Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Caldwell, Christi Page 0,18

. . real.

Doffing the high top hat, Dare flashed a pearl-white, devil-may-care grin. “Hullo. We meet again . . . wife.”

For years—more specifically, that last time when she had turned him away—he’d occasionally allowed himself to think of this moment.

Of seeing Temperance Grey again.

He’d let it play out in his mind . . . how he wanted that imagined meeting to go. How he’d wanted their last real meeting to play out. There would have been tender looks and joyous laughter.

Now, as they—two strangers—studied one another, he let himself drink in the sight of her as he’d not when in the bowels of Newgate. Her waist was still narrow, and yet where there’d been something almost coltish in her frame, time had lent a maturity to her form; her hips were slightly wider, her breasts fuller.

Just then, she wetted her full lips, and he recalled all the times he’d kissed that mouth.

What he’d not anticipated was just how potent the desire to again taste that flesh would be.

And suddenly the onerous chore his grandfather had given him didn’t seem so very bad, after all.

He took a step toward her, and the wide plank floorboards groaned under his heel.

And with his every movement, Temperance remained absolutely stock-still.

Dare made himself stop, allowing her the space she required.

“You’re not real,” she whispered.

“I told you, the noose can’t hold me,” he said softly. How many times had he uttered that very phrase to her? Offered that bold assurance before then going out to fleece a lord?

She used to swat his arm and scold him for his arrogance.

Time, however, had transformed her. She’d always been in control of herself around everyone . . . except him. With him, she’d always been a tempest. Now she was all blank nothingness . . . and his heart ached at those changes. The ones time had wrought. Or mayhap it had been him.

“I don’t understand.” She released the death grip she had on the table and clutched those midnight strands that, like the woman herself, had always refused to be tamed. Then, suddenly, she let her arms fall to her sides and took a slow, deep breath. “Why are you here?”

That was what she’d ask.

Abandoning her place at the table, she took a jerky step forward but still kept that barrier between them, and that hurt worse than a physical blow.

“I’m here . . . with the intent of picking up where we left off.”

“I don’t . . .” She slowly shook her head.

Unbidden, he stretched a hand across the table and stroked his knuckles down the curve of her cheek. “As husband and wife,” he murmured.

Some emotion sparked in her green eyes. An emotion he couldn’t identify. “You’re here . . .”

“To propose an arrangement between us,” he said again.

Of course, he’d get to all the details of that later. Having lived the life of a thief, he’d come to appreciate timing, and it would be wise to proceed carefully here.

As it was, she was taking this a good deal better than he’d expected. Mayhap there was hope of her cooperating, after—

Her gaze darkened. “You are bloody mad, Darius Grey. I’ve no interest,” she said coolly. “If that is why you’ve come, you’re wasting your time.” She turned to go.

Dare hurried over, placing himself at the end of her path, and that managed to halt her.

A moment anyway. She was already starting down the next aisle, gathering up lace embellishments from nearby tables as she went. “Get out of here, Dare.”

Why . . . why . . . the chit was . . . working. She’d already perfectly moved on from both his reemergence and his suggestion.

Dare hurried around to the other end of the table. “I’m not leaving.” He’d no other choice. The duke had not given him any.

Temperance stopped once more. Stealing a quick glance toward the back of the shop, she spoke in a quiet whisper. “You had a moment of clarity. Mayhap you saw your life all laid out. Mayhap you were filled with regret of what would never be.”

Unnerved at how very accurately she’d read those last moments of his life on the dais, he fought the urge to move.

“Trust me, you are wasting your time. I’ve no desire to be your wife.”

He rested his hip on the edge of the table. “Ah, but that wasn’t always the case,” he said in silken tones.

She snorted. “Save your seduction for some woman foolish enough to fall for it. Ours isn’t a real marriage.