He pressed his lips together. Bloody hell, how had the conversation drifted on to these treacherous waters? Time to change the subject. But then he frowned. Maybe he should tell her. Give her a taste of what the real world was like. The world beyond the castle of riches and privilege in which she dwelled. Maybe then she'd realize how lucky she was. And quit looking at him with those vulnerable eyes that reflected her every emotion, that gazed upon him far too frequently with admiration. Which would certainly help his ability to resist her.
"Yes, Princess," he said with a sneer. "My heart was broken. By a woman I'd planned to marry."
His revelation clearly surprised her. "What happened?"
Memories rammed into him, and for several seconds he felt crushed under their weight. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came forth. Anger and sorrow and guilt clamped his throat shut around the words that still, after three years, remained so precariously sutured. He swallowed, painfully, then the words suddenly poured out of him, words he hadn't spoken since it had happened. "She died. She worked as a maid. I always came to escort her home, but one night I was delayed. Instead of waiting for me, she walked alone. And was accosted by a footpad. She fought back, but he was stronger. And had a knife." His hands clenched, and the fury he'd felt at the time rose in him again. "He stole what little money she had. Then gutted her like a fish. She died in my arms."
"Dear God. Gideon…" Her eyes filled with a combination of horror and sympathy. With her gaze on his, she walked slowly toward him. His instincts warned him not to let her get too close, but he felt as if he were nailed in place. She stopped less than an arm's length from him. He wanted to look away, walk away from her, but he simply couldn't move. Reaching out, she gently laid her hand on one of his clenched fists. "I'm so sorry. Inadequate words, I know, but I don't have any others." She hesitated then said, "The monster responsible… was he apprehended?"
Another wave of dark memories washed over him. "Yes. I caught him. In the act of hurting another woman. She survived. He did not." Gideon had made damn sure of that.
"You saved that woman's life. And undoubtedly many other women's lives by ending his."
"Yes. But I didn't save the life that mattered to me."
She gently squeezed his hand. Heat rushed up his arm, filling him with anger that she could affect him so effortlessly. "I'm sorry your heart was broken in such a cruel way."
Her words yanked him from the past, and he forced himself to recall the here and now: his sense of betrayal. He pulled his hand away from hers and stepped back. "My heart is none of your concern," he said in a harsh voice. "What should concern you is your penchant for lying."
"If you're referring to the duke-"
"You know damn well I am."
"I didn't lie."
"You didn't admit the truth. That's the same thing."
"Actually, it's not." She raised her chin. "Have you admitted everything about yourself to me?"
"Seems to me I just admitted a whole damn lot." Certainly more than he'd meant to. "You know everything you need to know-the whole of which is that I've been hired to protect you and to catch whoever tried to enter your bedchamber last night."
Her gaze again flicked down to his lips. "Based on what you just told me and what happened between us last night… I know more about you than that, Gideon."
Another wave of heat suffused him, this one settling in his groin. "Which you'd be best to forget. As I intend to."
She shook her head and moved a step closer. "I'll never forget."
He sucked in a quick breath, and his head filled with the scent of vanilla. Want and need swamped him, threatening to overwhelm his resolve. He could-and would-remain in control. He could not-and would not-touch her. He looked into her eyes, a mistake, as they reflected a combination of confusion, hope, and such longing it seemed to rip his chest open. And evaporate his anger like a puddle in the desert.
"Will you really be able to forget?" she whispered, her gaze searching his face. "Did what we shared truly mean nothing to you?" Her bottom lip trembled. "Am I that forgettable?"
He had to fist his hands to keep from giving into the choking need to snatch her against him, a fact that bloody well irritated him, a feeling he grabbed in desperation. "As I said earlier-and you agreed-last night did not happen. We shared nothing. What is this-another hunting expedition for compliments, Princess? I suggest you ask one of your many admirers, or here's a novel idea-your fiancé-to shower you with admiring words. If you can't wait until one of them calls, go look in the mirror, wallow in your extreme loveliness"-he spat out the last two words as if they were poison-"and spout your own bloody accolades."
He didn't want to feel like a bastard for his harshness, but damn it, he did, which only served to irritate him further. Frustration built in him until he felt like a boiling caldron. He steeled himself against the hurt he expected to cloud her eyes and was surprised when unmistakable anger flared instead. Indeed, she looked as if she were ready to boil.
She stepped back several paces. "That is the second time you've accused me of wallowing in my looks, Mr. Mayne." Her lip curled when she said his name, as if it tasted bad. "Allow me to enlighten you as to why a princess such as myselfdoesn't wallow in her looks. After being surrounded by it my entire life, I am unimpressed by outward beauty. I find it treacherous in that it can disguise even the most disagreeable character. Rather like a gorgeous tapestry covering a writhing pit of vipers. As an example, I offer my mother. She is extraordinarily beautiful, is she not?"
Gideon hesitated several seconds then replied, "I'm sure most people would say so."
"I assure you they do. Yet unfortunately she is not a kind woman. Or a warm, loving one. I don't say that to be unkind myself, I am merely stating a fact. As you've expressed a penchant for summing things up in one word, I'd apply ruthless to my mother."
Gideon couldn't disagree, although overbearing was a close second choice to describe the woman. It had been painfully obvious since his first meeting with her that the Countess of Gatesbourne possessed a thumb the size of the entire kingdom. And she had no compunction about holding her daughter beneath that mighty thumb's weight.
"Beauty's other great failing," she continued, "is that it requires no level of talent or accomplishment. It's nothing more than an accident of birth."
"Like the fact that you're an earl's daughter. And I'm a commoner."
"Yes, although I don't think there's anything common about you. Honor, integrity, compassion, valor…they are important and lasting. And, as far as I'm concerned, they far surpass any class order."
He studied her and couldn't decide if he were puzzled, annoyed, or both. He watched her anger wither, the fire leeching from her eyes to be replaced by what appeared to be embarrassment. He'd be willing to wager that she'd never confessed such things to anyone. He'd certainly never heard any member of the aristocracy utter such sentiments.
"You must think I'm daft," she said, when he remained silent.
He continued to study her, his own anger seeping away in spite of his best efforts to hold on to it, then finally said, "I don't think you're daft. I think you're… surprising." Yes, she was. Disconcertingly so.
The urge to reach out, to cup her perfect face in his palm, a face she claimed not to admire, gripped him with such force he had to step away from her. He moved to the fireplace, putting a safe distance between them, then stared into the flames. "You cannot deny your beauty garners you much attention."
"Yes, but of what sort? My mother uses it to advance her matchmaking schemes. My father barters it to the highest bidder without regard to my feelings. And who gives me attention for it? Gentlemen who pursue me for my fortune. Who merely want an ornament upon their arm."