Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,73

head a slight shake.

“You could have gone to your rooms unobserved when you found me here. You could have gone before I’d seen you and known where you’d gone and why you were out.” She waited until he looked to her, then met his gaze squarely. “But I believe you wanted me to know. I believe you wanted me to remind you that this path isn’t yours. Not anymore. That it shouldn’t be. That you are better than this.”

He flexed his jaw. “I am this.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, unable to keep the sadness from creeping into her voice. “It’s just all you’ve known, but it’s not all that you are.”

Rose yawned widely, and Temperance went over to rescue the child from the floor. Taking the toy soldiers away, she returned them to the little bench the girl had retrieved them from. Temperance carried Lionel’s niece back to the cradle and settled her into the thick folds of the plush bedding.

The little girl protested, resisting sleep with several little cries.

Temperance rocked the intricately crafted cradle until Rose’s eyes grew heavy and then closed.

Soon, little snores filled the room.

Temperance continued rocking the babe and stared on . . . seeing another child there . . . the original one to sleep in that bed—Dare. Back when he’d been the beloved and pampered and nurtured child of a marquess and marchioness.

Her nape prickled, and she glanced back.

Dare’s gaze bored into hers.

Temperance’s cheeks warmed. “What?”

“I’m looking at how very natural you are doing that. How right you look.” Her entire body turned to stone. But he wasn’t done. Dare drifted closer. “You deserved that.”

Stop.

Except . . . she couldn’t get the word out, and he continued torturing her.

“I denied you the right to a real husband and a real marriage—”

“Don’t,” she entreated.

“A child. You should have had a family in every sense.”

And there it was.

Her eyes slid closed.

Had he removed the dagger he always kept strapped to his back and slammed it into her breast, he couldn’t have hurt her more than he did in that moment. Temperance focused on breathing, and when the pressure eased from her breast, she opened her eyes once more. “You were very clear in what you offered me. I didn’t expect more.” I just wanted it . . .

Dare stretched a hand up.

Turn away.

Resist.

Instead, she again let her lashes flutter shut and leaned into that touch, anticipating his caress, even before he palmed her cheek.

He slid his hand lower, down her nape, cupping her, drawing her closer.

“Temperance—”

Footfalls sounded in the hall, and he abruptly released her just as Gwynn entered.

Clearing her throat, she looked back and forth between them. Temperance could see a wealth of questions . . . and worry . . . in the other woman’s eyes. “Forgive me,” Gwynn said and turned to go.

“No. It is fine,” Dare called, motioning for her to enter.

As he fetched a small doll from the floor, Gwynn gave Temperance a sharp look. “What are you doing?” she mouthed as she set the cradle rocking.

Looking pointedly at a still-distracted Dare, Temperance gave her head a slight shake.

Dare straightened, and she immediately stopped.

Gwynn took the toy from him with a word of thanks, and even as she deposited it into the cradle, her focus was all on Temperance.

And Temperance proved a coward because, when presented with a deserved lecture from her friend, she opted to follow Dare out.

Silent, no words passing between them, they made their way through the corridors.

Or is it really just that you didn’t remain with Gwynn because you want to be with Dare . . . that you are reluctant to let go of the closeness you’ve just shared?

Ludicrous.

Of course it wasn’t that.

Time and time again, he’d proven himself unable to separate from the life of crime he’d lived. He’d never quit steal—

Temperance slowed her steps as something worked around her brain, and then she stopped, whipping back to face him.

Why did you visit him, Dare?

You know, Temperance.

“What is it?” Dare stopped beside her, a question in his gaze.

“You went to steal from him,” she breathed as that understanding slammed into her. He’d been evasive as to his intentions, and flippant, but he’d not been direct and blunt about what he’d done . . . which he’d always been. Another might not have gathered that particular detail. But she knew this man. She knew the nuances in how he spoke and what he said with his words and actions . . . and just as importantly,