Page 101 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

“I do not believe you!”

He lifted a hand, reaching for her. She struck it away. The sharp report cracked through the air. Darcy lifted her chin. She looked like a queen standing before judgment, proud and wounded, her courage made all the more devastating by the moisture gathering in her eyes.

“I will be no man’s mistress.” Her gaze was luminous and unguarded. “I will not be hidden in some quiet corner of the countryside or installed in a grand house. I will not live as a secret, visited whenever loneliness or desire moves you.”

“Darcy, I was a fool to have ever asked that of you. A damn fool.” His voice roughened. “Forgive me.”

Her breath came faster, though her voice held steady. “I understand the pain your mother carries, and I understand the promise she must have demanded of you.”

Darcy drew a careful breath, as though gathering every fragment of herself before him. “For so long, I have not permitted myself wants of my own. My life was devoted to ensuring my sisters were cared for. I did not begrudge it. I scarcely thought to hunger for more. Until you.”

Sebastian’s heart gave a hard, heavy thud.

Until you.

Something fierce and aching pulled him toward her. She had spent years denying herself everything that did not serve the people she loved, and somehow he had become the first thing she allowed herself to want simply because she wanted him.

God, how he wanted to cross the distance between them, gather her against him, and erase every hurt he had added to those she had already endured.

“I want more, Sebastian.” Her eyes glistened, but there was nothing uncertain in the way she held his gaze. A quiet, almost painful yearning softened her face, mingling with a resolve he had rarely seen in her. “I want a life that belongs to me. I want a man who will choose me as I choose him, not merely in moments of pleasure, but through every trial and every storm.”

Her chin lifted slightly, though her lips trembled. “I want marriage. Children. A home in which I need never wonder whether I am cherished.” The longing in her expression deepened, naked now, without pride or pretense to shield it. “I want the dignity of standing beside my husband, not hidden in shadows or spoken of in whispers, but acknowledged, honored, and loved.”

Another faint tremor moved through her. “I will not accept less. If you cannot be with me, if you cannot love me as I love you, then walk away. Leave me to forget what we shared, because I do not know whether I possess the strength to endure losing you again.”

Darcy’s words stripped him of every evasion. Pride surged through him, fierce and almost savage, not because she desired him, but because she had found the courage to demand the life she deserved. Around them, Aphrodite dissolved into a haze of red silk, candle smoke, and restless bodies. Low moans rose from the bed; bracelets chimed softly against bare wrists; shadows moved over gilded walls in sensuous, wavering patterns.

Sebastian saw none of it.

He saw the woman before him, trembling but unbowed. Duty had shaped him, governed him, settled so deeply into his bones that he had mistaken it for the whole of honor. His family’s needs had always come before his own, their happiness a responsibility he had accepted without question, and he had never thought to resent the sacrifice.

But love was not dishonor.

The realization broke through him with startling clarity. Loving Darcy did not make him less honorable. Choosing her did not mean abandoning his family or betraying his duty.

He loved Miss Darcy Whitley beyond duty, beyond fear, beyond every careful belief he had used to deny himself. He loved her fiercely enough to rebuild the life he had always known. He loved her enough to face his mother’s grief without allowing that grief to condemn an innocent woman. He loved the defiance in Darcy’s eyes, the generosity of her heart, the wicked turn of her humor, and the softness she revealed only when she trusted him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life replacing the pain he had put in her gaze with laughter, warmth, and the unguarded joy she deserved.

Sebastian stepped toward her, stopping within reach. He extended his hand, palm upward. “Please, come with me.”

Darcy stared at his outstretched hand, her breathing still uneven. “Why?”

“I want to speak with you somewhere private.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No one is attentive to us.”

She was right. Around them, Aphrodite’s patrons had surrendered to their various pleasures, too absorbed in their own sexual congress to spare Sebastian and Darcy so much as a glance.

“Darcy—”

“No.” An almost mocking smile curved her mouth. “I am denying you for the sheer pleasure of telling you no, my lord,” she said with biting civility. “It feels rather wonderful.”

His world narrowed to her alone, to the defiance blazing in her gaze and the faint tremor in her voice that betrayed how deeply she felt beneath it.

Sebastian stepped forward and reached for her.

Darcy gasped as his arms closed around her, firm and unyielding, and immediately planted both hands against his chest.

“I will not—” she began, her voice sharp with protest.