Page 69 of How to Best a Marquess

“You said I have no right to prohibit your reckless activities. You’re correct,” he said.

Realization struck her like lightning. “You think to ruin my reputation so that I will have no choice but to marry you?”

“As your husband, I’ll have every right to dictate your behavior.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“You may be a cad, but I never believed you were a man who would force a woman against her will.”

At her words, he let out an exasperated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.

She watched, helpless, as he pulled the thick strands back from his scalp, then released them.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m not that type of man. I would never force you. It’s just that you frustrate me beyond measure.”

He went to a sideboard and poured himself a whisky, then swallowed. She watched where his lips pressed against the glass. He downed the liquor and poured himself another. She should be surprised by his behavior, but she knew everyone’s emotions were running high tonight.

She also knew he was struggling with what he’d discovered. He hadn’t known she meant to continue to help Lady Willoughby by smuggling her out of London. He couldn’t have known a notorious courtesan was helping them.

For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to ease his torment. He appeared like a caged man—tense and frustrated. She knew how physically powerful he was. She’d seen him in a boxing ring, seen him beat off two footpads. He looked like he could use a session or two in the boxing room right now to release his tension.

It was all because of her.

She approached him. He might be dangerous, but she didn’t fear him. She’d never feared he would harm her physically.

Only other dangers to her heart.

Perhaps Violet Lasher was right.

She touched his arm. His muscles tensed beneath his coat. “I’m sorry for your distress.”

“Are you? Or are you just sorry that I discovered your clandestine activities?”

Her heart tripped a beat at his harsh tone, but she held her ground. “Both, I suppose.”

He touched her face. “What am I to do with you?”

Nothing. Everything.

Where had that tiny voice come from? What was happening to her resolve?

“Will you tell Ian about tonight?” she asked.

“Ellie, I—”

“Please, don’t. Will you promise?”

He sighed. “I cannot promise. But I hadn’t planned to rush to your brother’s home and inform him that you smuggled Lady Willoughby out of London and away from her husband.”

She let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“I fear it’s a mistake. You make me weak.”

Hadn’t she feared the same thing about herself? Yet, here she was thinking about it again. About the feel of her body pressed against him. Her naked limbs grazing his hardness and heat. The way he made her tremble and moan and squirm beneath his skilled fingers as she reached a peak of pleasure.

His finger traced her cheek, then her full lower lip.