Devilish Page 0,33

When Turcott left to send the correspondence on its way, she stayed in the sober, masculine study to be businesslike about her personal affairs.

Fact one. The Marquess of Rothgar was a fascinating man. To deny that would be foolish. If she understood matters, half the world was fascinated by him.

Fact two. There was something between them that went beyond the ordinary. She had met other attractive men, after all. Brand Malloren had the appeal of a warm fire. Bryght Malloren was more like a glittering jewel. Both attracted, but in different ways, but neither made her skin quiver, her heart speed, her stomach clench, as Lord Rothgar did.

Was that something he created wherever he went? She didn't think so. It had to be more particular than that.

She remembered Rosa last year trying to deny herself one last night with Brand, mind and soul clearly intent on that one thing. Of course, Rosa had been falling in love with Brand, but Diana didn't think that had been the force just then. It had been lust, but a very specific lust.

Like a key and a lock.

A special key for each lock.

Even though she winced at the sexual imagery of that, she pondered the fact that Rosa and Brand were ideally suited, and yet might never have met. Did everyone have just one special person, and did they not always meet? Or did the fates arrange at least one chance for every couple?

How many such opportunities were lost, stored on the chilly moon?

Could the marquess be that special person for her? With a restless shrug she decided she'd much rather think of him as a master key, suited to a great many locks.

She leaned back in her leather chair trying to assess the feelings that ran between them. Did they run both ways? She'd seen enough cases of unrequited love to know it was not always so. She remembered one young man who had felt so strongly for a woman that he could not believe the object of his devotion felt nothing. He'd thrown himself off Hardraw Force and taken poor Maddy Stawkes with him.

She would rather die than reveal that kind of unreciprocated need. And she didn't feel it. When the marquess left tomorrow, she would hardly think of him thereafter. For the moment, however, a certain heat glowed inside.

Fact three. Lord Rothgar was a possible lover. She often considered men as potential lovers. In fact, it was getting to the point where she considered every man between twenty and forty as a potential lover! But none had seemed so clearly a possible lover as the marquess.

She was aware of his body in a way she'd never experienced before. Certainly she'd admired men - the width of their shoulders, the muscles of their legs, their elegance, strength, or agility. With the marquess, however, it was as if she could see through his clothes. She was constantly aware of skin, muscles, and shapes that were not actually visible.

It was an embarrassing nuisance, but it made the vision of him naked in a bed, leaning over her, shockingly easy to create.

Fact four. Ridiculous as it seemed, he was the safest potential lover in England for her. He did not intend to marry. Even if she lost all sense and willpower and begged him to marry her, he'd refuse.

Fact five. She need never see him again. He was leaving tomorrow.

Fact six. He was leaving tomorrow. Which meant that if anything were to happen, it would have to be tonight.

She rose to restlessly wander the room, hand trailing over desk, along shelf, around globe...

Tonight.

She gave a little laugh. No, really. It was impossible.

Halfway to the door she paused again. Was that wisdom or cowardice? What chance would ever again present itself so perfectly to her? Her perfect, possible lover in the adjoining bedroom.

Perfect except...

What would his reaction be?

Diana worked hard through the rest of the day to appear normal, but she wasn't sure what normal was anymore. At least the marquess was little in evidence. More correspondence from London had arrived.

"Is your brother always pursued so relentlessly by business?" she asked Elf when they assembled before dinner.

"Not always, no. I gather there's a great deal going on at the moment to do with France and the recent peace."

"But the marquess is not in the government."

"No."

"Or, not exactly?"

Elf's lips quirked. "Quite. Bey has a remarkable information-gathering machine, and a trick of noticing everything and holding it all in his mind for analysis. The king finds that useful."

"I