Page 42 of The Marriage Wager

“Dominic?” Her eyes flew open, and she looked up at him.

Dominic’s face was taut and suffused with desire, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark. He clenched his jaw, his struggle for control stamped plain upon his features.

“Sweet Lord.” He let out a long, shaky breath and closed his eyes. “I must not. We cannot…”

Constance lay motionless for a moment, still too caught up in the roiling mix of desire and confusion to even move. Suddenly it struck her where she was and what she was doing. A faint breeze stirred the air, caressing her breasts. Heat flooded her face, and she sat up, hastily tugging her dress up over her bare breasts.

“I—I must go,” she said, her voice shaky and suddenly close to tears. What had she been doing? What must Dominic think of her?

“Wait.” His voice was low and harsh, and he reached out and grasped her shoulders, turning her around so that she had to face him.

“I want you,” he said hoarsely, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. But I cannot…I will not hurt you.”

Constance did not trust herself to speak. She nodded and backed up a step, then whirled and hurried away from him. She walked quickly back toward the house, her hands going to her hair to smooth any loose strands into place and re-pin them, then hastily brushing at the front of her dress. She prayed that she would not meet anyone as she went; for however much she might put herself back in order, she feared that her face would reveal exactly what she had been doing.

Once inside the house, she whipped up the narrow back stairs that were normally used only by the servants. Relieved that she ran into none of the maids coming down the stairs, she hastened along the corridor and into her room. There she locked the door behind her and collapsed into the chair.

For a long moment she simply sat, letting the trembling of her limbs ease and her mind calm down. Finally she stood and walked to the mirror. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink with color, and her lips were dark and full, almost bruised-looking. She looked, she thought, exactly as she had feared, as though she had been thoroughly kissed. She also glowed, she realized, and she was lovelier than she had ever seen herself.

Clearly, she thought, wantonness agreed with her. She shook her head and turned away, going back to the chair.

All her life she had been warned about the sins of the flesh. Until today, she now realized, she had not known what those who warned her had been talking about.

She wanted to give herself to Dominic. Indeed, the fact that she had not done so had been entirely due to his restraint, not hers. She had been consumed by desire; it had whirled through her like a roaring blaze. She thought again of the sensations that had run through her body, the flames that had curled in her loins, hot and eager, and she flushed all over again with the remembered heat.

It had never occurred to her that such a sensual, passionate nature resided in her. She had hurt, she had loved, but never had she felt the earth-shattering hunger that had poured through her today, the driving, willful desire that wanted to cast aside all else. It astonished her. It was, in fact, rather shocking.

But, she was honest enough to admit, it delighted her, as well. Perhaps it meant she was a lower creature than a lady should be, not refined or virtuous enough. But she thrilled to the passion humming through her veins. She would not want to give up this feeling. She wanted, quite frankly, to feel even more. She wanted Dominic to take her in his arms, to take her to his bed. She wanted to learn everything there could be between a man and a woman. And she wanted to learn it at Dominic’s hands.

What would happen, she wondered, if she went to him tonight? If she gave herself to him? Would he pull her to him and kiss her until the world fell away, and the only thing that was real was their mutual delight? Or would he restrain himself again, unwilling to let her sacrifice her good name?

For that, she knew, was the only course open to her if she lay in Dominic’s arms. The future Earl of Selbrooke could not offer her the protection of his name. Even though she believed him when he said that he would not marry Muriel Rutherford, she understood now that he had to marry someone of wealth. It was his duty to his name, to his family. He could not let their ancient estate fall into ruin. As the head of the family, he must do whatever was necessary to maintain the FitzAlans’ position. Dominic was not the sort to shirk his duty. He would do what had to be done, she knew, and that meant marrying to advantage.

Marrying her would be ruinous. Indeed, she knew that she had no reason to think that he would even wish to marry her. There had been no words of love between them, only the hot, speechless swirl of desire. He wanted her; she had little doubt of that. But he did not love her; he could not let himself love her.

She must be clearheaded, Constance told herself. She wanted him. But was it enough to have his passion, knowing that she would never have his love or his name? Was she willing to risk everything for desire?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE CENTERPIECE OF THE FitzAlans’ house party was the ball two nights later. Constance wore her loveliest gown, a confection of pale pink satin covered by a robe of white lace, opening on the side and looped back to expose the underskirt. The square-necked bodice was decorated in front with a stomacher of pink satin sewn with tiny pearls. Her hair was swept up, only to tumble down in a profusion of smooth dark brown curls, with pink satin roses and ribbons twined through them.

Looking at her own image in her mirror, Constance was sure that the money she had spent on this gown was well worth it. She smiled to herself, thinking of the look on Dominic’s face when he saw her.

She and Dominic had behaved circumspectly since that afternoon in the garden. Though they had not avoided one another, neither had they been alone together. They had talked, but only in gatherings of several people, and he had been careful not to touch her in any way, even to take her hand in greeting or to offer her his arm to stroll down the hall.

He seemed determined not to compromise her, and she, unsure of her own feelings, made no effort to entice him into anything more. But whenever Leighton was in the same room with her, she was constantly aware of his presence, even if she did not look at him. When she did look up, her gaze unerringly went to him, often to find him watching her. Before long, he would work his way around to her side, pausing to engage her in conversation, even if only for a few moments. As they talked, his eyes would gaze into hers, and the air between them sizzled with tension.

Constance suspected that it was wrong of her to want to see his eyes leap with desire tonight when he saw her in this gown. But she could not bring herself to wear something else.

She swept down the hallway to Francesca’s room, where she found Maisie putting the finishing touches to her mistress’s toilette. Today was the first day that Francesca had spent out of bed, except for a nap in the middle of the afternoon, and she was still not feeling herself. However, she was past the worst of her illness, and she refused to miss the ball.

Francesca smiled as Constance entered the room. “Don’t you look lovely tonight?”

“Not as lovely as you,” Constance replied candidly.

She thought it would be rather difficult for anyone to outshine Francesca, who was a vision in black satin and tulle, with jet beading decorating both the bodice and the overskirt of her dress. The sleeves were long and sheer, her elegant white arms all the more enticing for their shadowy covering. Her blond hair was pulled up into a knot at the crown of her head, a riot of curls spilling out and a spray of jet beads ornamenting the smooth sweep of her hair on one side, vivid against the pale shade. The final touch was a choker of jet beads around her slender neck, highlighting its delicacy and whiteness.

Francesca smiled. “’Tis kind of you to say so, but I fear that you do not realize your own beauty. Come, let us go downstairs and dazzle everyone.”