The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)(56)

She wasn’t sure who moved first. Maybe she took a step toward him. Maybe he leaned toward her. Maybe it was mutual, a shift in the air that brought them together at last. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders; his arms came hard around her.

They were fully clothed, and still his kiss seemed carnal in a way that their last kiss had not. This one was a prelude to what might come if she said yes. His hands roamed, sliding down her, cupping her br**sts, clasping her hips. This was a precursor to lovemaking.

He broke off the kiss, half-smiling. “There’s one thing I need to say.” He sounded almost out of breath. “When my parents married, my father swore that he loved my mother. It was a lie, and it did more damage than the truth. I won’t marry under false expectations.” His fingers flexed, and she looked up to meet his eyes. “I understand perfectly well what we mean to each other. I don’t expect you to love me.”

“What do we mean to each other?” she asked.

“I want children. As many as we can manage and maintain your health.”

“Your Grace,” she said, emphasizing his title deliberately. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged and looked away. “I don’t know how to explain it. You looked at me and instead of seeing a duke, you saw a man who could write radical handbills. You know who I am.”

And that brought reality crashing in on Minnie’s head. He’d painted a lovely picture. If all she had to do was sit behind him in Parliament and whisper advice in his ear, figuratively speaking, she’d have said yes.

But this…

Duchesses went to parties—great big crushes with hundreds of people present. When they went walking in parks, people pointed them out and watched. And Minnie…Minnie began to panic if more than a handful of people looked her way. She’d fainted when twenty people surrounded her.

“Oh God,” she said, moving away from him, pulling her arms about herself. “This really isn’t going to work.”

“Minnie?”

She turned back to him. “What do you suppose happened out there?”

He blinked. “Out there? There is an out there?”

“Why do you think I fainted?”

“Um.” He scrubbed his hair through his hands. “The goats?”

“I live on a farm, Robert. I’m used to goats.”

He frowned. “You’re right. It was after the goats had been driven off. Everyone was crowded around you.”

She usually tried not to remember those moments that sent her into spiraling terror; she’d put it out of her mind as soon as she’d woken. But she could see them now, a wall of faces and fabric, all jeering at her. Her stomach cramped just recalling it. Her heart pounded with a cold intensity.

“I’m afraid of crowds.” The words squeaked out, but she’d said them. “No, not afraid—terrified.”

He took hold of her hand.

“Especially crowds where everyone looks at me. I was caught in a mob once when I was twelve.” She touched her cheek. “That’s where this came from. They were throwing rocks.”

He raised his hand to her face. His gloves were black leather; she could smell them, so close to her. He set his fingertips against her scar, traced it down her face, first lightly, and then with a little more force.

She had left off the last two words of her sentence. They hadn’t just been throwing rocks. They were throwing rocks at her.

“That was a vicious throw.”

She nodded.

He traced her scar again, this time pressing.

“I can actually feel a fracture in your skull. So close to your eye…”

“For the first few days, when I was all bruised all over, there was some question over whether I would be able to see out of that eye when it healed.”

He hadn’t moved his hand from her cheek.

“And so now I can’t abide large groups of people. If they’re all looking at me, it becomes impossible. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I want only to escape.”

“So you stay quiet. You hide every good thing about you and hope that nobody looks.”

Minnie stared at her skirts. “Yes.” The word was anguished. She curled up smaller.

For the longest time, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he tilted her head up. “Too bad,” he murmured. “I’ve already seen you.”

His lips brushed hers. It wasn’t a kiss. Not really. Kisses would be more than just a light meeting of mouths, an exchange of scents. If it were a kiss, he wouldn’t have pulled away so quickly.

She found herself looking up at him. His hand cupped her cheek.

“What was that?” she asked.

“If you couldn’t tell, I must have done it wrong.” And then, more slowly, more deliberately, he leaned in. This time, his lips didn’t just brush hers; they met hers. His mouth was warm and dry; instead of a brief pressure, he nibbled at her. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her closer, and that kiss…

Minnie turned away, but that only brought her forehead in contact with his shoulder. She leaned against him, learning how to breathe once more.

“I can’t marry you,” she said. “How could I be a duchess?”

“It’s easy,” he said. “You say yes. I get my lawyers to draw up the settlements. That will take three or four days, and by then, the special license will have arrived.”