
“Ah,” he crooned. “Ah, my dear girl.”
She shrank back. She wasnothis girl. She was a married lady. She lifted her wobbly chin. Aduchess.Hisduchess.
Oh God!
How had she ever thought marriage to Harbury would make everything easy?
With his rough man-thumb, he wiped away her tears. No man hadeverwiped tears from her eyes. In fact, no man—save a groom—had ever been this close to her person.
Beast.
Or dream come to life? She blinked up at him.
Baddream.
“I’m perfectly”—her voice cracked—“fine. Just tired.”
A long, searching look satisfied him. His nightshirt fell around his thighs as he rose. He leaned back over the bed to kiss her forehead. She appreciated his tenderness. She also wanted to chuck a shoe at his head.
Pity her feet were bare.
“I’m not overwrought,” she lied again. “Only, I could hardly sleep last night.”
He smiled. “Nor I.”
Because he was getting drunk with his friend Adrian, her brother-in-law!
He smoothed the troubled indentation between her brows. “Ihope you will sleep well tonight. You’re safe.”
She wasn’t. And when he cocked his head, and his stupid lock of hair fanned his forehead becomingly, her danger only increased.
