Page 63 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“That’s not necessary. And please don’t toss them out. They’re lovely. I’ve never seen myself like that.”

His brows rose. “You’ve never looked at yourself unclothed?”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. The way you see me, it is unexpected.” These drawings of her were made with artistic skill, but something more. Why couldn’t she simply say it? Why couldn’t she come right out and ask him. Do you love me? Will you ever be able to love me?

“You shouldn’t be so surprised, Harriet. I told you I wanted you, that you were desirable. You are a beautiful woman. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?” He stepped around the desk, leaned against it, and pulled her to him.

“I don’t know. Not that I recall, except for my parents.”

He dropped a kiss on her lips, slow and languid and full of heat. Desire prickled through her, and she clung to him, wanting more, wanting whatever he gave her. “Well, that is truly a shame. I shall endeavor to remind you of that fact on a regular basis.”

Yes. She could get used to hearing him say such things. “Greedy,” she whispered. Though, this time, it wasn’t an insult.

He chuckled. “Yes, I am greedy. I’ve never wanted anything or anyone the way that I want you. One kiss is not enough. One night in your bed is not enough. I want you always, beside me, beneath me, atop me. All of you.”

She’d been thinking about herself, the greed he brought out in her, but his words stole her breath.

“My Harriet cup is never full; there is always room for more. I will never get my fill of you. Do you understand?”

She closed her eyes and heard every word, felt them as she saw the raw emotion in his face. His desire was true and authentic. She couldn’t deny that. Still, he had made no mention of his heart or hers. Love was not what he offered, and it is what she wanted, craved. She was his wife now, so there was no leaving. But could her love sustain them both, or would she end up resenting him and hating herself?

“When I saw this drawing, it felt like, that is, it appeared as if you’d given it the same attention and care you had done your other drawings.”

He nodded.

“When I look at it, it gives me hope. Dare I hope that the love with which you create your drawings could mean—”

He put a finger to her lips. “I’m going to stop you there. I know what you’re asking me, what you’re asking of me.” He shook his head. “Know that whatever I have is yours. I can buy you any pretty bauble your heart desires. I can fund any charity you find.” He gripped her arms and looked into her eyes. “I can love you with my body. Harriet, if I had a heart to give, it would be yours. I wish that was enough to make you happy.”

Her heart crumbled to dust inside her chest. She closed her eyes briefly. “I wish it was, too.” With that she turned and left him.

What was she supposed to do now?

…

Damnation!

The look on her face was enough to…what? Make him change his mind? Hell, he would love her if he thought it was at all possible.

She might not think what they had was enough for her, but he’d prove her wrong. Every time he touched her he nearly forgot all of it—the poverty, his father’s betrayal, the accident, his damned leg. Being near her did that to him, for him. Certainly he could provide the same for her.

Passion might not be the same thing as love, but in the midst of it, perhaps it would ease the ache of her wanting more from him. Wanting something he couldn’t give her.

What he could give her was enough. He’d show her that.

He stepped into the hall and heard the unmistakable sound of the pump room. Someone was using the shower.

With determined steps, he made his way to the room he’d designed much like a miniature Roman bath.

The sound of her muffled sobs nearly did him in. Water poured over her, washing away her tears. He couldn’t comfort her if his life depended on it, but he could make her forget. He made quick work of removing his clothes and stepped onto the marbled floor.

Her back was to him. Her curves beckoned him, a ship to a lighthouse. The smoothness of her back, the indention of her waist and her perfectly round ass that begged for him to bite it. His erection grew even harder. His want for her nearly stole his breath. She’d unpinned her hair and a cascade of blond corkscrews fell down to her waist. She tilted her head up to the water spray that came from above her, and the sound of her crying melted into the water.

He moved to her then, wrapping one arm around her, across her magnificent breasts, the other lower, so his hand could splay across her stomach.

She gasped at his unexpected touch but said nothing.

He pressed his erection against her. He couldn’t say the words she longed to hear, but he could make assurances that she never doubted how much he wanted her. His mouth met her shoulder, her neck, and spread kisses over her. The water came at them from every direction. He was thankful he’d thought to include benches in the design. He cursed his broken body and the fact that he couldn’t take her here, push her up against the cold tiled wall and lose himself inside her. But he couldn’t hold his own weight up very long without his cane; holding hers, too, would be an impossibility.

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