Your Wicked Heart by Meredith Duran

Author:Meredith Duran [Duran, Meredith]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9781451686494
Goodreads: 13547664
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2012-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Spence no longer understood himself in the least. And he was a man who needed to understand himself.

His life had been defined by his difference from his family. A St. John only in name, people whispered—meaning it as a slur upon his joyless temperament in a family known for charm and whimsy, for even Uncle Richard had been a smiling, well-loved figure outside the house.

But Spence had always taken the slur as a backhanded compliment. He was, indeed, nothing like his family. And it profited the rest of them to have his steady hand guiding their fortunes. He was resolute where they were fickle, steadfast where they were buffeted by whims and tempers. They relied on him for his cool head, his enterprise, and his discipline.

Yet where was that discipline now? Although he had sworn not to touch her, he had done so. And if he was honest with himself—and he always was; one did not profit by self-deception—then he knew he could no longer trust himself around her.

His intentions made no difference: he would touch her again before this voyage was over.

But to what end? For while he had done dishonorable things in his time—kidnapping her among them—they had always been with a view to serving those he loved. To finding Charles, in this case.

But if he touched her again . . . if he took her to his bed . . . it would not be for honorable ends. It would be only for himself.

That night of the storm, he lay awake for long hours with these thoughts, his only company the sounds of the ship: the dull roar of the engine, and beneath it, the creaks and groans of the hull as it pushed through deep water. And he argued with himself, argued against the selfish course that seemed so inevitable. For he had seen her face before she had fled this room. She was not hardened, not practiced. The simplest touch had caused something tender and shockingly vulnerable to come into her face. She would not rise from his bed unharmed. She would not walk away from an affair unbroken.

Nor, perhaps, would he.

The next morning he sat down across from her in the dining room, and when she finally brought herself to meet his eyes, her face scarlet, he knew he could not do it. Perhaps for his own sake he would have seduced her, and to hell with the risk—would have seized for himself a few hours of unrivaled sweetness, the sound of his name on her lips as he brought her to pleasure. But at the sight of her, he realized that somehow she had come into his circle all unwittingly, without his permission. Somehow she had become someone he needed to protect.

So he would protect her from himself. For her sake he would refrain from touching her, even if it killed him.

Ludicrous thought! Such melodrama was beneath him. Yet the possibility felt very real to him as he watched her lift her teacup.

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