Desire struck Rhys so fast and fierce, he acted without thinking. His arms wrapped around her slender waist and drew her closer so she was pressed against him.

Where she belonged.

Her kiss was unskilled but so infinitely sweet, his chest ached in response. Her scent surrounded him as the softness of her body molded to his.

Unthinking he slanted his mouth over hers, desperate to claim her in every way possible. She was his, this was right. There was nothing else except for him and her and this moment.

He groaned as her tongue tentatively returned his touch, seeking and exploring as he did. He could stay here forever tasting her. He could live on nothing but this woman and her sweet touches.

The sound of a door closing cut through the beautiful symphony of whimpers and mingled breaths. They both stilled at the sound of it, the reminder that there was life outside this garden.

A life that did not include the two of them as a couple. A life in which this embrace was prohibited.

He pulled back gently, savoring the feel of her breath on his cheek. Hating the words he knew must be said.

“We mustn’t.” He whispered it, but she jerked back as though he’d shouted in her ear.

In her eyes he saw the hurt of rejection and he hated himself for it. But there was no other way. He was a man, yes, but more than that he was a duke. He had obligations, responsibilities.

“I am sorry.” That was no better. Her eyes widened and the pain there was nearly his undoing. “I cannot marry—”

“I know.” She cut him off abruptly as she took two steps back. He saw her hands shaking as she clasped them together in front of her. She gave him a forced smile and that was somehow even more heartbreaking than the pain in her eyes.

Her smiles were never forced. She was genuine and pure, through and through. Forced smiles and fake laughter did not suit her and he hated that she tried for his benefit. “What I meant was, I knew that before I—” She swallowed and then wet her lips. “I am the one who ought to apologize. That was a mistake and I—I—” She bit her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He went to reach for her, all reason forgotten in the face of her pain. And his, if he were being honest. But before he could touch her she turned and fled, leaving him alone with a weight of regret that threatened to crush him.

* * *

Give it time, he told himself as he headed down the hall leading toward his study. But then, Rhys had been telling himself that for the last twenty-four hours. He’d been living in a state of utter confusion. One half of him hoping desperately to run into Georgie but the other dreading the sight of her.

What good could come of seeing her again? What happy ending could they find when he was this very night supposed to be choosing the lady who would be his bride?

The event was already underway but he’d escaped the cloying, pressure-filled ballroom as soon as propriety allowed. He just needed a moment, that was all.

Music followed him, growing fainter and fainter. Maybe he could breathe if he could just find a moment alone.

Yes, because staying in your rooms alone last evening proved so very helpful.

Blast it, he needed to get his head on straight. He had to find his equilibrium if he were to stand any sort of chance of getting through this night with his sanity intact. Besides, he needed all his wits to make the proper choice of wife.

He sighed in relief as he reached his study—the private sanctuary where he might once again regain some sort of sense.

But that thought was quickly squelched as he opened the door to find an intruder.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Lord Malcolm raised a glass of brandy where he stood beside the liquor cabinet. “I needed an escape from that maddening crowd and figured the good stuff would be in here.”

Rage filled his veins at the mere sight of this upstart who’d tried to defile his Georgie. And now the rogue had the indecency to help himself to his liquor, and in his private study of all places?

He kept his tone civil but cold. “In the future, ask permission before entering the private areas of this house.”

Lord Malcolm’s smile never wavered. “Of course, of course.” He lifted his glass. “I’ll just be heading back, shall I?”

Rhys had to clench his hands into fists to keep from striking the smug smile off his face as he swaggered past him back toward the ballroom. “Who the bloody hell invited him?”

“No one, I’d guess.” His brother’s voice behind him made him sigh with displeasure.

“Is it so much to ask for one moment of solitude?”

Nicholas walked past him to help himself to the “good stuff” as Lord Malcolm put it. “During a soiree? Yes, no one is allowed a moment of peace, I’m afraid. Certainly not the host.”

He muttered an oath under his breath. Why had he gone along with this idea in the first place?

Oh yes. So he could choose his bride. He held out a hand to Nicholas. “Give me some of that.”

Nicholas handed him the glass he’d just poured for himself. “Bad night?”

“Mmm.” Something about his brother’s tone set him on edge. He sounded far too innocent. He was up to something.

“Are the rumors true that you’re choosing your bride tonight?”

He stiffened. “Who said that?”

Nicholas’s grin was knowing. “Everyone. It is common knowledge, I’m afraid.”

He took a sip of his drink in lieu of an answer and to avoid Nicholas’s questioning look.

Nicholas didn’t stand for it. “So? Is it true?”

He still didn’t answer. He couldn’t. As his brother waited for a response, the reality of his situation became all too clear. Rhys couldn’t bring himself to pick a bride.

No amount of time would change the fact that he already knew who he wanted, and she sure as hell wasn’t on a damned list.

But she was the one woman he could not choose, not if he were to make the right choice, the logical choice, the responsible choice.

Sounds from the ballroom filtered down the hallway and he felt the urgency of his situation. He had to choose someone, didn’t he? He had a house filled with options, but they were all the same in his eyes. They were all not Georgie.

He might as well throw a dart at the damned list and let fate decide.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Nicholas’s voice was uncharacteristically lacking in humor. He sounded serious and concerned and…so very not like his younger brother that it made him stop and stare. “What do you mean?”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Rhys stubbornly stayed mute.

