He manoeuvred the boat back into the middle of the Thames, determined to get them to the safety of Kilverdale House without delay.
He understood Desire better now. She was sitting bolt upright on the wooden seat opposite him, her shoulders braced with pride—but her head was averted. He was sure she regretted her heated, unwary words. He wasn’t proud that he’d provoked her into humiliating herself. Despite her determination to stand up to him, it was obvious how little experience she had of the world. He remembered only too clearly how she’d turned her back on him when he’d first appeared on her roof. She’d never learnt how to guard her emotions behind a mask of sophistication. Everything she felt was written in her expressive eyes. Anger, fear, indignation, curiosity…
He had to suppress a disbelieving laugh as he recalled how her eyes had boldly sought for the tell-tale signs of his arousal. In another woman he might have interpreted such a blatant assessment of his condition as a saucy invitation to continue his seduction. Desire, he had no doubt, was simply too naïve to disguise her curiosity.
As she’d already discovered, she aroused more than his curiosity. He found her passionate nature fiercely attractive. She’d fought him with uninhibited vigour outside the boathouse. He’d been acutely aware of her terror. He’d done everything he could not to hurt her. But even then he’d been partially aroused by her unrestrained resistance.
He wanted her. He wanted to transform her resistance into desire. He wanted to feel her supple, passionate body beneath his as he roused her to a state of physical ecstasy. He wanted to grapple with her, feel her arms and legs convulsively gripping him, as he pushed her over the edge.
He tried to suppress the erotic images that crowded his mind. He needed to keep a clear head. He needed to remember that the woman sitting in frigid silence opposite him was more than a passionate, hot-blooded wench. She was also a very wealthy woman. And her fortune made her a target for the unscrupulous.
Chapter Four
Desire kept her back straight and her head up, though she couldn’t bring herself to look in Jakob’s direction. She was grateful for the gathering twilight. It hid her humiliation. She wished she could curl up into a protective ball like a hedgehog or, better yet, return to the safe familiarity of her garden at Godwin House. She had never felt so alone. So far adrift from all the accustomed securities of her life.
As the small boat cut through the dark waters of the Thames, her thoughts skittered from one subject to another. The probable, heart-wrenching loss of her home. Jakob’s kiss. Her household’s worry when they discovered she was missing. Jakob’s kiss. Anxiety over what she would encounter at the end of this journey. Jakob’s kiss…
He’d kissed her. She slid a nervous glance in his direction. Her lips still tingled from the amazing feel of his mouth on hers.
He had wanted her. Desire still wasn’t quite able to credit the evidence of her own senses, but Jakob had bluntly admitted as much.
To her knowledge, no man had ever wanted her before—not like that, as a man wants a woman. So why did Jakob—so full of handsome male grace—want her? Desire was sure he could charm any woman he chose into his bed. Why did she arouse his lustful instincts?
It was confusing, disturbing—and a little exciting.
Desire threw another nervous glance at him. What would she do if he kissed her again? Or if he tried to do more than that?
She blushed with mortification at his scornful response when she’d claimed she was to marry Arscott. It was easy for Jakob to sneer. He did not understand the complications of her situation.
Even before the events of Saturday, Desire had known she needed a husband. At thirty she was well past the age of marriage. But it was hard to find an honourable husband when she had no one to negotiate on her behalf. Her father had not meant to leave her so unprotected. Unfortunately the man Lord Larksmere had appointed as Desire’s guardian had died in an accident less than a year after the Earl’s own death. By then Desire had already been over twenty-five and Arscott had been Lord Larksmere’s trusted steward for years. Life had continued in Godwin House much as usual. The only problem was Desire’s lack of a suitable husband.
If she’d had more knowledge of the world—or if she’d considered herself a more attractive bargain—she might have found it easier to tackle the difficulty herself. But she knew it was her wealth that possessed the greatest appeal and she lacked the experience to distinguish between a fortune-hunter and genuine suitor. If she made the wrong choice, the consequences would be devastating. Marriage to Arscott would be a practical solution to the problem, but she could not bring herself to take such a course.
So how was she to find a trustworthy husband, one who was not disgusted by her scars and who might even, as Jakob apparently did, find her in some limited way attractive? Perhaps a man who resembled Jakob in some other respects as well—she threw a swift glance at his broad shoulders as he plied the oars—but a man with a much more tractable nature. And definitely not a man who was both a mercenary and an escaped prisoner.
Despite her perilous situation, Jakob’s kiss had inspired her with a small flicker of unfamiliar optimism for her future. For years she had been convinced that no young man could ever find her personally attractive. Yet from virtually the first moment he’d appeared on her roof, Jakob had paid little heed to her disfigurement. He had argued with her, fought with her and kissed her without any reference to her appearance. She had been so certain—and so afraid—that all young men would be of the same opinion as the Duke of Kilverdale and his fashionable friends. What if she’d been wrong? What if she could find a man who would—?
The boat bumped gently against a landing stage.
A flare of anxiety jolted Desire from her musings. In only a few short minutes she would be face to face with the Duke. She lingered in the boat as Jakob tied it up, taking the opportunity to grope for the river-gate key in the dirty water at her feet.
‘Is there no one else you can call upon for assistance?’ she asked, hating the unsteadiness of her voice. ‘Does it have to be Kilverdale?’
‘I know very few people who live near London,’ Jakob replied. ‘And Kilverdale is the only one who won’t be disconcerted by our unconventional arrival. But he didn’t reply to the message I sent him from Newgate, so he probably isn’t here, and you won’t have to face him at all.’
Kilverdale’s failure to respond to Jakob’s message fitted perfectly with Desire’s opinion of the ramshackle Duke, but her mood marginally improved at discovering he might not be home.
‘I don’t suppose he’d be disconcerted if you turned up with a band of minstrels, a dancing bear, and half a dozen whores and declared you were going to have an orgy,’ she said, allowing Jakob to help her out of the boat.
Then she became aware of his startled appraisal, and wished her impetuous words unsaid.
‘I think he would,’ Jakob said after a considered pause. ‘I’m not generally known for travelling with musicians and dancing bears.’
He paused again, leaving Desire rather sick at the implications of what he hadn’t denied.
‘As to holding an orgy,’ he added, a few heartbeats later, amusement in his voice, ‘it would be damned inconvenient hauling half a dozen wenches with me everywhere I go. One is quite enough trouble!’
‘Oh.’ Desire flushed in the darkness. She wondered if she was the one who caused him trouble or…was he talking about another woman? Was he married? The idea had never occurred to her before. She faltered, then rallied. ‘It wasn’t your conduct I was commenting on!’ she said pertly.
‘I know.’
Before she realised what he was doing, Jakob slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him.
‘What