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She answered by leaning toward him.

This kiss was nothing like the startled, tender one of the night before. His arms came around her, and she caught his shoulders, drawing him closer. He paused just long enough to search her face.

“Tell me if you wish me to stop.”

“I do not,” she said.

He kissed her again. When she shifted nearer, he drew her onto his lap, holding her as though she were something precious and astonishing. Marina rested her forehead against his for a moment, breathless and smiling.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, “I fear we have abandoned the scientific method.”

“Entirely.”

“And you do not seem sorry.”

“Not in the least.”

He rose with her in his arms. Marina gave a startled laugh and caught him about the neck.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we shall not be interrupted by Mrs. Dalton and a tray of cold porridge.”

She ought to have objected. Instead she kissed him once more as he carried her toward the stairs.

He carried her to his chamber and set her on her feet beside the bed, standing so close that she had to tip her head back to look at him. Her lashes fluttered as she gazed up into his eyes. The glint in his expression had darkened considerably, and the sight left her so disoriented that her thoughts seemed to scatter altogether. She had never expected a man to affect her so. She realized that all she wanted was to obey him.

Swallowing, she lifted both hands and placed them on his face. His skin was warm beneath her palms, and the discovery sent a delicate tremor through her fingers.

Marina’s lips parted, her eyes searching his face with something close to greed. That was probably not ladylike. But perhaps she was simply being honest. She took in every familiar feature, and the effect of seeing them so close was devastating. His sharp jaw. His tempting mouth. Those eyes that seemed even darker when turned upon her.

The longer she stared, the less her fingers wished to leave him. They lingered against his cheek, pressing into his warmth, until she realized she had touched him far longer than she ought. Quietly, she raised her eyes to his, and his breath brushed the tip of her nose, awakening feelings she had no business indulging.

In her defense, who wouldn’t be attracted to a man who looked and acted the way he did?

He made no reply for a moment. His attention settled upon her with an almost disconcerting concentration, making Marina aware of every place where their bodies almost touched.

“Did you miss me while I was gone, Marina? And these last few days? Did you?” he asked, with a quietness that made the question even more dangerous.

Her eyes widened.

“I…” she began, but the word died almost immediately.

Why should she answer? She was his wife in name, placed in his household for the sake of caring for his niece. What purpose could there be in exposing the depth of her desire? She had no right to feel this much, and certainly no right to let him see it. Yet for all these thoughts, standing so close to him was enough to reduce them to nothing.

Marina dropped her hand, desperate to reclaim even a little of her composure. His hand caught her wrist before she could withdraw it. The movement was so swift that she barely had time to react before he pressed her palm firmly back against his cheek. He held her gently there, and her breathing became labored.

“Answer me, Marina,” he pressed, his voice thickening with temptation, thumb caressing the delicate skin of her wrist once. “Did you miss me?”

Before she could think of an answer, the impossible man guided her captured hand from his cheek toward his mouth, looking as though his control were slipping by degrees. She watched every movement, scarcely breathing, and saw the exact moment his lips closed around her fingertips.

It was devastating. He did not look away once. She shivered as the heat of his mouth sent a jolt through her body, and she fought the urge to press her thighs together. His tongue stroked the soft pad of her finger, warm and just the right amount of rough. As she watched him taste her, a foolish little sound close to a whimper escaped her throat. He heard it.

“I did,” she admitted at last, the confession rasping out of her, almost begging for something beyond this maddening teasing. “I missed you,” she repeated, because somehow the first admission had not been enough to satisfy the dangerous hunger in his expression.

“Are you happy that your absence made me pause while I planted, kept me awake through the night, and set me worrying for you the first moment I woke this morning?” Her voice faltered, but she forced herself to continue regardless. “It does not even make sense.”

Marina poured her confession out, uncertain whether she was fighting him or herself. One of her fingers remained frozen inside the heat of his mouth, his tongue curling gently around it, and that single sensation offered her no help at all. His gaze had not softened. If anything, it had become more intent, as though every word she gave him was another temptation he was forcing himself to resist.