She’d never understood why women discarded reputation, future, security for passion’s sake. That overpowering physical passion had always seemed as illusory as Josiah’s fine soul.

She understood passion now. Or its alluring prelude.

She glanced up from pushing food around her plate to catch Lord Sheene studying her. Again. Fire smoldered in his eyes. He no longer tried to conceal his interest. Heaven help her, that very openness stoked her simmering need.

How had she ever imagined he didn’t want her? With the freshly opened eyes of knowledge, she realized desire had ignited from the first. Desire laced with fear on her part. Desire laced with suspicion on his.

Now desire emerged naked from the shadows.

And she was afraid.

Grace Marlow had been brought up a lady. Grace Paget had never broken her marriage vows. Had never been tempted.

Five weeks a widow, and temptation entangled her in strands of finest steel.

She wanted the marquess to possess her.

The thought sent a torrent of heat crashing through her. She shifted on her chair as the heat settled, became more specific. Matthew’s nostrils flared as if he caught the scent of her arousal. The animal awareness between them was electric, irrefutable.

She tried to tell herself the act would be the usual disappointment. She’d endured Josiah’s occasional use of her body, but never found joy in it.

Why should Lord Sheene be any different?

He was a man. He’d rut over her until he finished. Then he’d roll off her to fall into snoring oblivion.

But she remembered the deftness of his hands this afternoon. She remembered the heady scent of his skin and the taste of his mouth.

He was a young man in the prime of life. Josiah had been old, old.

She was the first woman Lord Sheene had touched. The idea held such erotic charge. She’d awoken him to desire. She could teach him pleasure. She could…

No, Grace. You can teach him nothing. What do you know about passion?

She clamped down hard on the images of his long beautiful body moving on her, above her, in her. What little food she’d swallowed coagulated into a cold mass in her stomach and she rose, trembling.

He stood when she did. Concern lit his gold eyes as he

stared at her. “Are you unwell, Grace?”

She shook her head. “No, just tired.”

Greedily, her eyes traced the lines of his face, the strong powerful body. Then she realized what she did and she hurriedly stepped away. She had to get out of here.

Without another word, she fled.

Grace lay unmoving next to Matthew in the silent intimacy of the moonlit bedroom. He was fully dressed. He hadn’t even taken his shirt off. She knew why. The ghost of their kisses hovered tangible as a knife.

Hunger stalked her. Hunger radiated from the man beside her. He hadn’t moved in an hour but he was no more asleep than she was.

“It was wrong to kiss you,” she said dully.

“No.”

She waited for him to continue but the tense silence grew.

Grace sucked in a choked breath. Misery, guilt and desire tangled in her heart. She’d already given Matthew more of her real self than she’d given any man, even Josiah. Still it wasn’t enough. She suspected only her complete surrender would be enough. A tear trickled down her hot cheek.

The mattress shifted as he turned to look at her. Perhaps the darkness would hide her weeping. A futile hope. She’d long ago noted the acuteness of his senses.

Tags: Anna Campbell Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net