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How was he to keep his hands from roaming over that plump, round flesh?
Instead of moving his hands from her waist, he moved his mouth, brushing his lips over her cheek and jaw until he could trail light kisses over the slender column of her neck. The scent of lavender was stronger here and the skin even softer. “Your skin is like a flower petal,” he whispered. “I’ve never felt anything so soft.”
She didn’t seem to have heard, and then she stiffened. “More pretty words,” she said, her tone stony. When she tried to pull away, he held her against him.
“I told you I would not lie. The comparison is apt. But”—he bent to kiss that satiny skin again—“if I am scrupulously honest, I admit I have felt skin this soft before.”
Now she all but reared back. “Are you trying to anger me?” she demanded, her violet eyes flashing. He could hardly contain his laughter—or his lust—at the sight of her so angry.Mon Dieuhad he ever seen a woman so glorious in her anger? He liked teasing her, liked seeing her eyes flash with passion.
“How dare you compare me to one of your—your—?”
“To my nephew?”
She started as though someone had jumped out unexpectedly from behind one of the casks.
“When he was a baby, his skin was like yours. His cheek was soft as silk.”
Her body seemed to deflate, like aglobe aérostatiquewhen the hot air was cut off.
“Who did you think I meant?” he asked, all innocence.
She strained against his hold. “You should release me.”
“Should I?” he asked, dipping to kiss the skin near her ear. He closed his eyes to drink in the scent here. He wanted to lap her up, she was that succulent. “I don’t think I should.”
“I don’t want this,” she said, her voice hitching slightly as he nibbled on her earlobe.
“Honoria,” he said, his voice so low it rumbled. “I thought we were to be honest with each other.” He pulled her close until her thighs pressed against his. “Youdowant this.”
“I like it, yes,” she said. “But I don’t likeyou. I don’t wantyou.”
And that was a bucket of cold water guaranteed to cool his ardor. He released her a bit too hastily, and she stumbled. It was not his intent, and when he reached out to steady her, she flinched away from him.
“What the devil?” he demanded.
She grabbed on to a cask and righted herself. “I’m sorry, but I thought I made it clear earlier. Yesterday, even. I don’t want you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I won’t make love to you on the hard cellar floor, if that’s what you mean. I am not such a brute that I cannot wait for a bed.”
She gave a half laugh. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“I have never forced a woman.”
“Then is it so difficult to believe I do not desire your attentions?”
He thought a moment. “Yes!”
She burst into laughter, then covered her mouth with her hand. “You cannot be serious. Has no woman ever rejected you before?”
“Certainly not.”
She stared at him with those large, bewitching eyes. “Never?”
He straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. “I am wealthy, titled, and...” He indicated his face. “Handsome. Why would any woman reject me?”
“Because you’re impossibly arrogant?”
He wagged a finger at her. “No, mademoiselle. Arrogance is false pride,oui? It is not false to say I am—well,was—wealthy or a marquis. And I can look in a mirror. I know I am handsome as surely as you know you are beautiful. This is not false pride.”
