Page 61 of The Lady’s Deception

When the last servant left the bedchamber, taking with him the empty supper tray, Paris let himself sink into the bath that had been set before the crackling fire—not an ordinary hip bath, but a real tub, filled with steaming water up to his chest. Clean clothes awaited him in the dressing room, and a well-stropped razor and shaving soap lay atop the washstand. Unimaginable luxuries after the past week’s discomforts. Perhaps having a duke for a brother-in-law had its advantages after all.

He’d heard Raynham arrive, an hour or more ago. A bustle of activity, doors opening and closing somewhere down the corridor. Voices, muffled by well-built walls. Then, half an hour later, Erica and her husband had gone out to attend that lecture. A deep stillness had settled over the house, the sort of stillness he’d once craved. Lately, however, quiet prompted reflection, and he did not want to think—not about his family, nor Erica’s sharp reprimands. Certainly not about Rosamund.

Not that he ever really stopped thinking about her. Her strength and her courage. The armor of thorns, beneath which hid something so soft and delicate and… A groan shuddered through him. He’d told himself again and again this past week to be content with having kissed her and slept with her in his arms. There could be nothing more. But what if Erica were right? What if he took just one more chance and let himself…

Beneath the water, his hand slicked over his hardened cock. Just one stroke. Or two. Something to take the edge off his madness. You don’t want this, he’d told her. You don’t want me. Almost convulsively, his grip tightened and pleasure stabbed through his groin. Yes-s-s. No. She didn’t want him. Couldn’t want him. His head tipped back against the rim of the copper tub as his legs grew taut. He wouldn’t let her…

It was up to him…

“Paris?”

His whole body jerked at the sound and his head snapped upright to locate the speaker. Rosamund stood in the doorway, wearing a pale silk dressing gown, her hair hanging free, dark gold and still damp from her own bath.

Based on the blush staining her cheeks, he must’ve let loose an oath or two, though he could not remember a time when intelligible words had been more remote from his consciousness. Or perhaps she blushed for another reason. It would not be difficult for even the most innocent young lady to figure out he was doing more than having a wash.

Fighting the impulse to sink beneath the surface of the water entirely, he laid an arm on either edge of the tub instead and pushed himself more upright. After clearing his throat twice he managed to say, with absurd formality, “Miss Gorse.”

Chidingly, she shook her head, and took a step closer.

“Rosamund…” In his head, it had been a warning. On his lips, it became an invitation.

Two steps more. “Your sister told me I’d find you here.”

“Ah. I thought—” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I expected you’d be staying with Cam.”

Eyes wide with something he could only call pretend innocence, she shook her head. “Mm, no. Mr. Remington brought me here.” Another step closer and she’d be able to peer right into the tub.

Her boldness didn’t entirely surprise him. After all, he’d seen signs of it from the beginning: in the woman who’d fled Kilready Castle in the dead of night, in the woman who’d faced him across that attic schoolroom, in the woman who’d pressed her lips, and her body, to his.

“Why are you here?” He’d meant his voice to sound stern. Instead, he sounded desperate. This spark between them…it mustn’t reignite.

“I have a question.”

“And I’ll be happy to answer it. Just—just go out and I’ll meet you in the library in a quarter of an hour.” Time to dry off and dress. Time to get his desire under control.

She shook her head. “I’d rather not wait. I’ve been thinking about that night in Wales, you see, beside the fire…”

Beneath the water, his cock bobbed in agreement. He’d been thinking about it too.

“You asked me what I wanted. My answer hasn’t changed.” As she spoke, she closed the remaining distance between them. No hiding the state he was in now. But her steady gaze hadn’t left his face. “And I wondered, if I asked you the same question, what would you say?”

You. In my arms. Not just tonight. Every night, for the rest of my life.

“I would say that sometimes we want things we shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t?” One golden brown brow arched. “I thought you were a rebel, Mr. Burke.”

Did she think to—to tease him with that? He snagged her by the wrist, his touch far from gentle. She needed to understand. “Do you know what you’re saying, Rosamund? Do you know what that means?” Do you know what I’ve done?

She did not flinch at his touch. Or at his harsh words. With her free hand, she lifted the hem of her dressing gown a few inches and knelt beside him. “I do. It means taking risks. Making sacrifices for something that truly matters. Something you believe in with your whole heart.”

Her voice was earnest, her gaze unwavering. Was she truly prepared to take this risk…for him?

“Ah, Roisín,” he whispered, releasing her. “Don’t say any more. I can’t…”

“Can’t what? Can’t hold me in your arms?”

“Not again. Not without making love to you.” There. Surely she’d come to her senses now and go scampering back to her own chamber.