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It couldn’t be consideration for Antonia. The only person he considered when he wanted something was himself.
Still he held her without forcing the encounter. Still his embrace offered comfort and nothing else.
When she sat up, he recognized how reluctantly he released her. With unsteady hands, she brushed the last tears from her cheeks. The action was childish, charming.
“Thank you. You’ve been so kind.”
He drew away and scowled. “I’m not a kind man.”
“Nevertheless, that’s what you were today.” Her lips twitched into one of her wry smiles. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I doubt anyone would credit it anyway. The rakish Lord Ranelaw in a lady’s bedroom for an entire hour without undoing a single button? Incredible.”
“You’re in better spirits,” he said dryly.
“I am.” She sounded surprised, although whether at his circumspection or at the fact that tears had done her good, he couldn’t say. She definitely seemed less wound up than when he’d met her downstairs.
He must be losing his touch. With the Marquess of Ranelaw in her bedroom, she should be as nervous as a cat in a shooting gallery.
But she’d only rarely been frightened of him, even before she’d stirred his rusty protective instincts. She’d never reacted with the proper trepidation when he expressed an interest in her.
Foolish woman.
She sniffed delicately and fumbled in her pocket. He sighed and passed her his handkerchief. “Here.”
“Thank you.” Amusement still lingered in her face, contrasting oddly with the drying tears. “Another kindness. You’ll have to polish your halo soon, Ranelaw.”
“Don’t get used to it. You know what I want.”
The look she sent him under her straight blond brows was penetrating. “I thought I did.”
He, famous for his eloquence, wasn’t sure what to say. Insisting he was as unprincipled and callous as ever seemed a little desperate. And unconvincing in light of his recent behavior.
He stood, yet again feeling awkward. And he was a man who never felt ill at ease. He never cared enough to worry what impression he made.
“I should check on Cassie.” She still watched him.
r /> “Yes.”
Again he couldn’t force himself to leave. Although it was obvious, had always been obvious if he was honest with himself, that he wasn’t going to fuck her today. He wanted her to come to him with spirit and passion intact. He didn’t want to take her while she struggled against defeat and wretchedness.
“Let me check the corridor,” she said, rising.
“The corridor. Yes.”
He felt disoriented. Perhaps he came down with the mystery illness after all. Something was seriously wrong. This wasn’t how he acted with a woman he targeted.
She slipped past, her faded cotton skirts brushing his legs with a seductive whisper. In a room this small, some physical contact was inevitable when two people crowded inside.
Desire had simmered beneath the surface. Now he hardened and his hands itched to grab her. Not to comfort but as a man seized a woman he wanted.
Carefully she opened the door and peeked out, then closed it and turned. “There’s nobody there.”
He needed more from her. He needed a promise to take away with him. Hunger gripped him like a fever. Perhaps it was a fever. He felt alarmingly light-headed.
“Meet me tonight,” he said urgently, snatching her hand and carrying it to his lips. He pressed a passionate kiss to her palm and felt her tremble.
She frowned, looking delightfully confused. He saw that with every second, yielding Antonia submerged into the woman who persistently fended him off.
The hellish dilemma was he found both versions of her breathtakingly appealing.
