Nicholas withdrew his hand. Immediately she missed his touch. Poor, pathetic Antonia.
He rolled to his side again and took up his watchful pose with his head resting on one hand. Displeasure lengthened his mouth. “I’ll wager the bastard wrote sonnets enough to paper the Houses of Parliament.”
Sour humor edged her voice. “And Brighton Pavilion besides, I should think. He immortalized every inch of me in verse. His villanelle upon my left eyebrow was my favorite.”
Her feeble joke didn’t lighten Nicholas’s expression. “He might be a fool but I can’t fault his taste. You’re a pearl beyond price. What I find so bizarre is that a woman like you fell for the puling milksop.”
A pearl beyond price? She stifled her astonished reaction to the description. She was less capable of stifling her reaction when he brushed his lips across hers. The fleeting kiss somehow conveyed boundless faith in her. She knew it was illogical—after all, Nicholas hardly provided an example of morality—but she’d been sick with terror that he’d despise her for giving herself to Johnny.
Her hands clenched in the sheet as a tide of longing swamped her. Physically she was helpless against Nicholas, but that was to be expected. He was beautiful and glittering, and no woman with blood in her veins could stay immune. With every moment, she succumbed to a more dangerous craving for the man beneath the spectacular façade. For the erratic gentleness and the humor and what she deceived herself was a profound loneliness hidden even from himself.
The sweetness of his kiss bolstered her to continue her difficult confession. Her voice was somber as she struggled to contain the dark memories. “It was exciting to have such a handsome young man in the house. My life had been secluded and very dull up until then. Johnny was the first gentleman to pay me any attention.”
“Benton always set female hearts aflutter.” Nicholas’s eyes narrowed to an angry ebony gleam. “And of course you imagine you still love the blackguard.”
His voice was rough with disapproval. And certainty.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Don’t be absurd.” Outrage made Antonia stiffen against the elaborately carved headboard. With unsteady hands, she clutched the sheet to her bare breasts. Talking about Johnny left her feeling naked, both physically and emotionally, and she hated the vulnerability.
Nicholas shot her a disbelieving look from under his lowered dark brows. “You must have thought you loved him at the time.”
“At the time, I was insane,” she said flatly.
“Is that your excuse?” He watched her with such concentration, she felt he counted the pores in her skin.
The silence extended, became uncomfortable. Nicholas lay beside her, his gaze fixed on her and his long body tense with displeasure. If he were any man other than the Marquess of Ranelaw, she’d imagine he was jealous. But she was bleakly aware that he didn’t care enough about her to feel possessive.
Mustering her courage, she told herself without conviction that she’d survive a confession of her sins. Biting her lip, she stared down to where one hand pleated and smoothed the sheet. She sucked in a shaky breath and made herself continue.
“I was bored, and curious about a wider world I was afraid I’d never see. Johnny descended like a visitation from a god, which given what he’s really like contains more than a touch of irony. I was sure a man who wrote reams of poetry must have a great soul.” Her tone soured with self-denigration. “I dreamed of loving someone with a great soul. The people in my immediate vicinity only talked about farming and foxhunting.”
“You were a romantic.”
She winced, although Nicholas hadn’t sounded critical. “That was knocked out of me, at least.”
Except tragically that was far from the truth.
In spite of the ensuing misery, her dreams hadn’t changed much since she was a girl. She still cherished fantasies of everlasting love, even if no respectable man would ever consider marrying her. In the depths of night, she dreamed of a knight in shining armor rescuing her from her barren existence and showing her all the excitement she’d imagined life with Johnny offered.
“Surely someone as smart as you saw through Benton.” Nicholas snapped Johnny’s name between his sharp white teeth as though it tasted rotten. “Once you get past how the bugger looks, he’s not that interesting.”
Nicholas’s anger reminded her she had good reason to loathe Johnny Benton. But her hatred seemed unimportant compared to the disgrace she’d brought on herself and the pain she’d caused her family.
“He swept me off my feet. He promised to show me the Colosseum by moonlight, the Bay of Naples at sunrise, the temple at Delphi.”
“His bed,” Nicholas said harshly, his brows drawing together in a frown.
Her lips twisted with acid humor. “He was vague about his physical demands. He kissed me before we eloped, but he was careful not to frighten me until he had me to himself.”
“The bastard raped you?” Furious horror darkened Nicholas’s expression and his question emerged cutting as a whiplash.
“Good God, no.” She grabbed his hand, which had fisted in the sheets as if to pound Johnny to a pulp. “No, Nicholas. No.”
“Not far off,” he snarled, his black eyes flashing with savagery.
For all Johnny’s legion of sins against her, he’d never forced her. “I always knew Johnny wanted me. I wasn’t that green, even as a seventeen-year-old virgin. He didn’t hurt me. Or not that way. The most shocking part of it all was that I was sure he’d marry me before he took my maidenhead. I was at least that conventional. And innocent. It’s just that the . . . the promise of seeing those places was more of a lure than becoming his lover. He made them sound so marvelous.”