Page 52 of How to Best a Marquess

“I’m fine. Your hands, remember?” He took the remaining clean cloths, dipped them in the water, and cleansed the scrapes on her hands.

She glanced at his hair. The chestnut brown was streaked with gold. She longed to run her fingers through the thick locks. Her memories of what had happened in the park before the criminals had come upon them were still vivid in her mind. He’d made her feel incredible. The rush of ecstasy was not something she could ever forget.

“You could have died,” he said, his voice suddenly gruff.

“So could you have,” she countered. The thought was like a punch to the gut, hard and unrelenting. He’d returned, and her life would never be the same. Just as the club would never be the same for her. He’d changed her, changed her beliefs and desires.

“You cannot compare. Every time I close my eyes, I picture those lecherous men looking at you. Nothing can happen to you.”

“It hasn’t.”

His expression changed, eased, and the teasing look was back. “We never finished what we started beneath the bridge.”

She held her breath. She knew what he meant. She couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d been thinking the same thing. “You’re injured.”

“Not enough to stop me from thinking of the way you unraveled in my hands. Your sweet gasps of pleasure. The silkiness of your skin. The wetness between your legs.”

Oh God. She shouldn’t allow him to speak that way to her. She was his competitor, a lady, the sister of an earl. Yet, his erotic talk only served to arouse her.

Was she a wanton?

Or was it just for him?

“We are in a private room with a bed,” he said.

Yes, they were. No one would intrude upon them here. No one but Alice and one of the club’s workers even knew they were here. He’d once accused her of seeking to make the club into a brothel for profit.

Perhaps he was right.

The room was perfect for an illicit liaison.

They could be together one time. Once.

No one would know.

No. This was madness.

Then why else had she brought him here? She could have treated him in the boxing salon.

“Sweet Ellie. I’ve wanted you for so long.” His voice was a murmur, filled with a need that matched her own.

“How long?”

He made a rough noise. “Since the day I first saw you.”

Her mind turned, recalling her debut. “When you asked me to dance at my coming out?”

“No. Before then.”

Before? She had no memory of meeting Hugh before her debut. “When?”

“At the bookstore. You had pulled a book off the shelf and soon became engrossed in reading it. Your younger sister, Olivia, was occupied speaking with the shopkeeper. I stood at the end of the row watching you. Sunlight glinted from a window above and shone on your red hair. I was mesmerized by the vibrant shade. Then I caught a glimpse of your lovely blue eyes and my breath hitched. I wanted to stride up and introduce myself, to meet you, but I lost my nerve. Then you departed with Olivia and I felt an uncomfortable emptiness. I knew I had to find you. I attended four balls, prowling the dance floors, until I saw you again.”

Ellie could not mask her surprise. She’d never imagined he’d seen her before that first night they’d danced. Never imagined he’d watched her in the bookshop. Had searched for her in ballrooms.

Violet Lasher was right. The heart was a tricky organ. Ellie’s squeezed in her chest. She feared it sliding down a slippery slope into peril. She was helpless to stop it.

“I don’t know what to say.”