Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

Given how she felt—how deeply he’d already unwittingly snared her—she had to know. Hands on his chest, she pushed up again. Tried to, but his arms didn’t give. She wriggled, got nowhere, so she pinched him. Hard.

He flinched, muttered something distinctly uncomplimentary, but let her lift her shoulders enough to look into his face.

She searched his eyes, replayed all he’d said, and how he’d said it. His plan for her, whatever it was, revolved about one question. She narrowed her eyes on his. “Who have you decided to marry?”

If she could get him to declare that, she could accept it, know it for fact, and prepare herself to hand over her keys, relinquish her place in his bed to another, and leave Wolverstone. That was her destiny, but while he refused to name his bride, he could draw their liaison out indefinitely, and draw her ever deeper into love—so that when she did have to leave, leaving him would shatter her.

She had to make him define the end of their affair.

He held her gaze, utterly expressionless. Utterly implacable.

She refused to back down. “Lady Ashton confirmed that your failure to make the promised announcement has been widely noted. You’re going to have to make it soon, or we’ll have Lady Osbaldestone back up here, in a foul mood. And in case you’re wondering, her foul mood will trump your temper. She will make you feel as small as a flea. So stop pretending you can change your destiny, and just tell me so we can announce it.”

So she could organize to leave him.

Royce was too adept at reading between other people’s lines to miss her underlying thoughts…but he had to tell her. She’d just handed him the perfect opening to break the news to her and propose, but…he didn’t want to yet. Wasn’t yet sure enough of her response. Of her.

Beneath the covers, she shifted, sliding one long leg over his waist, then easing across and sitting up, straddling him, the better to look into his face. Her eyes, the glorious autumn hues still darkened by recent passion, narrowed and bored into his, golden sparks of will and determination flaring in their depths. “Have you chosen your bride?”

That he could answer. “Yes.”

“Have you contacted her?”

“I’m negotiating with her as we speak.”

“Who is she? Do I know her?”

She wasn’t going to let him slide around her again. Jaw setting, eyes locked on hers, he ground out, “Yes.”

When he didn’t say anything more, she clutched his upper arms as if to shake him—or hold him so he couldn’t escape. “What’s her name?”

Her eyes held his. He was going to have to speak now. Engage with her now. He was going to have to find some way—forge some path through the mire…He searched her eyes, desperate for some hint of a way forward.

Her fingers tightened, nails digging in, then she uttered a frustrated sound; releasing him, she raised her palms, along with her face, to the canopy. “Why are you being so damned difficult about this?”

Something within him snapped. “Because it is difficult.”

Her head came down; she pinned him with her eyes. “Why, for heaven’s sake? Who is she?”

Lips thin, he locked his gaze with hers. “You.”

All expression fled from her face, from her eyes. “What?”

“You.” He poured every ounce of his certainty, his determination, into the words. “I’ve chosen you.”

Her eyes flared wide; her expression wasn’t one he could place—she wasn’t afraid of him. She started to draw back, pull away; he locked his hands about her waist.

“No.” The word was weak, her eyes still wide; her expression looked strangely bleak. Abruptly she dragged in a breath, and shook her head. “No, no, no. I told you—”

“Yes. I know.” He made the words terse enough to cut her off. “But here’s something—some things—you don’t know.” He caught her gaze. “I took you up to Lord’s Seat lookout, but I never told you why. I took you there to ask you to marry me—but I got distracted. I let you distract me into getting you into my bed first—and then you turned your virginity, the fact I’d taken it, into an even bigger hurdle.”

She blinked at him. “You wanted to ask me then?”

“I’d planned to—on Lord’s Seat, and then here on that first night. But your declaration…” He paused.

Her eyes narrowed again; her lips thinned. “You didn’t give up—you never give up. You set out to manipulate me—that’s what all this”—she waved her arms, encompassing the huge bed—“has been about, hasn’t it? You’ve been working to change my mind!”

With a disgusted snort, she tried to get off him. He tightened his grip on her waist, kept her exactly where she was, straddling him. She tried to fight loose, tried to pry his fingers away, wriggled and squirmed.