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“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m alive. I’m fine. I lost consciousness, but the fencing master knew how to stop blood. Nature of his profession, I suppose. Papa called for a physician who tended to me properly. I did have a fever after as one of the cuts got infected, but I pulled through. See? I’m fine.”

“Thank God,” she croaked through a thick throat, and he couldn’t stop being surprised.

How could someone be thanking God for his life?

If she knew what he had done to her brother, she’d be praying for his death instead.

“I’m so glad you pulled through,” she said as she drew his hand towards her face.

She looked at his gloved hand and he swallowed hard. Over the past two weeks, he’d begun to notice the redness was spreading, and the ache had turned into true pain. The best thing for him would be to remove the glove.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“What happened to this hand?” she asked as she took it between her palms, and he could barely breathe. To his astonishment, she planted soft kisses right on the leather.

God, those lips. His mind was a complete wreck of confused emotions—the echoes of fear, wrath, and guilt…and love…and, to all demons, desire she’d started in the depths of his body with her full, pink lips.

He opened his mouth.

I challenged your brother to a duel, and he sabotaged my pistol, and it exploded in my hand. Enraged by his dishonorable act, I attacked him…and the pistol fired.

He didn’t kill himself, Patience.

It was me.

I took his life.

I put your family through misery.

He imagined the pain in her eyes, the disappointment, the way she’d let go of his hand in disgust, and the way she’d never look at him again.

She’d never think of him as worthy.

He’d lose her.

And yet, he could have her for the rest of his life. She was his by right. All he had to do was to keep silent and hide what a monster he truly was.

That he was a murderer.

He closed his mouth.

“An accident,” he whispered as he couldn’t look away from the way her plush lips spread against the skin of his wrist now, above the glove.

And still, like a true scoundrel, thinking all those thoughts and feeling all those confused things, he was more and more aroused with every kiss she left on his body.

“Well.” She let go of his hand, wrapped her arms around his neck, and looked straight into his eyes. “I hope I made it all better.”

And then, like a little seductress, she kissed him.

23

Patience could feel the slight rasp of Dorian’s stubble as she kissed him, and it sent a warm tingle through her entire body.

She didn’t want to disturb the healing scabs of his cuts, and thought he might gently push her away, but his arms wrapped around her, locking her against him. His hard chest heaved in unison with hers. He deepened their kiss, tongues tangling, and her head swam with the pungent and sweet taste of him.

His mouth trailed scorching kisses along her neck, lower, lower, until his lips brushed the swell of her breasts peeking above her bodice. It felt like he was leaving places of sparking energy on her skin, and her breasts felt hot and heavy, too constricted in her corset. Her hands tangled in his dark hair, surprisingly silky, his lips hot on her skin.

She was a writhing creature of a strange, sweet need…and he was the only thing that could soothe it. She moaned and tilted her head back when his hand cupped her breast, his thumb stroking against her nipple, and even through the fabric of the corset, it tightened with a sharp, delicious ache. She shuddered and he cursed.