“Mr. Desmond.” Her voice came behind him, and he turned to watch her enter the room.
His breath caught because she was even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her. Her auburn hair was curled and plaited in an elaborate style, her blue eyes were bright and she wore a yellow gown with faint striping through the fabric. A silky sash settled just below her lovely breasts, accentuating her curvy figure and making him want to trace his hands along the lines of her.
No, he was definitely not decent.
“Your Grace,” he said, stepping toward her.
She wavered before she glanced back at the door. Slowly she reached back, and then she did something unthinkable: she shut it.
He stared at her hand, still resting on the barrier, her eyes holding on him.
“I’m glad you sent your message, Roarke. I also wished to see you and wasn’t brave enough to be the one to ask.” She moved forward just a half-step and clenched her hands before her. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you last.”
Her cheeks filled with pink color at that admission and her gaze darted away for a fraction of a moment before she seemed to force herself to look back. To hold his stare with a shaky boldness that made it feel like she was closer than she actually was.
He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry with how we left things,” he said, hearing how rough his voice was with desire.
Her eyes widened and her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile. Like she was happy to hear him say such a thing. A wash of emotions hit him all at once. He felt want and need, and also self-loathing. In his mind, he could hear her sharp intake of breath when she’d looked at the erotic paintings, but it mixed with the cruel laughter of his cousins as they crowed about him accepting their wicked bargain. It collided with the tenor of his own lies, ones this woman didn’t deserve.
“Flora, I must tell you something,” he whispered.
She moved forward swiftly, her hands outstretched. “Please,” she whispered. “Let me go first.”
He bent his head. “Of course.”
“I…I was married to a man much older than I was,” she said softly, her cheeks blooming with even deeper color. Roarke forced himself to look at her then, to take in any information that would make him feel better about this situation.
“My parents insisted on the match, and why wouldn’t they? Stuart was a duke, he was very well off. My dowry actually went straight into an account that was for me and is the money I inherited when he passed. He never used it for his own desires.”
Roarke felt the color drain from his cheeks. So the fifteen thousand his cousins griped about hadn’t even come out of their estate to begin with. The situation got worse and worse.
“But though I cared for him, truly loved him…I-I never felt the kind of stirring of what I felt standing next to you at the gallery. I never felt the passion I saw reflected in Pembroke’s paintings.” She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know how to do this.”
He hesitated. “Do what?”
“Did you want to kiss me that day?” she whispered.
He stared at her. The fact that it wasn’t perfectly clear to her was shocking to him. He hadn’t hidden it well.
“Yes,” he said. “There was no ulterior motive that day, Flora. No hidden reason. I stood next to you, watched how you reacted to the paintings and all I wanted to do when you looked at me, when you tumbled into my arms, was to kiss you. I didn’t care about anything else. I didn’t care about where we were. I wanted to kiss you more than I wanted to take my next breath.”
He needed her to know that, even if she wouldn’t fully understand that confession. Even if she didn’t know what he meant by ulterior motives.
Her lips parted. “I don’t think anyone has ever wanted me like that. I liked seeing it. I’m glad it was real.” She shifted. “And I want…I want…”
She trailed off, struggling to find the words, and Roarke stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The stakes were so high now. He knew his mother might suffer if he didn’t do what he’d been told to do. But he couldn’t look at this woman and betray her trust. He couldn’t play her for a fool.
“Flora, I really must tell you something,” he said, his voice breaking, rough.
Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Oh please, don’t tell me no.”
“No?” he repeated softly, understanding and not understanding. Not believing. “No to what?”
She bit her lip and he followed the seductive scrape of her teeth against it. She reached out, resting her palms against his chest. They were as close as they had been in the gallery, only this time the door was closed. He doubted anyone would dare interrupt them here.
She stared up at him, blue eyes shimmering with unchecked, undeniable need. Everything else fell away in that moment, all his doubts, all his reasons, all his problems. There was only her. It was a respite. An oasis. He had never felt anything like it in his life and he found it impossible to turn away from it.
He felt her tremble as she pushed up onto her tiptoes and leaned in even closer. Their bodies touched from shoulder to knee, her warmth filled him, changed him. He was further changed when her mouth found his and she kissed him.
CHAPTER 10
Flora had always liked kissing. It felt so warm, so close, so intimate. But now she wasn’t certain she was doing it right. After all, Roarke stood stock still, his mouth not moving beneath hers.
Until it did.
He made a low rumble in his chest that she felt ricochet through her entire body and then his arms closed around her, drawing her even tighter to him. He parted his lips, gently tracing the crease of her mouth with his tongue and she gasped against him, allowing him entry.
He tasted good. Lingering sweetness and something that was undefinably him. She wound her arms around his neck and lifted closer with a little whimper as the kiss deepened. He grunted against her lips and what had been a slow and easy exploration exploded into something far more heated.
He kissed harder, their tongues working faster against each other, his fingers digging into her back, possessive and hot. The world started to spin and tilt, her senses overwhelmed by him and what her body did in response to his touch.
She was tingling, an achy, glorious feeling that warmed every sensitive part of her. She found herself lifting against him, trying to get closer, trying to find a space where she could feel every inch of him because that was what she was driven to do now. She never wanted his mouth to leave her body—she wanted him to drag it all over her. She was weightless and shaky and needy as he slowly moved her across the room, toward the settee.
When he lowered onto the cushions, pressing a knee in beside her, rocking forward to partially cover her as his fingers glided up her face, against the nape of her neck, she gasped. God, the press of him, the weight of him against her. It was heavenly.
“Roarke,” she murmured against his mouth, and he groaned in response, like hearing his name was too much.
He pulled away and his eyes glittered as he got to his feet. He shook his head. “I…can’t do this.”
Roarke saw how much his refusal hurt Flora and added that to his list of things to hate himself for. It was becoming impossibly long. He felt like he was spinning now, wrong and right blurring together, becoming confusing and impossible to separate.