Page 129 of Dukes for Dessert

“It was not.”

“Was it me?”

Her silence answered for her as she scratched at a wound in the wooden desktop.

As much as he desired it, he made no move to go closer to her. “Do I frighten you?”

She scoffed. “Not in the least.”

Lie.

“Come now, I know I’ve been a cad and a rogue the whole of my life, but are you really afraid that I’ll hurt you?” He held his hands out, offering himself up for scrutiny. Surely a woman with your fashion sense would deduce that a man with such a light-grey suit wasn’t planning on getting any blood on it. And the fit of it didn’t at all allow for tight maneuvering— he’d split the seams.

“You’re a criminal and confessed pirate, Moncrieff,” she stated with a droll huff. “Your crew was rather famous for hurting people.”

“Never women,” he asserted, holding up his finger to make the salient point. “It was a veritable creed of ours that women and children would always be spared much possible distress from our pirating. One of Rook’s sticking points, with which I heartily agreed. You and Lorelai were among the first ladies to ever board the ship.”

To his utter astonishment, she snorted. “You are a filthy liar.”

“Uncalled for,” he admonished her without letting his good nature slip. “How do you figure?”

She gaped at him as if he were the largest, dimmest bulb she’d ever had to contend with. “Our second night on that ship, the captain brought a veritable contingent of prostitutes to entertain the entire crew.”

Laughing that away, he waved his hand at her. “That doesn’t count—our anchor was down.”

“Gah!” She threw her arms up and shifted as if she wanted to pace the length of the aisle. “You are the most ridiculous, infuriating man. How you avoided the noose is one of the great mysteries of our time.”

“It really isn’t.” He chuckled, enjoying how lovely aggravation made her, even in the pallid, grey light of winter filtered through the grime of the window. “I was given an ultimatum, of sorts. It was either declare myself the Erstwhile Earl of Crosthwaite, take up my political seat and lordly responsibilities…or prison, and likely the noose. I will tell you it was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve yet made. The life of a lord is tedious in the extreme. There are days I would have preferred the gallows.”

A noise, half disbelief, half frustration, burst from her chest. “This is why everyone hates the aristocracy.”

“Says the countess.”

“Dowager!” she cried. “And I never asked to be a countess, I fell for Mortimer Weatherstoke before I knew he was an earl’s son.”

Now it was his turn to be incensed. “If you tell me you loved that cretinous bastard, I’ll pitch myself from the train right now.”

“Tempting as that outcome may be, I cannot claim to have loved Mortimer Weatherstoke. I found him charming whilst we courted. He was one of the handsomest men I’d met in society, and never revealed the rot he’d festering in his soul until it was too late.”

Questions crowded into Sebastian’s throat until they choked him into silence. He wanted to understand her damage. To not merely patch up the holes perforating her soul and spirit…but to truly mend them.

How can someone as broken as you fix her? queried his conscience. She is better than you will ever be.

This whisper was precisely why he’d locked his cursed conscience away some time ago, and never planned to set it free again.

What fucking key did this woman hold to spring his better self from its carefully maintained prison?

“I did not desire a title,” she continued. “I wanted to be a wife. To bring my family pride. To care for a grand home and devote myself to various philanthropic causes. I wanted to raise kind sons and strong daughters. I wanted… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I’m going to kiss you,” he blurted. “I thought that was bloody obvious.”

“You are not.”

Except…she didn’t step back this time.

“You want me to.”

Her luscious mouth dropped open. “I never.”