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“The servants are away until tonight. Let’s see what they left us for breakfast.” What he really meant was Stay with me.
“You know I can’t.” She moved again, her hair a soft caress on his skin. He held her against his body. After brief resistance, she subsided.
“Yes, you can,” he said implacably.
She didn’t answer. He sucked in a relieved breath and tasted air sharp with sexual satisfaction and the chill of dawn. The fire needed stoking, but he was too contented where he was.
How the mighty had fallen. This beautiful dragon had trampled his pride to dust. The terrifying truth was that in his ramshackle life, he’d never been as happy as he was right now.
She shifted again, and this time managed to roll away and prop herself against the headboard. She drew the sheet over her breasts. He loathed that sheet.
He lifted himself beside her and raised one hand to her soft cheek. “You’ve been crying.”
She gave a choked laugh. “How embarrassing.”
Poignant tenderness flooded him. “No.”
“Yes.”
She brushed back the tumble of silvery hair. When her expression hardened, a grim weight settled in his gut. Her voice even sounded different. Not his willing lover’s soft, husky murmurs. She sounded like the martinet who shepherded Cassandra Demarest. He didn’t want her to sound like that woman. That woman wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
“The household are used to my morning walk. If I’m back before breakfast, nobody will be curious. Any later, questions will arise.”
“Let them ask.” His hand trailed down the valley between her breasts, pushing the despised sheet down as he went. “Don’t go, Antonia.”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
She frowned. “For a thousand reasons. Mostly because scandal will harm Cassie and her father. I owe them better than that.”
How he abhorred hearing her speak of Demarest with gratitude. How he abhorred remembering that his quest for revenge wouldn’t just devastate Demarest and Cassie, but Antonia as well.
He shoved the uncomfortable thought away. His revenge upon Godfrey Demarest was important, but less urgent right now than his need to keep Antonia. He ignored the taunting voice that insisted his two goals were mutually incompatible. The Marquess of Ranelaw lived to reconcile the incompatible. Hadn’t he managed to coax the fearsome chaperone Miss Smith into his bed? As a reward, hadn’t he just experienced the best sex of his entire worthless life?
He cupped one breast and gently kissed her nipple, feeling it bead under his lips. She was so lusciously sensitive. He raised his head and stared into eyes darkening with arousal. “When can I see you again? Tonight?”
To his dismay, she stiffened and the dazed expression seeped from her beautiful eyes. A twinge of foreboding pierced his physical well-being. Something wasn’t right. Something apart from her plans to sneak away from his bed like a criminal.
“I thought you understood,” she said in a low voice.
He drew his hand from her breast. He had a bleak premonition he needed to concentrate. “Understand what?”
She swallowed and looked down, plucking at the sheet again. He’d long ago recognized this as a sign of nerves. What in Hades made her so nervous?
“This is all we can have.”
Abruptly he sat up and glared at her. “What the blazes does that mean?”
“I can’t stay in London. Not if Johnny is back.” Her blue eyes swam with tears. At least she didn’t look happy about this nonsense. “I’m returning to Somerset. At least in the short term. Mr. Demarest may not continue to employ me now I’m no use as chaperone.”
“After last night, do you think I’ll let you go?” Ranelaw straddled her, staring into her troubled expression. He caught her shoulders in an implacable grip. “Your wits have gone a-begging.”
She met his gaze bravely although he knew his face must be vivid with anger. “Anyone who sees me here would say my wits have indeed gone a-begging.”
His hands tensed as something that felt suspiciously like hurt pierced him. “Tell me you don’t regret what we did.”
She bit her lip. “Why do you care? I’m just one more woman.”
