He stopped so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Look at me,” he demanded gently.
She turned and immediately was caught like a moth in a flame at the intensity of his regard. She couldn’t move. He hovered over her, one hand on his hip. His expression and everything about him spoke of an iron will and steely determination.
The breadth of his shoulders, his trim waist … God, it was unhealthy to think of his body in such terms. Oh, he was a dangerous man, one no woman could keep from admiring, a war hero duke. But to make matters worse, he was a man who oozed masculinity.
A troubled sigh escaped under her breath. How in the world could she resist him?
She couldn’t.
“There are two people in this world who I trust enough to call me Christian. Only two, a dear friend and you.” He lowered his voice and fisted his hands. “It pains me that because of my half brother’s foolish words, distance would come between us. Do you know why it gives me pleasure to hear my name on your lips?”
“No,” she said. His gaze locked hers in place. She couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to.
He leaned closer. “I value you and your good opinion. I trust you, which puts you in rare company. It makes me furious to think Meriwether could destroy our friendship. He is … was an imposter.”
Which made Meri a perfect husband for her. She blinked twice, fighting against the swell of shame.
“He pretended to be someone honorable, but we both know the extent of his lies.”
His deep voice surrounded her in a warmth that reminded her of the finest velvet in her warehouse. The low cadence was comforting and arousing at the same time. To hear such a sound every morning upon waking and at night before drifting off to sleep would be a gift. To feel his heartbeat next to hers every night would be heaven. But that would never happen—not with her own lies. She exhaled, hoping to keep her wits after such thoughts.
“It’s beyond infuriating to think that his worthless opinion could hurt you and make you doubt yourself. You have more integrity and decency than any other person I’ve ever known. I can see those traits in how you care for your employees and their families, not to mention your Willa. I can see it in your action when you took in the other wives.” He stilled for a second, but his eyes never blinked. “My half brother was a fool. Any man would be honored to call you his wife.”
His words broke a renegade tear free, and she closed her eyes in a sorry attempt to keep it contained. His knuckle wiped it away in the tenderest of touches. Never before had a man touched her with such care and respect. Another rogue tear escaped, and in response, she clasped the fine wool of his lapels in her fists and rested her head against his chest. His arms encircled her, protecting her from the harshness of the world. For the rest of her life she’d remember this moment.
“Have you ever felt shame?” The question broke free before she could think otherwise.
He didn’t say anything immediately, then his deep baritone filled the air. “When I was younger. After my mother died, my family became what can only be described as a somewhat unorthodox circus. They were a constant source of shame for me.”
Christian’s gaze drifted to the London street below, where dusk flirted with the evening. The only reflection in the window was of her holding his lapels as if he were a buoy keeping her afloat.
He turned his attention back to her. “I expect you might feel some shame in my half brother’s words. But it’s a reflection of his failure, not yours. He didn’t do the work necessary for the marriage to succeed.” He smiled gently. “There are no guarantees that any of us will experience or even find love in this life. But if we’re lucky enough to obtain it, we must protect and nourish it, much like a seedling until it can stand on its own and weather the elements. Love, if allowed to grow, develops deep roots, whether from a father, mother, husband, wife, or even our own children, that will last for a lifetime and beyond.”
“Your Grace. If I didn’t know you better, I’d believe you’re a romantic, much like Lord Byron, or perhaps Shelley.”
“Byron only thinks