Page 14 of Rogue of My Heart

“Kit, you’re brilliant. And irritated only because I didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.”

He rolled the rim of the cup along his bottom lip and felt intense satisfaction when her gaze tracked the movement. “You’re the most forthright person I’ve ever met. It’s strangely humbling. And punitive.”

She laughed, such a joyous reaction he jostled his cup, spilling tea on his wrist. “I like talking to you. It’s been ages, forever, I think, since I could speak my mind or anyone cared to listen. It’s addictive. Like I feel when I’m close to figuring out the mystery in a book. I’m so ready to get there.”

“You’re killing me. You know that, right?” He blew a fast breath through his teeth, slapped his cup to the desk, and leaned in until he got close enough to see the flecks of gold swimming in her eyes. His body was alive with yearning, absolutely pulsing. “I’m happy to feed your compulsion. Any of them. Try me.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting on a spent, ragged sound that tore him up inside. “You don’t know me well.” She drew her hands into a prayerful fist and rested her chin atop them. “I’m headstrong. A horrible cook. An abysmal seamstress. My only talent languages, words, books. I’m independent and outspoken, a nightmare for most men. No one you would truly want to involve yourself with. I’m uninterested in parties or fashion or gossip. I’m happy with my novels. A cat would be nice. A dog even. A horse. And children.” Her eyes flicked to his, then to the desk. “Someday, children.”

He coughed to cover his mirth, but like smoke it slid neatly into the study, surrounding them.

“Why are you smiling, you beast?” she asked between bared teeth. “You know, I used to punch my brothers for teasing me like this.”

“Because this diatribe is enlightening as all hell, Raine darling. You’re talking yourself out of this, out of me, because you know I’ve already decided. I decided ten years ago. Somehow, this rambling list of excuses about why I shouldn’t want you is very, very good news. In the few hours between last night and this morning, you’ve decided we’re a ‘maybe’.” He snapped his fingers with a grin. “My horse has moved up in the odds.”

“I haven’t…that is, I am…I’m not…” With a growl of frustration, she shoved to her feet. “Oh, bother!”

He was out of his chair, catching her wrist before she could storm from the room. Walking her back against the door, he used her body to close it with a soft snap. “I’m going to say this once, then we’ll sit, have tea, and finish my translations. No more teasing, no more verbal fencing. I’ll not address the issue again unless you want me to.” He leaned and whispered in her ear, “You’re in control, Miss Mowbray, how does that feel?”

Her shoulders rose and fell on a hushed breath, her arm quivering in his hold. “You know how it feels. In a world built for men, it feels wonderful.”

He braced his hand against the door, palm flat, fingers spread. He wanted to be steady—and he wanted her to listen. “I’m in love with you, Raine. My first and only love.” When she went to lower her gaze, he tipped her chin high with his free hand. He’d never realized how much taller he was, how slim and delicate she was. He felt empowered and frightened by his depth of feeling. To protect, to possess. “Penny told me if I could look you in the eye and tell you I didn’t want you, I was on the right path. I could leave Hartland Abbey and never look back. Well, I obviously can’t do that. And I won’t leave without knowing I told you everything that’s in my heart and my mind. A silly misunderstanding is not going to be the reason you run from me.” He smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip as she blinked, fighting, he could see, the impulse to look away. “My father was a harsh taskmaster. Cruel. My mother tried to assuage his temper, which made for a most miserable existence. Walking on broken bits of china, always. Cholera decimated our village when I was fifteen, and within two weeks, I had no one. My beloved brother, who’d hoped to go into business with me, gone. My mother, everyone, gone.”

Tears sparked her eyes. “Kit, you don’t have to tell me this.”

“Oh, yes, I do. I absolutely do. You said we don’t know each other well, so here I am. Like my tools, laid out on the duke’s desk, ready for inspection.” He curled his fingers into a fist against the door. “Tavistock House was a desperate destination, though I had nowhere else to go. The earl not far from my father in temperament, unfortunately, which I could no longer countenance. I knew within three days of arrival that I couldn’t stay. He was wretched and…I loathed him almost as much as I feared him. I’d been offered an apprenticeship with a watchmaker, one I decided to accept without delay.” Laughing, he pressed a playful kiss to her cheek. “Then, I saw you. The very night I sent the note to Cambridge announcing my plans to arrive, there you were. In that darkened corner, bathed in moonlight, pressing a book against the globe of an oil lamp. I was like a butterfly caught in a net, immediate entrapment. Visceral. Gut-deep. Final. You must believe me. I beg you to believe me when I say I knew in one second that you were the only woman for me. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but it was true for me.”

