Realizing she’d twisted one of her gloves into a tight knot, she forced herself to stop fidgeting, determined not to let him know how nervous he’d made her. “If I believed you would hurt me, I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re either mad or the biggest fool I’ve ever met.” He surged to his feet and began pacing the stretch of floor behind the desk, obviously agitated.
She watched him, too worried to be incensed by his insults. How could she take offense, when he was right? Her entire plan had been foolish and stupid beyond belief.
At last, he paused and let his mocking gaze rake over her from head to toe. “I’m sure my admiration hasn’t escaped your notice, Miss Bourke. Luckily for you, prostitutes are both expensive and inconvenient. I would be willing to accept your outrageous proposal, as long as you allowed me full husbandly rights.”
Something in his eyes gave her pause.He’s bluffing. He thought she’d find the idea of sharing his bed so horrifying she’d give up on her plan entirely. Didn’t he remember the passion they’d shared? How could he think she was anything less than thrilled by the thought of making love to him?
“I’ve never done anything by half-measures,” she assured him calmly. “If we wed, I’ll do my best to make you happy.”
“Happy?” He acted as though he’d never heard the word before. As he stared at her, a dozen conflicting emotions danced across his expressive face. Suddenly, he reached out and swept his arm across his desk, sending books and papers tumbling to the floor. “Prove it to me. Come sit upon my desk and show me just how agreeable you plan to be.”
“Wh–what do you mean?” She tried to pretend ignorance, but she had a very bad feeling she knew what he wanted. How had she let this meeting slip so far out of her control?
“Come here,” he ordered. “I’ll show you.”
Her heart thundered in her chest, but she’d come too far to turn back now. Besides, part of her thrilled to his sensual command. As she walked toward him, some of his anger seemed to abate. He caught her around the waist and lifted her to the top of his desk with apparent ease.
“I suppose I should be thanking you,” he murmured, as he toyed with the neckline of her gown. He had the hands of an artist or a musician—fine-boned and elegant, yet undeniably masculine. “I’ve been obsessed with you since the first moment I saw you on stage, and this certainly simplifies things.”
He unfastened the half-dozen tiny buttons at her throat and parted the fabric, allowing a rush of cool air to brush her skin.
“So modest,” he chided, meeting her gaze with mocking tenderness. “I’m surprised you didn’t put more of your assets on display, given the nature of your visit.”
She drew in a sharp, indignant breath, but before she could speak, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the tender skin he’d revealed. “You were magic in my arms, Vanessa. I’d never experienced such pure, honest passion. In the beginning, I planned to woo you as Prometheus, until you were so taken by my wit and charm you wouldn’t care about the scars. But you were so impatient. You didn’t give me enough time. I’ve driven myself mad during the past few weeks, battling the urge to come to you again.”
The self-derision in his voice distracted her from the fact that he was systematically unfastening her bodice. It felt odd to her to be able to see his face as they talked. She’d grown so used to seeing him with the mask.
Wanting to show him that the scars didn’t matter to her, she lifted her hand to his ruined cheek, but he flinched away from her touch.
“Don’t,” he snapped. He glanced down, and she realized he’d tucked her chemise and gown beneath her breasts until they spilled wantonly over the top.
She gasped and tried to cover herself with her hands, but he brushed them away, pinning them to the desk at her sides. “Lovely,” he whispered. “I knew you would be.”
“Please, don’t do this,” she begged, her pride shattered. She didn’t want him this way, not in anger. She’d gone about this all wrong. “You’ve made your point.”
“Have I? Strange, since I’m not even certain what my point was.” He released her hands. “Don’t move,” he told her sharply.
Holding her gaze, he ran his fingertips across the upper slope of her breasts, his breath hitching as her nipples visibly hardened beneath his gaze. Leaning forward, he covered one with his lips, licking and sucking until she cried out harshly, desperate to bury her hands in his hair, but determined to do as he’d asked and keep her hands at her side.
Tearing his mouth away, he bent and slid his hands beneath her skirt, bunching up the heavy layers of satin and lace until his fingertips found her bare thigh.
“I was half in love with you,” he admitted hoarsely. “So thank you for coming here. Thank you for reminding me that there’s no such thing as honesty and love left in the world. There’s only this...”
He found the slit in her drawers, and then his thumb grazed her most intimate flesh. Reluctant arousal pulsed through her, making her damp with need.
“What’s this?” His fingertips slid over her moist cleft, circling and teasing with erotic skill. “Christ, Vanessa. You’re so wet for me.”
He surged forward, replacing his hand with the hard ridge of his erection. Even though several layers of cloth still separated them, she couldn’t help but gasp.
Holding her gaze, he put his fingertip to his lips, closing his eyes as he tasted her.
And then he was kissing her, kissing her with all the fire and sweetness she remembered. Kissing her until she was dizzy with it. Kissing her until all the anger and awkwardness faded, and she wrapped herself around him like moss.
He was the first to pull away. He stared at her, his chest heaving as though he’d run a great distance, his cheeks flushed with hectic color.
“Go to Hawkesmere House on Grosvenor Square on Saturday morning,” he muttered, striding toward the door. “Ask for my mother, the countess. Tell her who you are, and she’ll help you arrange the wedding.”