“You don’t want to marry any of the ladies out there,” Nicholas said.

He shrugged. “It’s not about what I want.”

“Isn’t it?”

Rhys glared at his brother. “What is that supposed to mean? You know I have an obligation to—”

“Yes, yes.” Nicholas waved a hand as though fending off Rhys’s words. “I’ve heard all my life about the great and noble weight of responsibility that you carry.”

“And yet you still make light of it.”

Nicholas’s gaze was surprisingly serious. “No, I’m not making light of it, brother. I just feel that someone ought to remind you that you are more than just your title. There is more to life than responsibility and obligation.”

“For you, perhaps.” He ran a hand over his face, hating the self-pitying tone that had inadvertently slipped into his voice along with the unpleasant connotation. It wasn’t Nicholas’s fault that he was the second son. But for the first time in his life, he was jealous of Nicholas. The envy was so sickeningly real he had to take a moment to digest it and accept it. He supposed it had always been there to some extent, but never so much as now.

If he were Nicholas, maybe he could do what he wanted. And he knew what he wanted. He knew who he wanted. Without trying he could see the idyllic future in his mind’s eye, but it was torturously out of reach.

The vision itself was sweet torture.

A life with Georgie—one filled with laughter and love and children and music and…everything he’d never thought he wanted. But now it seemed like heaven on earth. He’d found the missing piece—the one person who could add life to his existence, who could make it a life worth living rather than a chore to work through. With Georgie he felt whole, balanced—he could laugh at himself and everyone else in his world. He could see joy and happiness and love.

That was what it all kept coming back to. Love. He honestly wasn’t sure he’d ever believed in the concept before, aside from familial love. He understood what it was to love his father, his mother, his brother—but nothing had prepared him for this. It deserved a word of its own, this all-consuming passion.

Obsession, he supposed. Adoration, perhaps. And need. Yes, definitely need. What he felt when he was with Georgie was need. He needed her as surely as he needed air to breathe.

“Do you know what I learned from Father?” Nicholas set his drink down on the edge of Rhys’s desk.

The words startled him out of his thoughts. “What’s that?”

Nicholas leaned against the desk. “Despite what you might think, I did listen to Father’s lessons about obligation and duty.”

Rhys gave a dismissive snort of disbelief out of habit. His brother had reformed his ways remarkably this past year but sometimes it was too easy to forget that in light of all those years of rakish behavior.

Nicholas ignored him. “Aside from all the lectures, there was one point he harped on continuously. He spoke often of how a duke and his family are leaders. A duke, especially, is a leader among men. He may have an obligation, but he also has the right—nay, the duty—to follow his heart and his honor.”

Rhys stared at Nicholas for a moment, shocked at his younger brother’s earnest tone as much as by the words.

He was right. His father had taught them that sometimes rules must be broken in order for a leader to properly lead. Sometimes a man had to throw caution to the wind and exhibit bravery and a belief in his own instincts in order to be the kind of man worthy of the title.

His heart started to race as that thought took on new meaning. He had to brace himself against his desk as his rational mind sifted through the new thoughts, trying to ensure that this was truth and not just what he wanted to believe.

He pushed himself away from the desk. Oh bloody hell. Who cared if it was reason or rationalization. It made sense, damn it. He was a better man when Georgie was in his life. She softened his harsh edges and kept him from being shut off from the world and from his heart.

Surely a great duke was first a good man. And being with Georgie—well, if he wasn’t yet a good man, he wanted to become one for her. He knew he was a righteous man, but she made him see the value in compassion, in love, in humor, in graciousness.

Yes, she made him better, because she deserved better.

“You’ve already sacrificed so much for this family and for the title,” Nicholas said behind him. “Your childhood, namely. But neither Mother nor I would wish for you to sacrifice your future happiness for the sake of the title. Father wouldn’t want that either, God rest his soul.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said, shocking his brother into silence for once. When he turned to face his brother he saw that Nicholas was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Does that mean…? That is, did you actually listen to me for once?”

Rhys thrust a hand through his hair as the full weight of what he’d realized settled over him. A surge of emotions ran through him at the thought of all he was thwarting—the traditions, the lineage, the expectations.

But far above and beyond all that was joy. Pure, unadulterated happiness at the thought of what he was about to gain.

Hopefully.

His mind’s eye brought up an image of the hurt look in Georgie’s eyes when he’d rejected her. He winced, leaning over the desk as though the memory had been a very real blow to the gut.

“Are you all right, brother?” Nicholas asked.

Rhys ignored him. He couldn’t speak from all the shame and regret. How could he make this right? How could he convince her that he loved her after treating her the way he had?

He stared down at his desk blindly at first, but then his eyes focused and his brain registered what he was looking at.

Or rather, what he was not looking at.

“Bloody hell,” he bit out.

Nicholas was at his side. “What is it?”

“He stole the list.” Rhys’s anger came in a flash but it didn’t linger. He ignored Nicholas’s questions of who and what list? He could explain that Lord Malcolm had stolen his oft-mocked-by-Georgie list of potential brides, but that would require a lengthy explanation he didn’t have time for.

Besides, it no longer mattered. He didn’t need the list, nor did he want any of the ladies on it as his bride.

There was only one woman for him, and he was about to claim her as his wife.