Page 32 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

“Very confident, isn’t she? One has to admire such assertiveness in a woman.” She rubbed her arm where gooseflesh was rising, the consequence of his unceasing stare. “But perhaps a little too confident that she could crook her claw and have you jumping into her bed again. I decided to throw a bit of a rub in her way.”

He turned, and all of a sudden those immense arms were bolted to the wall on either side of her, encasing her. She could duck beneath his elbow and escape if she wanted, but she didn’t want to. Shivers of excitement raced along her spine.

“Hold a moment, you awful girl—why do you suppose I’ve been in her bed?”

His breath carried a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. He’d enjoyed the pudding too, along with the port. Cerys breathed him in.

“Why would she make such an effort to lure you, unless she knew the delights in store? She wouldn’t risk her hold on Lord Baeccon for mere supposition. Milady is too wise for that.” She blew out a breath, trying to steady her nerves. This one man rattled her the way a packed theater of strangers never had, and never could.

“So. I led her ladyship to believe you have a tendre for me.”

“You little—” The words ended in a growl. “Minx. You enjoy toying with people, don’t you?”

That hurt. She pushed at his arm, and he bent his elbow, but not enough to entirely free her. The man was solid muscle. How did an architect become a solid block of muscle?

“I was helping, you dolt. You might thank me instead of calling me names. Of course, if you want to be the mouse in her claws again, by all means, hie yourself to her bed. Go this moment and scratch at her window. I’m quite sure she’d let you in.”

“I do not,” he grated, “want her.”

Cerys raised her chin to stare him full in the face. It had rather the effect of staring fully into the sun. Or opening an oven and unleashing a blast of heated air. The man did overwhelm the senses, a bit.

“Then I have done you a favor. Her ladyship will froth that she can’t have you, and you can enjoy a bit of revenge. Torment her in return for the way she cut out your heart.”

His entire body tensed. The visible eyelid flickered. He was like a figure from a masque, half light and half shadow, half angel, half dark god.

“Cut out my heart,” he repeated.

“I saw your face,” she said softly. “When she appeared in the doorway. You looked like a warrior who had come face-to-face with Medusa, and you hadn’t the shield.”

The words cut her to say them. His face. The look of a man who had taken a permanent wound. He had put the dismembering behind him, gone about his life breathing and eating and attending to mortal business, but the sight of his former lover had ripped off the protective covering and set him to bleeding afresh.

“And you, manipulative baggage that you are, intend to rescue me.”

She closed her eyes briefly at the effect his gravelly voice had on her. So what if no man had ever longed for her the way Dante Manelli had once craved the woman who had murdered his heart. So what if Cerys did not have, never had, never would have, such seductive power. She had a few small attributes to recommend her.

Wits, for one. She must keep them at all costs.

“Hardly a rescue.” She forced her tone to lightness. “A negotiation. I am making you indebted to me so you will build us a theater.”

He shifted slightly. The space between them lessened. A flush climbed her body, suffusing her limbs, clouding her head. He smelled wonderful, a blend of port and orange and spices. She wanted to bite him. He stood close enough that she could.

“You suppose,” he ground out, “that spreading tales about my affections is the way to put me in your debt?”

“It’s a marvelous opportunity,” she said, somewhat indignant that he didn’t see the obvious. “I offer you protection from Lady Baeccon, if you wish it. I offer you a project that could at last establish your reputation in this town, bring you the esteem you deserve.”

Her voice trembled slightly, nerves again, and she steeled herself. “Do you disdain to work with actors? Can we not elevate you enough that a commission from us would be worth your time? No, we are not lords or wealthy tradesmen, so perhaps you despise⁠—”

She stopped when his hand covered her mouth. Her knees nearly buckled at the contact of his skin, the weight, the maddening heat of him. She would scream if he meant to hurt her, and she might scream anyway just from having the fury of a man stop her voice, when she fought so hard to be seen and heard⁠—

“Stop,” he commanded. “Do not take that thought further.”

His fingers cupped her cheek, the lightest touch. She sucked in air. The part of his mouth she could see quirked in a smile. “Lady Disdain is going to lecture me about contempt? I am in no position to look down on anyone.”

She scraped her teeth against his palm, lightly, the preface to biting. She couldn’t help herself.

He snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned by a flame. His eyes held hers, eyelids flaring, and the smolder deep inside his gaze might be moonlight, or a demonic nature, or…

Was it possible he could desire her?