A Momentary Marriage(81)

“Very well.” She drew a breath. “I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in some kind of marital limbo. Neither one thing nor another. Lady de Vere but not your wife.”

“You are both.”

“No, not really. I realize that I am not the wife you would have chosen had you not been in a desperate situation.”

“Nor would you have taken me.”

“No,” Laura admitted. “Probably not. But those people, those lives, are not a possibility. All we can deal with is what we have. Don’t worry, I am not asking you for love. But I would like to”—pink started along her cheeks—“to have what other married women have. I don’t want to grow old, knowing I’ve missed out on . . . well, on so many things.”

James clamped down on another stab of desire, waiting for whatever hook would come at the end of her statement.

Laura went on, not looking at him, “I know you must think me terribly bold, but I have been trying and trying to entice you, but it hasn’t worked. So I realized that I must just ask you. I wouldn’t do so if I did not think that you—the other day you seemed to feel some desire for me.” She lifted her head, setting her chin.

“Some desire.” He let out a little huff of a laugh. “You might say so.”

A hope he’d hardly dared to consider was now careening around inside him, and even as he tried to hold it down, he could feel the expectation, the hunger, bubbling up in him. James moved toward her, his steps slow and controlled. His eyes traveled over her face, taking in the delectable flush on her cheeks, the mingling of anticipation and uncertainty in her blue eyes. Her beauty made it hard to breathe.

“And what about you?” he asked, his voice low and husky. “The other day, did you feel some desire?”

Her blush deepened rosily, and now she could not meet his eyes. “Yes, of course. I hope you don’t think I go about kissing just any man that way.”

“I’m glad of that.” He crooked his finger under her chin, tilting her face up so that she gazed into his eyes. “But I gave you little choice, as I remember.”

“I didn’t notice.”

His gut tightened at her words, at the soft, almost dreamy expression on her face. He stroked his finger lightly down her throat. His blood was roaring in his ears. “I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

“I know.” Her answer was so simple, her voice so clear and sure, it shook him.

“Laura . . .” The word was only a whisper as he bent and kissed her, his lips as soft as his voice. He raised his head and studied her as he cradled her face. His fingers trembled on her skin.

James’s eyes went to the thick braid of golden hair that draped over her shoulder. Reaching out, he curled his hand around it and slid his hand slowly all the way down. The rope of hair was softer than silk. When he reached the feathery ends, James tugged on the ribbon that tied it, opening the bow and pulling it from her hair. He tucked the ribbon into his pocket.

“My ribbon . . .” she protested.

“Uh-uh.” He grinned. “It’s mine now.” Freed from its restraint, the plait began to loosen. He twined his fingers through it, hastening the undoing. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

A smile curved her mouth. “Unbraid my hair?”

“Mm-hm.” His eyes were on his hand tangling through her hair, separating the strands and letting them whisper through his fingers. He rested his hands on her shoulders, thumbs tracing the line of her collarbone. “You see, I am a man of simple pleasures.”

“Are you?” Laughter threaded through Laura’s voice, and it made the hunger tighten and coil deep within James.

“Yes.” He brought up his other hand and cupped her face between them, his long fingers edging into her hair. “All I ask for is simple . . .” He bent and kissed her upper lip. “Utter . . .” He kissed her lower lip. “Perfection.” His mouth settled on hers.

When he lifted his lips from her, she said a little breathlessly, “Perfection? That’s a rather steep requirement.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. It is precisely what you are.”

James kissed her again. He would be slow and careful. This time, this woman, were important. He had never been, he hoped, a hasty or completely selfish lover. The journey was all the sweeter if one took one’s time, the pleasure greater when it was shared. But in the end, it had been that burst of satisfaction for himself he sought, and anything else had been incidental.

But Laura . . . Laura was different from any woman he had ever bedded. She was innocent, untouched. He had to get it right; he had to make it good for her. He could not let the desire that clawed at him make him rush. Much as he wanted to drink deeply, he knew he must sip. Woo her in a way he’d never wooed before.