When Seducing A Duke by Kathryn Smith Page A

attacked—although the main suspect seems in possession of her faculties.”
    “I don’t care about that,” she insisted. But she did, a little. She couldn’t help it. It was easy to say the words, but could she honestly survive that kind of scrutiny and cruelty when Grey wouldn’t be there by her side through it? Could she go to balls and parties by herself and bear the malicious glances, or worse the pitying ones?
    “You should. Your father did.”
    This was a night for revelations indeed. “What do you mean?”
    Grey ran a hand through the thick waves of his hair. The rich fabric of his dressing gown parted to reveal a snowy white shirt open at the throat. She remembered how he tasted there, so warm and salty. When his gaze locked with hers, Rose was certain he could read her mind. She was also just as certain that he recalled the taste of her flesh as well.
    “Before his death your father begged a promise from me. He made me swear that I would look after you and your mother.”
    “And you have,” she insisted.
    He held up his hand to prevent her from saying more. “And made me give my word that I would never touch you in any manner other than brotherly.” Another rueful smile. “So you see, I preferred being able to pretend that I had kept my promise rather than face the truth of breaking my word.”
    He broke her heart, damn him. “He made me promise not to become attached to you,” she confided, continuing with the evening’s truthful trend. “It seems Papa saw something that neither one of us did.”
    “Oh, I saw it. I’ve seen it since you were eighteen years old and we danced together at some insipid ball. I don’t remember where it was, or the day of the week, but I remember that you wore a pale tea-colored gown with Belgian lace, and that you had pearls in your hair.”
    She couldn’t breathe. The tilt of his lips, the bleakness of his gaze, it was all too horrible. “And you wore a red cravat,” she whispered. “I thought you looked so rakish in it.”
    “I was rakish,” he admitted. “Your father knew that.”
    “You’re not like that anymore.”
    The pity in his expression was almost too much to bear. “Only because I hurt a woman so badly that she wanted to see me dead.”
    “But—”
    He closed the distance between them and cupped her bare shoulders in his warm hands. “She could be a friend of yours, Rose. Someone you’ve met and liked. Do you want to look at every woman over the age of five and twenty and wonder if she was the one who had my face sliced open? Because I won’t lie to you. Despite the prevalent conjecture that Lady Devane must be the guilty party, there are easily twenty women who could have orchestrated the attack. And those are only the ones who made their hatred known.”
    Her stomach rolled. “I don’t believe you.”
    This time his smile was kind. “My darling Rose. I was the worst sort of man, and in some ways I still am. The society you so dearly love made me into someone I don’t care to remember, someone I would never want you to know. And I fear you would come to know him. The gossips wouldn’t be able to help themselves.”
    “So you’d deny your feelings for me because you’re afraid what society might say?” Her temper flared. “I never thought you for a coward, Grey.”
    He pulled her tight against him, so that she could feel his breath against her temple. Such torture to be held in his arms and not be able to kiss him, or touch him as she wanted. Even more terrible, was the inescapable feeling that this would be the last time he held her thus.
    “I hate society. Society reviles me.” He ran a hand down her back. “I’ve seen the look on your face before you run off to a ball or a tea. You love being around people. You thrive on it. I don’t want to ask you to give that up. I won’t ask you to give that up.”
    There it was, the final thrust of the knife. He wanted her. He cared about her, but neither went deep enough that he was