Read Candice Hern for Free Online Page A

hand away. "You have not won the wager yet, my lord."
    "Ah, but that was not a true kiss. Certainly not worthy of a wager. But I can tell you liked it."
    "No, I d—"
    "In fact, I am quite sure you would like to be kissed. By me."
    "That's not tr—"
    "You are simply dying to know what it would be like to be kissed by the oh-so-wicked man with the oh-so-dangerous reputation." He moved closer to her, pressing his hip firmly against hers, until she had no recourse but to flatten herself into the corner, with no place left to go.
    "You, sir, are impertinent. And remarkably arrogant. I have no wish to be kissed by you."
    "Of course you do. The need is radiating off your body like heat waves. I can almost taste it. But you are all tied up in your Bishop's Widow's propriety and afraid to let yourself be simply a woman. A woman with a woman's needs and desires. It is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it is infinitely more shameful to keep yourself all tied up in self-imposed knots."
    He leaned in close, and her whole body strained to put some distance between them. It seemed to him that her spine must be fused to the side wall panel. But he had not lied. He could feel her desire in the touch of her hand, which he still clasped. When he let go, she gave a shuddery breath, then held it again when he began to loosen the ribbons of her bonnet.
    "All tied up," he said, "just like this bonnet. It is unhealthy to be so tight-laced all the time, you know. One has to breathe." The satin ribbon slipped loose and he gently lifted the straw bonnet off her head and placed in on the small shelf beneath the front window, beside the high-crowned beaver hat he'd discarded earlier. Her blond hair was coiled in a plaited crown high on her head, more silvery than gold in the moonlight streaming in the front window. She had not cut and teased short curls at her cheeks and temples like so many ladies of fashion did. All was sleek and simple, giving attention to her elegant cheeks and long white neck. Her beauty was cruelly serene.
    As he studied her again — gray eyes huge with anxiety, full lips slightly pursed, skin so finely textured it might have been unglazed porcelain — Grace did not struggle. She did not try to throw him off or strike him. She might not have believed it, but he would have stopped if she had done any of those things. But she did none of them. It was as though she had so thoroughly trained herself to keep all emotion under control that she became rigid as a statue, unable to speak or move.
    Rochdale wondered if she'd always been such an ice princess, or if it was the bishop's doing. And what would happen to her once he'd chipped away that cool, polished marble façade and let out the warm-blooded woman beneath? Would she loosen her tight laces forever and open herself up to life?
    Perhaps she would thank him as he rode off on Sheane's Albion.
    "I spoke before of taking risks. Isn't it time you took a small risk, my dear Mrs. Marlowe?"
    Her breathing became slightly ragged, a nervous agitation. She was out of her depth, even a little frightened. Yet she did not drop her unbending composure. Was it courage? Or simply pure mule-headedness?
    "I am taking a risk," she said, "merely by being in this carriage with you, am I not? Is that not enough?"
    "But what are you risking? Your virtue is safe with me, as I have already assured you. And sharing my carriage was no risk for you since you had no choice in the matter. No, I think you require more of a risk than that."
    "Of course you do. You are a gambler. Taking risks is your way of life. It is not mine."
    "Not yet." He brushed a knuckle down the edge of her cheek and along her jaw. She blinked rapidly a few times, but did not flinch. "But as you say, I live to take risks. And do you know what? I find I am all agog to win this wager with you."
    "You won't win."
    "And yet I have every intention of doing so. But I think it only fair that we both appreciate what the stakes are. Let us see