Page 55 of Distracting the Duke

Marcus held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Or—please, God—her surrender.

But Clara just stared up at him. “Y-Your Grace?”

He scowled at the honorific, and said, “Damn your formality! I want you to call me Marcus when we’re together.”

She was silent for a long moment, then whispered, “Marcus… Did you really just ask to make love to me? After all I’ve confessed to you?”

“I did.”

She started shaking her head, backing away. “I can’t— It wouldn’t— It’s not poss—”

“Stop.” His voice was sharp. “Don’t refuse me outright. I want you to give it serious thought. To me it’s obvious—we need to do this thing. I know we want each other enough to derive great pleasure from it. Both of us.”

Her hands trembled in his, and he could see the battle raging in her eyes.

At length she said, “I should be flattered by your offer. I am a widow, and you are a man used to getting what he wants, so I can understand why the idea doesn’t trouble you. I wish you hadn’t found out about Simon’s abuse, but since you have, you must understand my reluctance to…become intimate.”

She was going to refuse. He’d known all along, of course. But he’d needed to ask. For his own sanity.

Then, to his astonishment, she said softly, “I might have considered your proposition, if not for Ellie. But how could I hurt her like that?”

He should have felt properly chastised. But he didn’t. He wanted Clara in his bed, not Miss Soper. “I want you, not Ellie, though God knows I wish I didn’t.”

There was moisture in Clara’s beautiful dark eyes. “She’ll be so hurt.”

He squeezed her hands, then brought one to his mouth and placed a kiss in her palm. “You are…remarkable.”

She went very still. He kissed the inside of her wrist, then wet it with his tongue and blew on it, enjoying her gasp of pleasure.

“Marcus…”

He ran his tongue over her knuckles, kissed them, and released her hand. “I understand you think my behavior…inappropriate. But there’s something about you that affects me deeply, Clara. No, it’s not pity, nor lust alone—although I may have given you cause to think so. It’s hard to put into words… But the truth is, I would rather be holding you than any woman I have ever met.”

Her expression filled with emotion. “Marcus, please don’t say these things.”

He looked deep into her eyes. “I want you, Clara. I want you like mad. But if you won’t have me, I’ll respect your decision. Because I like you, Clara Tinniswood. I like you a lot. Even though we’re so often at odds, I think I could deal with that. But whatever happens, I hope always to be your friend.”

He felt her tremble and longed to pull her back into his embrace and kiss her senseless.

“I am happy to be your friend,” she said, and her lips curved in the beginnings of a smile. “But…does this mean I have to be nice to you from now on?”

He gave a laugh and reached for her—and she came into his embrace.

“I don’t expect miracles, Clara Tinniswood. But I live in hope.”

Then he lowered his head and kissed her.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The taste of Marcus was still on her tongue when Clara took her leave and reluctantly closed his study door behind her. She needed to go to her room to think.

Or to weep.

How had she let this untenable situation happen? What in heaven’s name would she do?

As she headed for the stairs, a thousand emotions stirred in her breast—joy, bitterness, desire, indecision, but most of all, profound regret. Regret that she could not accept Marcus’s proposition.

Every inch of her body wanted to say yes.