Page 44 of Winter's Waltz
As if he had not stolen her ability to speak, this time for an entirely different reason.
She cleared her throat. “You can’t care for someone like me.”
“There you are wrong, my dear.” He tied the handkerchief around her finger before releasing her hands. “I cannot do anything but care for you. All you have to do is let me.”
His words were dangerous. So, too, the longing he sparked deep within her. One she had never previously known existed. To be the sort of lady he could court. Hell, to be a lady. To be someone who had been born on the right side of the blanket, in the right part of London. His equal. Someone he might marry.
Good God.
Marriage?
Now her wits were just as addled as her mother’s had been.
He rose to his feet, towering over her.
“You needn’t charm me, you know,” she said, pleased with herself for the coolness in her voice as she stood as well, the lightheadedness she had been experiencing passed. “I have already agreed to allow you to bed me.”
“Do not.”
“Do not what?” she demanded, searching his gaze.
She wanted to hold him close and kiss him. But she also wanted to send him away. She wanted to guard this other vulnerability within her, the one he had somehow discovered and brought to life.
“Do not make what is between us into something tawdry and sordid,” he said. “This is far more than that, and you know it.”
It was, and the knowledge terrified her.
His kindness battered down the walls around her heart. His concern and caring were like balms to all the most ragged, worn places deep within.
“This is a fortnight of pleasure,” she denied. “Nothing more. Then, you return to your world and I stay in mine.”
His jaw went rigid. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is what must be.” The reminder was for herself as much as it was for him. “Future dukes and bastard daughters do not mingle in London beyond these walls.”
“As you like. Allow me to see your thumb now, if you please.”
His bland reaction and change of subject took her by surprise. And disappointed her, if she were brutally honest. But what had she expected? That he would fight? Declare his undying devotion to her?
Foolish, Gen. You have a business to run.
She extended her hand, and he took it once more.
“Close your eyes, empress.”
It was still too soon.
She shook her head. “I prefer to leave them open.”
He nodded, seeming to understand. “Then look over my shoulder while I loosen the handkerchief.”
Gen did as he asked, concentrating her attention upon an irregularity in the wallcoverings at his back. She ought to see something hung there, she thought. One of her drawings, mayhap. And then she thought of drawing the man before her, the one who was tentatively loosening the makeshift bandage on her injured thumb. She hadn’t had the time to draw these last few months as she had thrown herself into the preparations for Lady Fortune.
“Hmm.”
His low hum almost had her glancing back at him.
She tensed. “What is it?”
