of her lips and the pretty little moans she sighed when he slid his tongue over her lips, stole into her softness, thieved from her like a beggar at a banquet.
He kissed her until they were both gasping for breath, until he lifted his lips from hers and removed his hands from her, holding them up, wide and weak between them. “I still tremble, Lily.”
Her gaze flickered to them, eyes going dark and devastating when she noted their shaking. When she reached for one, bringing it to her lips, kissing each fingertip before turning his hand palm up and pressing a warm, wet kiss to the center of his palm.
And when her tongue slipped out and swirled a circle there, branding him with her mark, he growled and took her again, licking deep and slow, until she writhed against him, sighing for more. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips over her cheek to the lobe of her ear, where he whispered, “I will ever tremble. There will never be a time when I do not ache for you. When I do not want you with every thread of my being.”
“Then have me,” she said, her breath hot at his ear. “Take me. Claim me. I am yours.” The words roared through him, nearly deafening him with desire.
But he did not deserve her.
He stepped back. Releasing her. “I am not the hero of the play, Lily. You must choose a better one. One more worthy of you. That is the point of this entire exercise.”
A beat. And then she came to her feet like an avenging queen and pushed him away from her with enough strength to set him off balance. “I choose you, you lummox.”
Good. If she was angry, she might leave him alone.
“I am not an option,” he said.
“Yesterday, you offered to marry me,” she replied.
And he would have done it. Would do it still. If only . . . “I am not enough.”
The sound she made bordered on a scream, full of frustration and anger. “You are a duke, Alec. And I am the orphaned daughter of a land steward who has been ruined in front of all London.”
“Not has been. Not yet.”
“You were not there. I assure you, it is roundly done.”
“It is not done until the painting is made real. And it shan’t be. Not if I can stop it.”
She shook her head and spread her arms wide, indicating the room. “You cannot stop it! He will win this battle. He won it the moment he marched up to me in Hyde Park and convinced me that attention was akin to love.” She gave a little, humorless laugh. “Ironically, I seem to be caught in a similar web now.”
He froze. “It is not the same.”
She cut him a look. “You are right. It is not the same. Derek never made me feel ashamed of myself.”
What in hell? “All of this—every bit of it—has been to keep you from shame. To keep you from regret.”
“How many times must I tell you that I do not regret it?”
He lost his temper. “Goddammit, Lily! Can you not simply trust that I know? That the hero you spoke of abovestairs—he is not me? You think I do not wish to marry you and protect you and love you as you deserve? You think I do not wish my past erased and this dukedom mine in truth so I might get down on my knees and beg you to be with me? So that I may make you a duchess? You think I do not wish for those children? The ones you planned to dress in pretty little embroidered clothes? The ones who would fit those silly red boots?”
Her eyes were wide, and he did not care. Still, he raged. “You think I do not wish to take you to our marriage bed and make love to you until we no longer shake? Until we no longer move, for the pleasure of it? You think I do not love you? How can you not understand it? I love you beyond reason. I think I might have loved you from the moment you closed the damn door in my face in Berkeley Square. But I am not the man you deserve.”
He stopped, breath coming fast and angry, self-loathing coursing through him, and he forced himself to look at her. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he hated himself for what he’d done. “I am not he. Not for a lifetime. Not