Obscured enough to face him, she stalked over and stood a bare foot from his person. "I torment you. You sound like a petulant child. I have no more tormented you than you have me."
"Really?" He stood, towering over her. The breath in her lungs seized. His shirt was open, gaping far enough to see his chest and the scattering of hairs atop his skin.
Her mouth dried, her core ached.
"How do I torment you? Tell me."
His words, barely audible, were in themselves tormenting. His deep, throaty words made her yearn for more. Not just a stolen kiss, but a touch, caress, his hands pulling her against him so their bodies could take pleasure. There was little doubt in her mind that he could give her a lot of satisfaction. Her friends had been honest and open with her, telling her that she should not settle unless the gentleman who had taken her fancy made her burn.
She now understood those words, for burn she did. For him. She would not tell him how he made her feel. She would show him instead.
Her rules be damned.
* * *
Hugh wanted Molly with a need that he'd not expected to feel. His body was not itself. He ached every hour of every day, craved with an urgency that made his stomach churn. He needed her touch and her sweet, untutored kisses. She was all he thought about. A novelty he'd not experienced ever. But he was torn. What would she think of him when she found out the truth of his departure from England? Of what he was accused of?
Even if those accusations were incorrect, it did not change the fact that everyone thought it as truth. Miss Laura Cox was from a wealthy family, circulated in his social sphere. Even if her father wasn't titled, they were rich enough to be included in the nobility's social calendar. His brother had gone about his life in London after ruining Laura without a blink of an eye. Only too happy to ooh and ahh over the rumors, commiserate with his friends of his brother's downfall and atrocious behavior. A downfall that Henry should have faced instead of Hugh.
How was he to tell Molly of his past? To expect her to believe that he was innocent of the crime? It was his fault. He should never have agreed to take the fall. Should have told the truth and let his brother face the wrath of their peers. Laura, a sweet woman who he remembered being full of life and promise, had not deserved what she was meted out. His brother, having played with her emotions, should have offered for her hand, especially when Henry took her innocence and got her with child.
Henry had not. Instead, his brother had shunned her, watched from afar as the light in her eyes dimmed to a deathly gray. Ignored her until she no longer attended events and eventually left for the country. Hugh remembered the day his mother had received the missive from Miss Cox, demanding the Duke of St. Albans make good on his promise to marry her. That she would tell her father of his conduct if he did not do the right thing.
His mother had been enraged toward Laura. A fit of misplaced anger, as it should have been directed at her eldest son. From that point on, Henry ceased all communication with Miss Cox and explained that they did not take well to threats. That there was no proof that he was the father or that she had not given out her body to other gentlemen of their set.
That was when Hugh was asked to be the gentleman who had ruined her. To be the one to take the blame, so the head of the family's reputation wouldn't be besmirched. He refused, of course, and so his mother and brother put into play the rumors, the slander that forced his hand.
To this day, that decision haunted him, and now, standing before Molly, he knew his truth would be the end of their newly forming friendship.
She would hate him for the fiend, the lying ass that he was. The bastard he'd been.
And so this morning, he had fled Rome. Had ridden out before dawn, determined to leave Molly and the temptation she brought to his life. The wants and needs to be a man she could love, admire, and marry. He had started toward Naples, removing himself from her life, leaving her to her holiday and tours, not being a distraction in her world.
He may be the Duke of St. Albans now, but his brother had gone to his grave, the respectable, noble god. Hugh was the degenerate, scandalous sibling who ruined innocent women and broke families apart.
True or not, it was what everyone believed.
"I want you. With each breath that I breathe, I want you more, and yet I cannot have you." With each inhalation, her towel lifted, giving him a small glimpse of her ample bosom. Her skin was fragrant, smelled of sweet flowers, and his mouth watered with the want that thrummed through him. He wanted to kiss, taste his way over her skin, gorge on her until he was satisfied.
Which, he was starting to believe, would never be the case.
Her tongue came out, licking her lips at his words, and his cock hardened. He was acting as bad as his brother, wanting to deflower an innocent woman just to quell his wicked appetites.
"Why can we not be together? If we both choose to be so?" Molly asked him, her eyes, fathomless pools of need he could happily drown in as she stared at him, waited for him to answer.
The answer was as complicated as his emotions toward the woman standing before him. Tangled and caught up about them. If she only knew the truth, the answer to her question would be simple. He would never even have the opportunity to court her, for she would never have given him a second glance. "You're a virgin, an unmarried maid. I will not ruin you," he said instead.
"I'm also eight and twenty. I think I am old enough to choose my path. To determine what I want and when I want it. I want you too, Hugh." She sighed, stepping closer to him, the linen of her towel teasing his chest. "I do not understand what is happening to me, but when I'm around you, all I can think about is your touch. I ache in places for you that I did not know existed before we met. I—"
He kissed her. Hard. Took her mouth in a searing kiss that startled him in its intensity. To stand there, hearing her words, was torture he could not endure. Her tongue tangled with his, her arms wrapping about his neck, her towel forgotten.
He reached behind her, pulling it free from her body. His hands snaked across her skin and clasped her ass, picking her up to straddle him. She gasped against his lips, but did not shy away, kissed him with an abandon that left him reeling for purpose.
A voice, a drum in his mind told him to stop. That this was wrong, he was acting like his brother, but he could not. He could no sooner deny her needs than he could deny himself air.
This is not what he'd thought would occur between them when he'd first met her, but having grown to know her over the past week, he realized that it was inevitable they would come together. The attraction, the sizzling air that always circulated about them when they were together, was proof enough that they would become one.
She undulated against his cock, moaning through their kiss, and he walked them over to the bath. He set her down, ripping his shirt over his head and throwing it away somewhere over his back. The touch of her hands on the buttons of his breeches made his stomach quake. She made short work of them, ripping his pants open and assisting him in pulling them down. She stood back, staring at him, a wicked glint and admiration in her eyes as she took her fill.
Hugh stood before her, quiet and willing for her to enjoy what was hers. For it was true. He was hers, forever after this night. He would never look at another woman, not after bedding such a sweet, beautiful being such as his Molly.
Molly took his hand, leading him into the water. The bath was hot, the fragrant scent of flowers permeating from the steam. Hugh stood to the side of the bath, leaning up against it as he watched her float about in the water before him. Hell, she was beautiful, made his heart ache.