He loved that she teased him, while he cursed the blasted rules that stopped him from tossing her over his shoulder and stealing her away to some isolated cave. “You know what I mean.”
She shot him a wry look, clear even in the unreliable light. “I do indeed.”
Pascal shrugged. “I want to be your lover. Why should I conceal it?”
He wanted to be more than that. But after those kisses, he was desperate to get her to himself. Anything more permanent could wait until he’d scratched this itch.
She had the most astonishing effect on him. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so much. Desire was a raging fever in his blood.
He’d never expected to be eager to bed the woman he married. Such a nice bonus that he was.
“And what would you think of me if I tumbled into your arms after a few kisses?”
“I’d think you were wonderful—and that you’d offered me a gift I’d treasure forever.”
“That’s all very well, but I don’t know you.” She held up her hand when he started to protest. “I know it was reckless to kiss you. I’ve clearly given you completely the wrong idea of my audacity.”
He hid a smile. She’d felt like a virgin in his arms. He knew to his soul she hadn’t kissed anyone since her husband’s death. And if he was any judge of women—which he was—she’d shared damned few kisses when she was married.
Heat flooded him when he remembered how quickly she’d caught on. She had a rare talent that he intended to encourage. He tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you going to make me suffer for the sake of appearances?”
Her laugh was mocking. “A little suffering might do you good. You’re far too sure of your attractions.”
“And you’re not confident enough of yours.”
“Devil take you.” She jerked free. He’d hit a nerve. “If I’m that appealing, you can jolly well work a bit harder to win me.”
“I’m already mad for you.”
She sighed. “I’m sure you’ve said that to every lady who has caught your fancy.”
“I have. But that doesn’t mean it’s a lie.”
Her expression critical, Amy surveyed him in the silvery light. “I imagine very few have said no.”
To his shame, that was true. He couldn’t remember the last lady to deny him. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Her lips flattened. “Which means I’m right.”
“What’s in the past is past. I swear I’m a new man since I met you.”
“Easily said.”
Something in him would be disappointed if she accepted his extravagant claim, however true. What a fool he was to imagine she’d accept him immediately. When he’d imagined he was on the verge of success, he’d been drunk on hope and kisses. “After those kisses, you can’t send me away.”
“You know,” she said slowly, “I think I can.”
Hell. Hell. Hell. He’d blundered. Somehow he’d ruined everything.
Black despair unlike anything he’d ever known in his privileged life crashed down. He finally met a woman he wanted as more than a temporary amusement, and now it seemed she didn’t want him. “Amy…”
She arched her eyebrows and her voice was cool. “Amy, is it?”
He reached for her. Although what the deuce he’d do with her if he caught her, he had no idea. With half society within earshot, he couldn’t tup her in Lady Bartlett’s shrubbery. “Don’t you want me?”
As she evaded him, he cringed to hear the stark need in his question. He was famous, some might say notorious, for taking his love affairs lightly. Two days in thrall to this unusual woman, and he hadn’t a thought to call his own.
She took too long to answer. His gut tightened in suspense. And a vulnerability he refused to acknowledge.