Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(40)

He held a finger to her lips. “Shh. You are a good woman—”

“Stop saying that,” she cried, spinning away from him. She hugged her arms to her chest. “I am not a good woman. I’m the opposite of a good woman.” Evil. Vile. Cunning. And a coward, because she couldn’t even say those words aloud. “I can’t marry you.”

He stood there for a long time, watching her through hooded eyes. Finally, he said, “You can.”

“Fine, I won’t marry you. There are a thousand reasons,” or more, “why I can’t marry you. And only one reason I should.”

She shouldn’t have said that last part, because he dug his teeth into that statement and clung on. “What is the one reason, Georgina?”

Her throat swelled with emotion. She shook her head.

He closed the distance between them in four long strides and framed her face with his strong fingers. “What is the reason, Georgina?” he pressed.

It was the gentle prodding that weakened her resolve, shattered her, and humbled her enough to admit the truth. “I love you.” The words came out strangled.

A fat teardrop squeezed out the corner of her eye. He brushed it back with the pad of his thumb.

“Oh, Georgina,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “that is reason enough.”

Not, “I love you, too”. Her heart wilted in her chest.

What did you expect, Georgina?

“You took care of me,” Adam continued in a husky whisper. “You protected me, and what did I do, Georgina? I left you. Let me marry you.”

Good, honorable Adam. He would marry her all out of a misplaced sense of obligation. She’d never imagined that a marriage proposal from this man could cut like a knife.

“I didn’t protect you—”

He made a sound of protest. “You did. You—”

She held a finger up. “Please!” she cried.

He fell silent.

“I could have helped you. I could have done more. And…” She sucked in a fortifying breath. “I’m just as evil as they are.”

Adam growled low in his throat. “Don’t say that!” He closed his eyes. When he opened them, calm had been restored. “You are nothing like them—”

“I—”

“Enough!” The one word resonated off the plaster of the Earl of Whitehaven’s palatial office. “This is not the time to discuss what happened in the past. Marry me. If for no other reason than because you have no employment prospects and nowhere to go.”

She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him. Yearned for him with the same intensity that had gotten Eve cast out of paradise.

The Earl of Whitehaven’s vile suggestion twisted around her brain like a slithering snake, shaping an idea. “I…” She licked her lips. “I can be your mistress.”





Another man has been taken captive. His name is Adam Markham.



Signed,

A Loyal British Subject





Chapter 12




I can be your mistress.

Adam had to remind himself to breathe. His body stiffened and an uncomfortable ache settled in his groin. Throughout his captivity, he’d longed for her, but then there had been Grace and because of that—his love for her, his honor—he’d not succumbed to his base desires. Instead, he’d tortured himself with thoughts of her pale, white thighs quivering as he stroked her center. He’d imagined himself plunging into her heat.

Now she was offering herself to him. He needn’t wed her. So why did he persist? Because she didn’t feel worthy of him. That much was clear. Considering Nurse Talbert’s condescension and Nick’s priggish treatment of her thus far, why would she feel any differently?

Jagged fury slashed through him. Georgina had braved more than lauded war heroes. She was a better person than all members of the haute ton combined. It was he who didn’t deserve her. And, suddenly, it was very important that she say yes to his suit. For reasons he didn’t fully understand or care to examine.

“I don’t want you to be my mistress. I want you to be my wife.”

She troubled her lower lip, the ruby-red flesh he had dreamed about. “Why?”

Her question brought him up short. He suspected his answer would determine hers. “When I…left Bristol, I tortured myself imagining the worst. I…” He looked beyond her shoulder, seeing the chambers that had served as his prison. “I feared they’d killed you and the thought of that almost killed me. I looked for you. I need you to know that. I didn’t forget you.”

A brown tendril escaped the harsh bun at the base of her neck. She brushed it away. “I—I know.” The strand bounced right back, refusing to be tamed.

It didn’t take an expert spy to detect the lie in her words. He caught the dark curl, rubbing the silky tendril between the pad of his thumb and forefinger. He brought it to his nose and inhaled the pure, clean, lemony scent that was Georgina.

She’d thought he’d abandoned her. He tried to imagine the terror she must have felt as a young woman without references, family, or money. Most women would have dissolved into a puddle of nothingness. Not Georgina. Sweet, determined, resourceful Georgina. At one time, he’d thought her weak. How wrong he’d been. There was a resolute determination in her to survive. She’d stared down some of the most unimaginable horrors and still managed to retain the aura of innocence and beauty that all but radiated from her.