Page 15 of The Marquess of Temptation
"Oh, I don't know," Lord Delaney spoke in a light, teasing tone. "A woman clutching a book of Byron's poems whilst gazing dreamily at the night sky, must surely be thinking something deep and poetic."
"I was thinking of sewing," Hestia responded tartly, offering the dullest topic she could think of. She did not wish to engage in any kind of teasing with Lord Delaney, no matter that his voice left goose pimples on her bare arms.
"Ah, of course you were," he chuckled, a deep, melodic sound that filled the room with warmth. "Were you thinking that the sky is like a beautiful tapestry sewn from glittering silks?"
"No," Hestia replied mulishly, as he came to stand beside her, his arm grazing hers. "I was thinking of my bonnet, which will need a new ribbon sewn onto it."
"Are you always this stubborn?" the Marquess sighed at her answer, looking down at her with eyes that were a mixture of amusement and frustration.
"No," Hestia replied, rather stubbornly, even she had to admit.
"Only with me, then I take it?"
"Well, you insist on following me everywhere," she sighed, her eyes refusing to meet his, "And asking me probing questions that I quite obviously do not wish to answer."
"I am sorry," Falconbridge sounded sincere, his hand reaching for hers, "It was never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. I am fascinated by you Miss Bowstock and, as an academic, when I am fascinated by a subject, I am filled with a need to know everything that I can possibly know about it."
"There is little to know, my Lord," Hestia's mind was reeling from this startling confession from a man of such a high rank. Her body was responding to his closeness in unfamiliar ways and the feel of his hand holding hers had turned her knees to jelly and her brain to mush. "You know it all, already, my Lord. I fear that I am possibly the dullest creature to have ever walked the earth --I pray, tell me more about you."
"I find it impossible to believe that a woman with such expressive eyes, could ever be dull," Lord Delaney held her gaze. "Though if you would prefer to wait until after we are wed, to reveal yourself completely to me, then so be it."
"Wed?" Hestia balked; goodness this had escalated quickly. "Are you quite well, my Lord? You can't marry me, I am just a servant."
A servant with a criminal father and a history so scandalous that even the Falconbridge's lofty title could not help but be tainted by it.
"Yes, wed," Lord Delaney's eyes danced; he seemed terribly amused by her reaction. "We shall have to for two reasons, the first being that I am attracted to you in a way that I have never felt before."
"And the second?" Hestia asked, wondering if it was she who had gone mad and was hallucinating this absurd conversation.
"Why, because offering for a woman after you have kissed her thoroughly, whilst alone in a dark room, is the honourable thing to do --and I always do the honourable thing. Well, except perhaps for this..."
His lips were upon Hestia's before she had the chance to absorb the intention behind his words. His arms snaked gently around her waist and he pulled her toward him lightly, so that she was pressed against his broad chest. It all happened so quickly and yet, at the same time, it felt as though time had stopped completely. No one had ever kissed her before, nor held her so closely; it was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
"Lud," she whispered in confusion, as he finally broke their spellbinding embrace.
"I'll take that as a compliment," the Marquess's lips quirked in an arrogant smirk. His composure and self-assurance after what, for Hestia, had been a momentous event--her first kiss--irked her.
"It was not a compliment," she whispered waspishly, "You are so arrogant, my Lord. Just because you are a Marquess does not give you the right to kiss me and hold me so closely, when I have given no hint that I wish to be kissed or held."
"You are still in my arms, are you not?"
It was true; Falconbridge's arms were still wrapped around her waist in a possessive manner. Hestia had been enjoying the sensation of being cradled by someone so large and masculine, but she quickly pulled away at his words.
"You took me by surprise," she countered, stepping away from him. She needed to put distance between her body and his, for he radiated a warmth that was overwhelming. "And I think that you must be in your cups, my Lord, to say such strange things and act so rashly."
"I have never been more sober in my life," all teasing had left Falconbridge's voice. "I am immensely attracted to you, I desire you, and I see no reason why we should not be wed."
Hestia could think of one very obvious reason --the Marquess had no idea of her true identity. The second reason, when it struck her, made her realise that she was very much her mother's daughter: he had not said that he loved her.
"Please, I beg you," she said in a voice that was thick with unshed tears. "Do not ask me again, my Lord. It is impossible."
"But why?" Lord Delaney stepped forward, his arms reaching for her again. "Please tell me why it is impossible, Belinda?"
The use of her new moniker was like a slap in the face. Part of her could have been tempted to fall into his arms, to allow him, his title and his wealth to carry her away from her present predicament, but she could not lie to him --no matter how lost and alone she was.
"Because this is not a fairy tale, my Lord," she replied firmly, smoothing down her skirts in an effort to appear calm and collected. "I am not Cinderella, you are not Prince Charming and there will be no happily ever after for us. Now, I beg you, please let me leave."
She would never know if the Marquess would have objected, or put up a fight, against her leaving the room, for outside the door, in the entrance hall, there came the sound of raised voices.
