What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

She stopped so abruptly that the blue silk nightdress slipped from one shoulder. “What do you want, Cam?”

He prowled across to pour the wine. He passed her a glass. “I think we’ve done things completely the wrong way around.”

She frowned in confusion. “You mean you should have got me intoxicated before you joined me in that bed rather than after?”

Despite the tense atmosphere, his lips twitched. “No.”

Warily she studied him. “Then what do you mean?”

He gestured toward two chairs beside the hearth. “I mean, my wife, that we need to talk.”

Chapter Twenty

Cam watched Pen’s wariness deepen, but at least she appeared willing to listen. As she sank into the chair, she looked fierce and sensual, like a ravished goddess. Her black hair flowed around her. The blue nightdress was cut like a Greek tunic and emphasized the otherworldly quality of his wife’s beauty.

In the firelight, he noticed a red mark on her collarbone, just below where her pulse pounded like a trip-hammer. He’d branded her as his. Desire rippled through him, but he stifled any impulse to push his luck. He’d done that earlier and catastrophe had resulted. Guiltily he remembered the blood marking her thighs. Her cry as he’d pushed inside her still rang in his ears.

She watched him as if expecting him to pounce. “I told you I don’t want to talk about your… assumptions.” She gave the last word a bite that made him flinch.

“I’m sorry, Pen. But we must.”

She raised her chin and glared at him. “I suppose you mean to apologize again.”

He slid a chair from the other side of the hearth closer, but not close enough to crowd her. After he sat, he tasted his wine. The claret filled his mouth, rich and heady and complex. Nothing to compare to Pen’s kisses.

Beneath his composure swirled a turbulent stew of emotions. Anger at himself. Compunction at his clumsiness. Uncertainty that he could make up for what he’d done. Surprise—how had this sensual, beautiful woman remained untouched? “Would it do any good?”

“Probably not.”

Inwardly he winced. “You’ve been away from England a long time.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Her temper lifted his spirits. He never again wanted to see her hurt and crying. Especially over something he’d done to her.

“You must know there’s been gossip.”

She looked unconcerned. Dear God, he wished he could be as nonchalant about spiteful talk as the Thornes. “Occasionally someone would write and say that they’d heard about something I’d done. But why should the ton care about me? I never had a season.”

“That’s part of the appeal. You’re a mystery. A well-bred girl who chooses to scandalize the Continent rather than make her debut and find a husband. Peter’s profligacy and Harry’s tomcatting kept the Thorne name on everyone’s lips. Your antics added spice to the mixture.”

She sipped her wine. “There were no antics.”

His eyes sharpened on her. “What about the Grand Turk’s harem?”

She looked startled. “What about it?”

For years, outlandish tales of Pen’s adventures had piqued both his chagrin and curiosity. The rumors had become pure torture once he’d met her again. “Don’t try to be funny.”

Her lips firmed with impatience. “I’m not being funny. A woman is safer in a harem than she is in a nunnery. Apart from the eunuchs and the Sultan, the harem is a female preserve.”

“What about your affair with Count Rosario?” An affair which had never taken place, Cam realized.

Hostility sparked her gaze. “The Count is seventy if he’s a day.”

“You and he traveled together for weeks.”

“I joined a party of scholars to see the excavations on Rosario’s estate outside Palermo. The weather was bad and the count was kind enough to take me into his carriage. His arthritis has stopped him riding.”

How thoughts of the count had tormented Cam. Now Rosario loomed in his imagination as a geriatric bookworm. “What of the Prince of Castrodolfo? He’s a young man. And you two spent a night alone in the Apennines.”