“I’d rather not be courted.”
“Could you help me understand why?” he asked, relaxed and patient.
“I just know it would turn out badly, because . . .” Pandora hesitated, considering how to explain the side of herself she’d never liked but couldn’t seem to change. The side that perceived intimacy as a threat, and feared being controlled. Manipulated. Damaged. “I don’t want you to find out more about who I am, when so many things about me are wrong. I’ve never been able to think or behave the way other girls do. I’m even different from my own twin. People have always called us hellions, but the truth is, I’m the hellion. I should be put on a leash. My sister is only guilty by association. Poor Cassandra.” Her throat cinched around an ache of misery. “I’ve caused a scandal, and now she’ll be ruined, and she’ll end up a spinster. And my family will suffer. It’s all my fault. I wish none of this had happened. I wish—”
“Easy, child. Good Lord, there’s no need for all this self-flagellation. Come here.” Before Pandora quite knew what was happening, she was in his arms, clasped against the warm, breathing strength of him. As he brought her head to his shoulder, her hat was dislodged and fell to the ground. Shocked and bewildered, she felt his masculine form pressed all along hers, and clarions of alarm sang through her blood. What was he doing? Why was she allowing it?
But he was speaking to her, his voice low and soothing, and it was so comforting that her startled tension dissolved like a sliver of ice in the sun. “Your family isn’t as fragile as all that. Trenear is more than capable of seeing to their welfare. Your sister is an attractive girl with good blood and a dowry, and even in the shadow of family scandal, she won’t go unmarried.” His hand moved over her back with easy, hypnotic strokes until Pandora began to feel like a cat whose fur was being smoothed just the right way. Slowly her cheek came to rest upon the smooth linen weave of his vest, her eyes half-closing as she inhaled the hint of laundry soap, and the crisp, resinous dryness of cologne on hot male skin.
“Of course you don’t fit in with London society,” he was saying. “Most of them have no more imagination or originality than the average sheep. Appearances are all they understand, and therefore—however maddening you find it—you’re going to have to heed some of the rules and rituals that make them comfortable. The unfortunate fact is, the only thing worse than being a part of society is living outside of it. Which is why you may have to let me help you out of this situation, just as I pulled you out of that settee.”
“If by ‘help’ you mean marriage, my lord,” Pandora said, her voice muffled against his shoulder, “I would rather not. I have reasons you don’t know about.”
Lord St. Vincent studied her half-hidden face. “I’ll be interested to hear them.” Lightly he fingered a tendril of hair at her temple, and smoothed it into place with his fingertips. “Let’s use first names from now on,” he suggested. “We have a great deal to talk about in a short amount of time. The more honest and direct we are with each other, the better. No secrets, no evasions. Will you agree to that?”
Reluctantly lifting her head, Pandora gave him a doubtful glance. “I don’t want this to be a one-sided arrangement,” she said, “in which I tell all my secrets while you withhold yours.”
A smile edged his lips. “I promise full disclosure.”
“And everything we say will be confidential?”
“God, I hope so,” he said. “My secrets are far more shocking than yours.”
Pandora didn’t doubt it. He was a seasoned, self-assured man, well acquainted with the world and all its vices. There was an almost preternatural maturity about him, a sense of authority that couldn’t have been more unlike her father and brother, with their hair-trigger tempers.
This was the first time she’d truly been able to relax after days of anguish and guilt. He was so large and substantial that she felt like a small wild creature who’d just found refuge. She let out a quivering sigh of relief, a regrettably childish sound, and he began to stroke her again. “Poor mite,” he murmured. “You’ve had a time of it, haven’t you? Relax. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Pandora didn’t believe that, of course, but it felt so lovely to be treated like this, soothed and coddled into a good humor. She tried to absorb every sensation, every detail, so she could remember it later.
His skin was smooth everywhere except for the texture of beard-grain where he’d shaved. There was an intriguing triangular hollow at the base of his throat, near his collarbone. His bare neck was very strong-looking except for that one shadowed place, vulnerable amid the tough construction of muscle and bone.
An absurd thought occurred to her. What would it be like to kiss him there?
It would feel like satin against her lips. His skin would taste as nice as he smelled.
The insides of her cheeks watered.
The temptation grew with every passing second, impossible to ignore. It was the feeling that sometimes came over her when an impulse was so overpowering that she had to obey it or die. That lightly shadowed hollow had its own gravity. It was pulling her closer. Blinking, Pandora felt her body camber forward.
Oh no. The urge was too much to resist. Helplessly she leaned forward and closed her eyes and just did it, kissed him right there, and it was even more satisfying than she’d thought it would be, her mouth finding tender warmth, a vibrant pulse.