A dozen questions sprang to her lips, things she wanted to know about him. Actually, she wanted to know everything about him. Where he lived. Where he'd grown up. His family. His likes and dislikes. His favorite color. If he enjoyed reading. The details of his dangerous and adventurous work. If he thought of her even a fraction of the number of times she thought of him.
How it was possible that such a devastatingly attractive man wasn't married or spoken for.
Or was he?
The thought struck her like a cold slap, and before she could stop herself, she asked in a rush, "Are you married?"
He looked at her over the rim of his steaming cup. His eyes narrowed slightly, then he slowly lowered his tea. "No."
A ridiculous wave of relief surged through her-ridiculous because, what did it matter? Whether he belonged to someone else or not was irrelevant. He could never belong to her. Still, in her heart she'd known he wasn't married. Had known he wouldn't have kissed her if a wife waited for him.
"Betrothed?" she asked.
"No. Why do you ask?" His gaze hardened. "Do you think I would have kissed you if I had a wife or fiancée waiting at home for me?"
His words so closely mirrored her thoughts that she wondered for an insane instant if through his intense regard he could actually read her mind.
Don't lose your nerve now, her inner voice whispered. Carpe diem.
Yes. If she didn't seize the day, here and now, she might never get another chance. Before she found herself married to a man she didn't love. A man who would plunk her down in Cornwall and likely leave her there to rot. After demanding his husbandly rights. A shudder of revulsion ran through her. Dear God, the thought of the duke's hands on her made her flesh crawl. And spurred her to action.
Drawing all her courage, she answered, "No-I believe you too honorable to kiss me if you were married. Yet, surely dozens of women are madly in love with you."
His gaze seemed to pierce hers. "The way dozens of men are madly in love with you?"
Julianne shook her head. "There is no one in love with me."
"Says a woman whose suitors litter the path leading to her door."
"They wish to marry me. For money. They care nothing about me."
"They seem quite besotted to me."
"They are. With my very generous dowry."
Something that looked like annoyance flashed in his dark eyes. "You make it sound as if that is all a man would admire about you. Which sounds like false modesty. And a fishing expedition for compliments."
There was no missing the rebuke in his words-one that stung. "I'm not seeking compliments, especially from a man who clearly has a disinclination of bestowing them. Nor do I possess false modesty. I know I am admired for my looks. I simply take little pleasure from that fact."
"Really? Why is that?"
There was no missing his skepticism, and she debated how honest to be with him. She'd planned to use this time to find out more about him, yet he'd somehow turned the tables on her. Still, if she told him something of herself, perhaps he would be more inclined to reciprocate. "Do you truly wish to know?"
"Indeed. I cannot wait to hear why a princess such as yourself doesn't wallow in her looks." He leaned back and raised his brows, looking like a man expecting to be entertained by a troupe of jesters.
Vexing man. How did he manage to make her desire him yet wish to shake him at the same time? Annoyance rippled through her, nudging aside her shyness. "Wallow? Has anyone ever told you you're condescending?"
"Condescending?" he repeated in an incredulous tone. "A commoner like me? Never. Has anyone ever told you you've no idea what you're talking about?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. Almost daily. Neither of my parents credit me with the least bit of intelligence. They think the only thing I'm capable of is being decorative-and they demand that I be so. You cannot begin to understand how much I loathe being nothing more than an ornament. As if I have no thoughts or feelings. No ambitions." She moved her leg so that her knee touched his. "Or desires."
His teacup froze halfway to his lips. His hot gaze bored into hers for several seconds, then he slowly set aside his cup and rose. He backed several steps away from the settee until he stood before the hearth. Julianne might have been thoroughly discouraged were it not for how his damp pants clung to the irrefutable evidence of his desire for her.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
She huffed out an impatient breath. Clearly any form of subtlety was lost on this man. "I'm trying to get you to show me what you referred to this afternoon-just before we were interrupted-as your best. If you'll recall, you were about to kiss me."
"That… shouldn't have happened."
Her heart sank. "And last night?"
"You know the answer to that as well as I do."
She rose and joined him near the fire, stopping when a mere arm's length separated them. Longing raced through her, and the sense of urgency, of time running out, of her parents soon returning suddenly overwhelmed her. Capturing his hand between both of hers, she gripped his fingers tightly.
"I know what answer I'm expected to give, but it isn't what's in my heart. I… I have this recurring dream… a nightmare, actually. I'm in the middle of a crowd, trapped inside a glass coffin. I scream and cry and pound on the glass, but no one pays the slightest attention. They all just go about their business as if I'm not there. I'm trying to tell people that I'm alive. Tell them what I want, my hopes and dreams, but no one listens. No one cares."
He frowned. "That's just a dream-"
"No. It's my life. And I'm tired, so tired of imagining, of dreaming. Of wanting but never having."
An incredulous sound passed his lips. "What are you talking about? You have more than anyone I've ever known."
She felt him tugging his hand from hers, felt her chance slipping away. She tightened her grip, then pressed their joined hands to the center of her chest. "Yes, if you count gowns or jewels or invitations to parties."
"And you don't?"
"As anyone would, I enjoy the creature comforts provided by my position. I've no desire to be cold or hungry. But once those necessities are seen to… fancy gowns and parties are not important to me. Not nearly as much as other things."
"Such as?"
"Love. Laughter. Companionship. Desire. Romance. Passion. They are what I long for." She lifted one hand and skimmed her fingers over his brow. Down his cheek, to his firm jaw, his faint stubble rasping against her skin. For several seconds he remained immobile under her touch. Then he jerked away as if she'd burned him.
"Stop that," he said, his voice resembling a low growl.
He was breathing hard, and his eyes glowed like ebony coals. Unable to stop herself, she stepped forward and erased the distance he'd just put between them. She placed her hands on his chest, her palms absorbing the rapid beat of his heart. Looking into his eyes, she whispered, "I can't." Her fingers splayed over the hard muscles of his chest.
He gripped her wrists, halting her explorations. "You're playing with fire."
"Am I? It doesn't seem so."
"One of us has to show some restraint."
"Really? Well, in that case, I congratulate you, as you've shown a frustrating amount thus far." She took another step forward. Mere inches now separated them. His scent wrapped around her: rain mixed with a hint of damp linen and something else she couldn't define except to know it belonged to him alone. She could feel the heat emanating from his body. "This afternoon you were about to kiss me when we were interrupted."