Page 46 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

He stopped and pulled her into his arms, his embrace hard and tight. He kissed her, his mouth demanding, almost desperate. Thisbe returned his kiss full measure, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body into his. Desire, thick and hot, poured through her, and she wished that she could feel his body more closely against hers, without the padding of their coats. She wished, shockingly, that she could feel his skin against hers. A shiver shook her at the thought.

Desmond lifted his head and gazed down into her face. Color flared along his cheekbones, and his chest rose and fell in rapid pants, but the look on his face was not desire. It was...despair. “Desmond? What is it?”

“I love you,” he said, the words seeming torn from him. “Oh, God, Thisbe, I love you more than anything.” His hand caressed her cheek.

A different sort of warmth spread through Thisbe, a mixture of surprise and joy, and she began, “I lo—”

“No.” Desmond raised a finger to her lips, stopping her. “Don’t say it, or I will never get through this.”

“Get through what?” She frowned, puzzled, as his arms fell away from her and he took a step back. Was he about to ask for her hand in marriage? Her nerves began to dance; it was too soon, surely, too sudden, and yet...she knew she would say yes.

“We cannot see each other anymore.”

His words were so far from anything she had expected that Thisbe could only stare.

“I thought it would be all right. I thought I could keep you safe. But I see now—I can’t keep you from danger. I am the danger.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“DANGER!” THISBE GAPED at him. “What are you talking about? How can you be a danger?”

Desmond felt as if he were being ripped in two. But he had known what he had to do the moment he saw Wallace’s thug grab Thisbe’s arm. He had to protect Thisbe, no matter how painful it was. “Your grandmother was right. I will be the death of you, Thisbe. You cannot love me—I cannot love you.”

“You’re talking about my grandmother’s prediction?” Thisbe’s voice rose in astonishment. “That’s mad. She can’t see into the future.”

“Maybe not. But she can see me.” Desmond thumped his chest on the last word. “She looked into me somehow and saw it. I told myself it was nonsense. That I would protect you. But now, after what happened, I—”

“Because I fell down?” Thisbe stared. “Because of that one silly accident, you think I’m going to die if I’m with you?”

“It’s not just that.” He swung away, jamming his fingers back through his hair. How could he convince her? “Everyone who loves me dies.”

“Everyone dies, Desmond.”

“Not long before their time. My birth killed my mother. My sister, whom I loved more than anyone in the world, died at twenty in the same way. My aunt is dead. God only knows what has happened to my father.”

“Desmond, women die in childbirth. It’s awful that both your mother and sister died, but it’s not unique to you. Your aunt and your father are older. It’s not that odd—”

“No? Is your father dead? Your mother? Your aunts and uncles?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But what? Even your grandmother and great-uncle are still alive. Do you think it’s really a coincidence that none of my relatives are?”

“I don’t know. Such things happen, surely. It’s certainly not because of you.”

“That is what I’ve always told myself.”

“Yes, because it’s true. It’s reasonable. My grandmother’s prophecies are not.”

“How do you know?” he asked. “How can you be so certain that she isn’t aware of the spirits of those who have died? That she can’t sense that death is drawn to me? My aunt sensed it, too. She saw it in me, just as your grandmother did. Thisbe, I saw my sister.”

“Saw her? I don’t understand.”

“After she died, one night she came and stood by my bed. I saw her as plain as day. Whatever my logical mind tells me, I cannot dismiss what I saw.”

“It was a dream,” Thisbe countered.

“No. It wasn’t. I saw her.” He sighed. “Thisbe, I bear a mark—Aunt Tildy called it the mark of death.”