She slipped her hand over his lips, but he simply kissed her palm, this caress not playful, bringing a needy sound from her that shocked them both.

Drawing her fingers to cup his cheek, he leaned in until his lips grazed hers. “I didn’t have the courage to stumble down the marble staircase at Tavistock House and introduce myself to the girl on the veranda. So I’ll do that now. Christian Emory Bainbridge, pleased to make your acquaintance. Now that that’s over, will you please marry me?” Then he slanted his head, his lips covering hers, taking possession, branding her as she’d branded him on a lonely night ten years ago.

Tunneling her fingers in his hair, she gave the strands a tug, her nails gently scraping his scalp. Touched her tongue to his and shyly began an erotic dance. Stepping between her legs, fitting himself as close to her as he could while standing, he murmured an approving hum that mixed with another of those enchanting sounds she freed when she liked what he was doing.

He would enjoy learning what she desired. Needed. Loved. What made her heart race, her skin flush. Like his watches, he’d study her until he could disassemble the unique pieces of her to find the glorious, perfect fit.

He’d spend a lifetime making sure happiness and pleasure were never far from reach.

Predictably, the door opened as they were losing themselves in each other, sending Raine stumbling into Christian. Penny peered around the open space, one brow rising, a trick he’d perfected in his chipped mirror until he had it down, only putting in the effort because women appreciated it and invited him into their beds that much quicker.

Penny took them in with a flat smile, snorting as Raine danced away from Christian.

She straightened her sad mobcap, smoothed her dress, and tugged on her apron before throwing up her hands in mortification and slithering through the doorway without a backward glance.

Penny shoved Christian back a step when he tried to follow. “Get a grip on yourself, man. I don’t know what’s happening in that usually gifted brain of yours, but if you don’t want to ruin her position in this household, ruin your relationship with Devon, you should let your able manservant assist with this scandalous post-encounter as you look like you’ve been dipped in something sticky and are not yet dry. And she looked about the same.”

Christian muttered an oath and yanked his hand through his hair. “I asked her again, much better this proposal, romantic even, and then there you were, barreling in.” He brought his knuckle to his mouth, winced. “Cut my lip on her tooth when she bumped into me. Your timing is impeccable, Mister Pennington, utterly impeccable.”

“At your service, sire.” Penny gave Christian’s cravat a rectifying yank. “You didn’t allow for much time between proposals. A tad desperate, isn’t it?” He yawned, stretched his shoulders like he’d just woken from a nap. “You think she’ll accept?”

Slapping Penny’s hand away, he growled, “How should I know?”

His valet’s brow rose, that odious trick again. “You couldn’t tell from the kiss? My, you are losing your touch.” He released a sardonic smile and leaned lazily against the doorjamb. “At least marriage means I won’t have to deliver any more necklaces to departing mistresses. No joy in that task. Remember that crazy countess who pulled the pistol on me? Can only be thankful she had no idea how to use it.” He crossed the room and collapsed in the chair Raine had recently vacated, gave the air a little sniff as if it still smelled of feminine delight. “I’ve had enough of enraged women to last a lifetime. For my sake, I’m hoping the bluestocking says yes.”

Christian strode to the window, braced his forearm on the ledge, and let his mind sink into their kiss. They’d been entangled, the scent of her storming his mind, the touch and taste of her devastating his body. His soul. When her eyes had opened for one brief moment and caught his, he’d seen something authentic and profound shimmering in their golden depths.

Christian gazed across the duke’s sloping lawn, clouds the color of pewter releasing scant light, the evergreens and hedges coated in a blustery mist. “She’s going to say yes.”

“Again, let’s hope,” Penny murmured in a drowsy voice, “after you’ve made a cake of yourself. Twice.”