so it would be entirely inappropriate."
Jude stepped closer, arms burning with the impulse to touch her. He fisted his hands tighter. "How about we strike a deal? I will step aside with grace and goodwill if your wishes prove true. Despite my heartbreak, I will smile and kiss your hand and bid you farewell. But in the meantime, we will be betrothed. Truly."
"But. . . but I don't even like you."
"Truly, Miss York, can you not at least pretend I might have tender feelings?"
"I'm sorry! I'm only being honest. And what do you mean, 'pretend'?"
"Pretend. That you like me. That you trust me. Pretend that you may speak your most intimate thoughts. "Tis all I ask."
Head cocked, she stared at him with a frown. "Have you no pride?"
"Ha. On the contrary. I have far too much. Why, look at me. Who am I to presume to court you? A big, ugly bastard son of a French courtesan? How could I possibly win your heart?"
Though he grinned to soften his words, Marissa looked more upset than ever. She didn't seem to realize that he'd drawn close enough to see her expression clearly, despite the dark.
"Do not look so sad for me, Miss York."
"I don't think you're ugly."
"Yes, you do."
When she shook her head, he finally let his hands free and raised one arm toward her. He slid the edge of one finger along her jaw, paying close attention to the detail of her skin. Soft and fine and warm against his, and the hitch in her breath added weight to his blood so that each beat dragged through his heart. "You are too beautiful for me," he whispered.
She started to shake her head, then froze when his thumb brushed her mouth.
Jude rested the pad of his thumb on her bottom lip, memorizing the feel of her breath rushing over him. "You are. People will talk when they see us together."
"Jude—"
"They will whisper and frown, and you will blush with mortification. But I will not mind, Miss York. Do you understand?"
"No," she breathed.
His thumb must have inched forward of its own accord. Her top lip brushed it when she spoke. Her breath came faster. Jude stared at her mouth with the fascination of a hungry predator. "I am not a boy. I have not been a boy for a very long time. And I was never pretty, so there is no point in wishing it so. But there are great advantages to loving a man. You will decide for yourself which you prefer. Boy... ?"
A tiny shift of his thumb and it was resting at the seam of her mouth.
"Or man?"
When her lips parted, he felt a torturous hint of heat and moisture and promise. He dragged his thumb gently across her mouth until he reached her check.
Her breath came faster. She leaned toward him. Jude smiled. "Now shall I escort you to dinner?"
"Pardon?" The word was all gentleness and night. Her eyelids dipped in a sleepy blink as he touched the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
"It's time for dinner, mon coeur."
"Is it?"
When he dropped his hand, Marissa frowned and stepped away, as if recalling that she did not like him.
"Come, we must put on a show."
She hesitated for only a moment, her eyes sweeping up and down his body for one last evaluation. Then she laid her hand on his and let him take her to dinner. This time, her fingers rested more easily against him, and Jude walked into the dining room with a smile that set that young buck's teeth on edge.
The boy would probably ask Marissa to dance at least twice tonight, and Jude would watch happily from the side. He did not mind Marissa entertaining herself, so long as her evening ended with him.
Chapter 5
The music room had been cleared for dancing, as the ballroom was too large for so few people. Marissa's mother perched impatiently in a chair near the piano, waiting for the gentlemen to wander in. The musician at the piano played a happy tune, but Marissa watched her mother frown. Lady York did not approve of leaving the men in the dining room with their port. She felt their absence postponed the merrymaking, and she went to much trouble to keep the house lively in
Jude stepped closer, arms burning with the impulse to touch her. He fisted his hands tighter. "How about we strike a deal? I will step aside with grace and goodwill if your wishes prove true. Despite my heartbreak, I will smile and kiss your hand and bid you farewell. But in the meantime, we will be betrothed. Truly."
"But. . . but I don't even like you."
"Truly, Miss York, can you not at least pretend I might have tender feelings?"
"I'm sorry! I'm only being honest. And what do you mean, 'pretend'?"
"Pretend. That you like me. That you trust me. Pretend that you may speak your most intimate thoughts. "Tis all I ask."
Head cocked, she stared at him with a frown. "Have you no pride?"
"Ha. On the contrary. I have far too much. Why, look at me. Who am I to presume to court you? A big, ugly bastard son of a French courtesan? How could I possibly win your heart?"
Though he grinned to soften his words, Marissa looked more upset than ever. She didn't seem to realize that he'd drawn close enough to see her expression clearly, despite the dark.
"Do not look so sad for me, Miss York."
"I don't think you're ugly."
"Yes, you do."
When she shook her head, he finally let his hands free and raised one arm toward her. He slid the edge of one finger along her jaw, paying close attention to the detail of her skin. Soft and fine and warm against his, and the hitch in her breath added weight to his blood so that each beat dragged through his heart. "You are too beautiful for me," he whispered.
She started to shake her head, then froze when his thumb brushed her mouth.
Jude rested the pad of his thumb on her bottom lip, memorizing the feel of her breath rushing over him. "You are. People will talk when they see us together."
"Jude—"
"They will whisper and frown, and you will blush with mortification. But I will not mind, Miss York. Do you understand?"
"No," she breathed.
His thumb must have inched forward of its own accord. Her top lip brushed it when she spoke. Her breath came faster. Jude stared at her mouth with the fascination of a hungry predator. "I am not a boy. I have not been a boy for a very long time. And I was never pretty, so there is no point in wishing it so. But there are great advantages to loving a man. You will decide for yourself which you prefer. Boy... ?"
A tiny shift of his thumb and it was resting at the seam of her mouth.
"Or man?"
When her lips parted, he felt a torturous hint of heat and moisture and promise. He dragged his thumb gently across her mouth until he reached her check.
Her breath came faster. She leaned toward him. Jude smiled. "Now shall I escort you to dinner?"
"Pardon?" The word was all gentleness and night. Her eyelids dipped in a sleepy blink as he touched the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
"It's time for dinner, mon coeur."
"Is it?"
When he dropped his hand, Marissa frowned and stepped away, as if recalling that she did not like him.
"Come, we must put on a show."
She hesitated for only a moment, her eyes sweeping up and down his body for one last evaluation. Then she laid her hand on his and let him take her to dinner. This time, her fingers rested more easily against him, and Jude walked into the dining room with a smile that set that young buck's teeth on edge.
The boy would probably ask Marissa to dance at least twice tonight, and Jude would watch happily from the side. He did not mind Marissa entertaining herself, so long as her evening ended with him.
Chapter 5
The music room had been cleared for dancing, as the ballroom was too large for so few people. Marissa's mother perched impatiently in a chair near the piano, waiting for the gentlemen to wander in. The musician at the piano played a happy tune, but Marissa watched her mother frown. Lady York did not approve of leaving the men in the dining room with their port. She felt their absence postponed the merrymaking, and she went to much trouble to keep the house lively in
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