Daughter of the God-King(56)

He raised his gaze to hers. Gently, his fingers touched her arm. “Forgive me,” he said. “Please.”

“What is it?” she demanded angrily, trying to control her emotions. “What is it about women like her that makes men behave like imbeciles?”

Tentatively, he raised his hand and drew a finger along her cheek, gauging her reaction to his touch; she did not flinch. “It can be useful; men cannot resist beautiful women. Most men,” he corrected.

“You are not helping,” she said crossly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“It is a powerful weapon.” His hand moved from her cheek to stroke the hair back from her temple with a gentle thumb. “I am something of an imbecile, myself.” Thus encouraged, his hand then came to rest on the nape of her neck and he began to apply gentle pressure, pulling her toward him as he leaned down, his eyes meeting hers as his mouth descended, watching for an objection.

I will let him do his penance, she decided as she lifted her face to meet his kiss—it is only sporting. As the kiss deepened, his arms came around her and the heat leapt between them—it seemed that every time he kissed her, matters escalated more rapidly—and she lost her will to resist just as rapidly. Making a soft, surrendering sound in her throat, she responded to the openmouthed kiss, wondering what it would be like to be abed with him in the way Robbie and Eugenie were undoubtedly abed—to feel his skin beneath her mouth and hands. After he caressed the contours of her breasts, one arm came around her waist while his mouth and tongue moved down her neck; he tugged at the neckline of her blouse to kiss the upper globe of her breasts with increasing urgency. More thrilled than scandalized, she pressed against him and gave in to the sheer pleasure of it until suddenly a small alert sounded in her mind. With a quick movement, she grasped his wrist and twisted away. He was removing her necklace; he had broken the chain and was in the process of pulling it off.

There was a long pause while they stared at each other, breathing heavily. “Give it to me.” Her voice was icy.

Holding her eyes with his, he did not relinquish it. “I cannot.”

They stood, unmoving for a frozen moment while Hattie felt as though her breast was suddenly numb with misery. “If you do not give it back to me”—her voice broke and she struggled on—“I swear I will never speak to you again.” It would have been more forceful if she weren’t going to cry, but there was nothing she could do—her heart was broken and her throat was thick with misery. As she took a shuddering breath, the bitter tears came.

His gaze did not waver but he turned his wrist and poured the necklace into her hand. Clenching it, she wept while they stood, silent. Unable to look at him, she wiped away tears with the palm of her free hand. “Go away.”

“Hattie,” he said gently. “I must see what it says.”

“No,” she managed between sobs.

“Please do not cry—it is important or I wouldn’t ask.”

“Important for whom?” She tried to sound angry but was mainly sick with despair.

There was a pause. “Everyone. Everyone in the world.”

This seemed overdramatic, and she stifled a sob and met his eyes. “That is nonsense. And why should I trust you?” With a mighty effort, she tried to put a stop to the waterworks. “I wish you hadn’t been so—so duplicitous. I’d so much rather you had simply coshed me and stolen it.” Pretending as though he was enthralled and nibbling on her neck—oh, she was a complete and utter fool.

“I had little choice—you told me you did not know of the disk.”

Stung, she retorted, “And why should I tell you anything? Because you pretend to admire me?” Unable to stop a renewed rush of tears, she covered her eyes in shame with her free hand, the other wrapped tightly around the broken necklace.

Taking her carefully by the shoulders, he moved her into a loose embrace that she did not resist. “I do admire you, Hattie.”

“You don’t have to pretend anymore—is stupid Eugenie your stupid mistress?”

“Hat-tie,” he remonstrated gently near her ear, emphasizing each syllable. “She is nothing to me.”

“Are you married?” Hattie asked, her voice muffled by his waistcoat.

“No. As I told you before—it is the truth.”

Lifting her head, she looked out toward the hallway and took a deep, shuddering breath in an effort to regain her composure. “You seem to be suffering under a constraint of some sort.”

He did not deny it. “That is not the constraint.”

“Then what is this about? Why do I feel as though I am being treated like a child?” Unable to control it, she bent her head into his chest and began to weep again.