After Sidonie had left him with his brandy, he’d lingered for hours in the library, climbing up to the balcony, as if being ten feet above ground could change his perspective on an increasingly complicated situation. Deciding to cuckold William had been the simplest of decisions. Working out how to handle Sidonie Forsythe wasn’t nearly so straightforward. He’d struggled to distract himself from thoughts of her waiting upstairs, but every book he opened blurred before his eyes. All he saw was the woman.
The woman who now lay sleeping in the shadowy bed across the room.
The looking glasses reflected an endless sequence of tall, dark men in scarlet dressing gowns. His face was indistinct, but after all these years, he hardly needed reminding of his ugliness. Still he couldn’t break the habit of filling his bedrooms with mirrors. He’d started as a youth when a few of his more spiteful lovers had mocked his ugliness while he’d been lost to passion. He’d sworn then that no woman would catch him so vulnerable again. Later, he’d discovered other ways of distracting his paramours, but by then he derived grim entertainment from the perpetual reminder of his deformity in comparison to the beauty of his eager bedmates.
He wondered why his scars didn’t terrify Sidonie. They damn well should. People he’d known for years couldn’t bear looking at him. From childhood, his scars had marked him as a pariah, something wicked and inhuman to be avoided, not approached. Odd that this untried virgin remained so sanguine.
A draft pursued him inside. Quietly he shut the door. Still Sidonie didn’t stir. How surprising that she felt at ease in his bed. She slept as trusting as a child in a nursery.
He prowled across to her. The time had come to lift the stakes in their contest. After this morning’s miraculous kisses, he’d retreated to allow her to catch her breath. Eventually she’d stopped jumping like a scalded cat every time he ventured near.
His chicanery had resulted in some deucedly enjoyable hours. Conversation wasn’t usually what he sought from a woman. He wanted one thing and one thing only, that instant of profound self-negation when he plunged into a soft, warm body. But in this as in everything, Sidonie Forsythe confounded him.
He stared down at her curled up in his bed in her champagne-colored robe. It was a cold night, but he wasn’t naïve enough to imagine that was why she retired so encumbered. No, the foolish beauty imagined mere velvet protected her. Carefully he slid his robe from his shoulders. Usually he slept naked but as concession to her modesty, he wore a shirt and silk trousers. He blew out the candle and slipped gingerly under the covers, careful not to touch her.
“Jonas?” she murmured, rolling in his direction.
His heart lurched at her ready acceptance of his presence. The sound of his name in that drowsy voice made him hard as an oak tree. Her eyes remained shut and her lush mouth curved gently. A more optimistic man might imagine she was happy he was here. At least she didn’t leap up screaming.
She made another sleepy, questioning murmur and under the noise of sheeting rain outside, he heard the covers rustle as she moved. The sound was beguilingly sensual, evocative of bodies sliding together. He tensed, waiting for her to send him to the devil, but she merely drifted back into unconsciousness. Perhaps his arrival merged with her dreams. He hoped so. Even more, he hoped her dreams were pleasant.
Closing his eyes, Jonas invited sleep to descend. Last night he’d managed little rest and today’s fever of thwarted desire left him jaded. Unfortunately sleep proved elusive. Sidonie’s nearness tormented him. The sweet drift of scent. The hint of heat spanning the carefully calculated inches between them. The knowledge that if he moved his hand infinitesimally, he’d touch her.
His lips stretched into a wry smile as he stared into the mirror above. It was going to be a long night.
Sidonie reluctantly emerged from a wonderful dream of warmth and safety. God help her, she was snuggling against Merrick as if there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. His arm was lashed around her, holding her close. Her heart somersaulted with fear and the sleepy languor drained from her body. How had she slept with her tormentor slumbering beside her?
She should be grateful slumbering was the only thing he’d done. She was certainly grateful he wasn’t naked.
He lay sprawled on his back and her cheek rested on his chest, the cambric shirt a fragile barrier between his skin and hers. It wasn’t long after dawn. Feeble sunshine bordered the drawn curtains with gold. The storm must have worked itself out overnight.
Her first instinct was to run, before Merrick woke and found her so conveniently placed for seduction. She tensed to rip away from his grasp. Then she caught sight of his face and curiosity, more powerful even than fear, captured her. Without dislodging his encircling arm, she slowly rose to look along his chest to his face. Observing him without his knowledge was a luxury.
She’d imagined that like most people, he’d look vulnerable in sleep.
He didn’t.
The angular bones remained rough-hewn. Nobody who saw those determined features would judge the man who owned them anything but a brigand. Dark morning beard on his jaw and cheeks heightened the piratical impression.
And his scars.
This quiet morning, they struck a discordant note. Relics of an evil Sidonie barely comprehended. It hurt to look at those marks of suffering. She’d feel for any injured creature, but with Merrick, her reaction was more personal than compassion, stronger than outrage. Gossip was silent on where the attack had happened. From what he’d said yesterday, she guessed that he’d spent his youth traveling with his scholarly father. Perhaps he’d received his injuries in some back alley in Naples or Cadiz, or in a skirmish in a wild corner of the Balkans.
In wordless comfort, she rested a hand on his chest. Under her palm, his chest was hard, rising and falling with each slow breath. Lying like this created a heady intimacy. An intimacy that sapped defenses already under siege. Unwillingly, her gaze wandered to his mouth. Relaxed, it conveyed profound sensuality. That was no surprise. From her first sight of him, lounging like a great cat against his massive chair and sipping red wine, she’d recognized a man who appreciated physical pleasure. Unfamiliar weight settled in her belly as she imagined him focusing that appreciation on her when the time came.
If the time came…
Dear God, did she already concede victory? When everything she knew insisted she couldn’t give in to him. There wasn’t just the danger of losing her virginity, although she couldn’t welcome the chance of having her sins exposed to the world or bearing a child out of wedlock. More powerful was the unreasoning conviction that if she surrendered, he’d sap the strength that had maintained her through recent, difficult years and that would steer her into a self-sufficient, productive future.
Merrick’s eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Black like the hair tumbling across his high forehead. Sidonie resisted the urge to brush those soft strands back from his face. When he was awake, she was too busy fighting him to betray such tenderness. Now, in this peaceful dawn, she ached to show him life offered more than cruelty.
Her longing to give him respite made her pause. He worked toward her ruin. He’d plotted to trap Roberta into scandal and disgrace.
He was …
He was the most fascinating man she’d ever met. He listened to her with an attention that fed her soul. He offered glimpses of a world she’d dreamed of discovering. He made her laugh. He kissed her as if he’d die before he stopped.
This weakening against her opponent was more frightening than waking up in his arms. She shut her eyes and whispered a silent prayer against the softening of her heart.
When next she looked, Merrick’s eyes slitted open and he regarded her with an intensity that made her tremble. In the strengthening light, his expression was unguarded as she’d never seen it. Fleetingly she read yearning to match hers in his eyes, misty gray as he surfaced to the day. Asleep he hadn’t looked younger, but he looked years