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‘This isn’t some bodice-ripper of a story you’ve pulled from under your bed, no matter what the tabloids say about me.’
She looked at him then, bold and bright, the Sara he’d dreamed she might be for real, rather than the woman she was showing him now—too much like the rest of them here in this abhorrent country. Wanting, expecting but not truly asking.
‘I don’t want my bodice ripped.’
At least she was prepared to tell him what she didn’t want. Still. He leaned forwards, forearms on his knees, the curdle of disappointment rising in his throat. ‘That tells me you have no idea what you’re asking for. I’m no corruptor of innocents.’
‘I’m not exactly innocent.’
He’d seen debauchery at its best and its worst. The aristocracy ran rife with it, and he’d partaken in plenty of the best. She didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. He aimed to show her exactly how clueless she was, whilst she danced about him, playing games he detested.
‘You either are or you aren’t. There’s no in-between. Some chaste kiss in a dark corner doesn’t count.’
‘It wasn’t chaste. It was...’ She looked at her hands, her fingernails. Anywhere bar at him. ‘Moist.’
Which sounded like a hellish kiss, but a twist started in his gut nonetheless. She’d been engaged, but the thought of anyone kissing her... He didn’t stop to question why the acid sensation felt a lot like jealousy. Anyhow, what did it matter? He’d made a rule long ago. Only deal with those as jaded and worldly as he was. He had no time or patience for anything else, no matter how tempting the package it was wrapped in.
‘Chaste, moist...it’s still only a kiss. Defiling virgins is not part of my repertoire.’
She looked at him then, eyes narrow and mouth pinched. She’d ignite tinder, the sparks flashing from her as she barely suppressed her anger.
‘I don’t know. It sounds like a fine addition to your business card. Purveyor of antiques, corruptor of innocents, defiler of virgins. Perfect for all you claim to be.’ Slashes of red bled out over her cheeks. ‘Except I’m not exactly a virgin, I suppose.’
Every person in this country would have expected Sara to enter her marriage to the Crown Prince a total innocent in all respects. Lance couldn’t understand why the heat burned like lava in his gut, out of control and possessive. Still, he’d never show it. He leaned back in the chair as if he didn’t care at all.
‘No virgin sacrifice on the marriage bed, then. The Crown Prince would have been disappointed.’
The woman in question dropped her head again, as if she were embarrassed about the admission.
‘He was.’ She chewed her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. ‘He thought it would be a good idea to try before we married because... He said it would make the marriage night less...’
Lance clenched his fists. ‘What a romantic. And did His Exalted Highness live up to all your expectations?’
He knew all about young women being forced into loveless marriages.
A shudder rippled through her. Her throat convulsed in a swallow.
‘I had no expectations.’ She held her head high and looked at him with bright, brimming eyes. ‘Why are you being so cruel?’
Because he was furious. That she still hadn’t asked him for what she truly desired, but seemed to think he was some kind of toy she could play with and discard. That a man who didn’t deserve her had touched her, had made her first time awful, if her reaction was anything to go by,when it should have been world-ending.
The sooner he was out of this country with all its machinations, the better.
‘Haven’t you worked it out? I am who I am. Pick a descriptor. Despicable. Diabolical. I’m the Duke of them all.’ Lance’s jaw tightened. His hands clenched then relaxed. He stood and strode to a cabinet at the far side of the room—he needed a drink. It was past midday, so he wasn’t being completely uncivilised. He grabbed a decanter and poured some whisky into a glass, tossing it down and relishing the burn. There was nothing more to be said. ‘Go home, Sara.’
‘No!’ She launched herself from the couch and moved to the window again. Whipped round with her hair flailing about her shoulders, eyes wide. She looked exquisite. Untamed. Unattainable. Still innocent, no matter what she said about herself. He’d always adored a challenge, but she wasn’t the challenge for him. ‘I... I thought this would be easier. Being here. You’re confusing me.’
A double shot of neat whisky so long after breakfast slid through his blood, but it wasn’t the alcohol intoxicating him now. He stalked towards her.
‘What about me confuses you?’
He didn’t need her to answer. He knew exactly what she found confusing about him. It was written all over her. Her quickened breaths. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, a pulse beating at the hollow of her neck. Something about it all made him reckless. Whyshouldhe care about her so much? She wanted a scandal. He could give it to her.
He reached out to all the spun-gold hair that fell around her shoulders. Took a thick curl and twisted it round his finger, before letting the gloriously silken strands slide free. He ached to plunge his hands into all that radiant hair. Tilt her head to his. Draw her close and kiss her like he’d wanted to from the moment she’d come into his arms on the dance floor. From the moment he’d seen her at the funeral, if he was being truthful. And he could show her many things. Obliterate any stuttering memory of awful sex with some bastard of a prince until the only word on her lips was the sigh of his name as she came again and again. Who was he to deny himself?
So he slid his hand along her jaw, relished the quickening breaths, her parted lips. He’d have her. The sex would be superlative and give her every bit of the scandal she craved, evidenced by the dilation of her pupils in those meltwater-blue eyes. Except another truth shone out from them which made him stop and pull back, even though his body screamed at him to continue. A pleading look that told him she was searching for someone to save her, when he was no saviour—for anyone. He’d failed his first test long ago, and had continued to fail ever since. A woman like Sara should not trust herself to his care, trust him foranything.
Lance pulled away and Sara swayed on her feet. Those dark shadows under her eyes, which he’d been too distracted to notice before, were telling. Had she been kept awake, reliving that dance and craving something more, as he had? After all the worldly delights he’d sampled over the years, it was hard to imagine that one ridiculously chaste turn around a dance floor could make a jaded man like him hot under the collar, but it had nonetheless.
