day. She had never known any other kind of life. She was the daughter of a duke, after all. “Doesn’t your Gypsy girl look after you, at least?”
He sent her a hard-eyed glance over the water bowl. “I look after myself. Always have. Always will.”
She shrugged and looked away. “Of course.” He reminded her, she decided, of the little boy who had robbed her—too proud to take her offered charity, but desperate enough to steal. While Blade continued splashing his face and neck, she took off her diamond necklace and hung it gently over the corner of the Canaletto’s frame, then walked away so he would not notice what she had done.
Her body felt strangely lighter, freed of her diamond collar. She clasped her hands loosely behind her back and waited for him to finish freshening up. Though she tried very hard not to keep staring at him, those strange pictures on his smooth skin seemed to beckon to her, teasing her, arcing and writhing sinuously over his muscles with his least, careless movement.
She turned her head just enough to see that each tattoo seemed specifically designed to cover up the traces of older scars. She furrowed her brow.
Dripping with water, Blade straightened up from leaning over the washbowl. Firelight tracked the gleaming beads of water that trickled down his chest as he slowly pushed his long hair back with his hands. Damp from his hasty ablutions, its color had darkened to sandy brown. She felt a shiver of awareness low in her belly and seized a longer gaze at him than she ought.
As though reading her thoughts, he opened his eyes slowly and looked into hers from across the room, tiny water droplets glistening on his spiky lashes. As their stares connected, Jacinda’s voice failed her. She swallowed hard, feeling flushed and feverish all of a sudden. She could not seem to look away.
Casting aside the hand towel, he sauntered toward her. “Don’t you think it’s time you confessed?”
“To what?” she asked faintly.
“The truth. Who are you?”
“I’ve already told you—”
“You can’t gull a lad from the rookery, love.”
“I’m not so sure you
are
from the rookery.” She lifted her chin to continue holding his gaze as he drifted closer.
“Hmm.” His murmur was husky, noncommittal. “ What if I threaten to kiss it out of you ?”
She trembled at his words and hoped he had not seen it. “I don’t think your mistress would like that.”
“Ah, but the question is, would you? ”
She held her breath, her heart pounding. His deep green eyes smoldered like emeralds on fire as he came to her with sure, unhurried strides—giving her time, perhaps, to run. Or scream. Or stop him.
She did neither.
Locked in the spell of her dark, sultry eyes, Blade could not look away. Once again, she defied his expectations. Instead of flying from him in scandalized dread like a genteel miss, she stayed where she was, an innocent temptress, waiting for him, her chest rising and falling in soft, rapid anticipation, her hands at her sides.
She dazzled him, like looking too long at the sun’s glitter on the sea, an image half forgotten from his boyhood, and like the tides, she drew him to her with a power that enthralled him, overcoming his survivor’s sense of caution and his will. Yet the closer he went, the more hopelessly lost he became, his heart pounding, his senses climbing toward some exalted bliss. She stood before him like a captive goddess, as ravishing and out of place in his rough chamber as the Canaletto. The firelight played over the exquisite gold embroidery of her white gown, which was made of such zephyr-fine silk that it seemed to float weightlessly about her legs.
As his gaze descended, his breath caught in his throat, for her skirts turned translucent by the fire’s glow, outlining her slender legs. She was slim and modestly proportioned, all elegance and demure charm. He stared at her body with a hunger that went beyond the physical. He lusted for her—God,
He sent her a hard-eyed glance over the water bowl. “I look after myself. Always have. Always will.”
She shrugged and looked away. “Of course.” He reminded her, she decided, of the little boy who had robbed her—too proud to take her offered charity, but desperate enough to steal. While Blade continued splashing his face and neck, she took off her diamond necklace and hung it gently over the corner of the Canaletto’s frame, then walked away so he would not notice what she had done.
Her body felt strangely lighter, freed of her diamond collar. She clasped her hands loosely behind her back and waited for him to finish freshening up. Though she tried very hard not to keep staring at him, those strange pictures on his smooth skin seemed to beckon to her, teasing her, arcing and writhing sinuously over his muscles with his least, careless movement.
She turned her head just enough to see that each tattoo seemed specifically designed to cover up the traces of older scars. She furrowed her brow.
Dripping with water, Blade straightened up from leaning over the washbowl. Firelight tracked the gleaming beads of water that trickled down his chest as he slowly pushed his long hair back with his hands. Damp from his hasty ablutions, its color had darkened to sandy brown. She felt a shiver of awareness low in her belly and seized a longer gaze at him than she ought.
As though reading her thoughts, he opened his eyes slowly and looked into hers from across the room, tiny water droplets glistening on his spiky lashes. As their stares connected, Jacinda’s voice failed her. She swallowed hard, feeling flushed and feverish all of a sudden. She could not seem to look away.
Casting aside the hand towel, he sauntered toward her. “Don’t you think it’s time you confessed?”
“To what?” she asked faintly.
“The truth. Who are you?”
“I’ve already told you—”
“You can’t gull a lad from the rookery, love.”
“I’m not so sure you
are
from the rookery.” She lifted her chin to continue holding his gaze as he drifted closer.
“Hmm.” His murmur was husky, noncommittal. “ What if I threaten to kiss it out of you ?”
She trembled at his words and hoped he had not seen it. “I don’t think your mistress would like that.”
“Ah, but the question is, would you? ”
She held her breath, her heart pounding. His deep green eyes smoldered like emeralds on fire as he came to her with sure, unhurried strides—giving her time, perhaps, to run. Or scream. Or stop him.
She did neither.
Locked in the spell of her dark, sultry eyes, Blade could not look away. Once again, she defied his expectations. Instead of flying from him in scandalized dread like a genteel miss, she stayed where she was, an innocent temptress, waiting for him, her chest rising and falling in soft, rapid anticipation, her hands at her sides.
She dazzled him, like looking too long at the sun’s glitter on the sea, an image half forgotten from his boyhood, and like the tides, she drew him to her with a power that enthralled him, overcoming his survivor’s sense of caution and his will. Yet the closer he went, the more hopelessly lost he became, his heart pounding, his senses climbing toward some exalted bliss. She stood before him like a captive goddess, as ravishing and out of place in his rough chamber as the Canaletto. The firelight played over the exquisite gold embroidery of her white gown, which was made of such zephyr-fine silk that it seemed to float weightlessly about her legs.
As his gaze descended, his breath caught in his throat, for her skirts turned translucent by the fire’s glow, outlining her slender legs. She was slim and modestly proportioned, all elegance and demure charm. He stared at her body with a hunger that went beyond the physical. He lusted for her—God,
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