A flare of temper in her eyes. Swiftly concealed. “Very well.”
“How long ago did your husband pass?”
“Eight years,” she said too quickly.
“And you never married again?”
“As you never loved again, neither did I,” she retorted.
“Do you ever get lonely?” The soft words were a mistake as soon as he said them.
Rosa stilled. She glanced his way, and despite himself, his treacherous mind chose to replay the image of her on her knees, sliding those satin gloves up the naked muscle of his thighs.
“That’s three,” she replied, her tongue wetting her lips.
“Answer it.”
“I have my brothers.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Fury and desire vibrated through her. The dichotomy of character intrigued him; Mrs. Marberry had been calm and flirtatious in all situations, except now, when he pushed her. He wanted to push more, to break that cool control and find out just how far the depths of her passion ran.
Such a move was dangerous though, for he was not immune to her. Not at all. The flush of blood through his body only served to remind him that she was scant inches away, a flimsy table between the pair of them. It would be a simple matter to kick the table aside and drag her into his arms.
If he were a lesser man.
She glared at him, the heat of her gaze cutting through him like a knife. “Of course I get lonely. I’m a widow, not a virgin.” Jerking her gaze away, she grabbed her knight and took his rook. “The question is,” she said, tossing the rook carelessly beside his captured pieces, “whether you do?”
“I’m a man. There are other avenues open to me,” he replied, trying to examine the board to see where the play had moved.
“True.” He could feel her hot little gaze on him. “That’s not an answer though, but an evasion. Which you are quite skilled at, I notice. Don’t you like being under the microscope, my lord?”
A faint tightening of the muscle in his jaw. He took a pawn and began to outline a campaign that would see her swiftly finished. “I’m too busy to think about female companionship.”
“Now that,” she murmured, “is a lie.”
Taking her rook, she smashed his pawn off the board. As he’d intended.
Their eyes met.
“You think about me,” she challenged, leaning back in the chair and rolling the captured pawn between the black satin of her fingers. A slight smile curled over her lips; whatever advantage he thought he’d taken, she’d evidently recovered. The tip of the pawn brushed against her lips, then back again, tracing that enigmatic smile.
Lynch forced himself to shrug. “Of course I do. You’re a handsome woman of a certain age, and I am forced to spend a great deal of time in your company. I’m only a man.”
“How…passionate a declaration.” Her smile deepened, eyes shining bright. “Do you know what I think sometimes when you’re around?”
She curled the pawn in her palm, slowly dragging it down over the lace at her throat and across the gray French serge. It dipped over each curve and his gaze went with it. “I think about all these buttons I want to unlatch.” Her small pink tongue darted out and wet her lips. “Starting perhaps with this one?” The pawn was gone; he hadn’t even noticed the sleight-of-hand. Instead her gloves found the velvet button directly beneath her chin. One deft move and it popped open.
Not even a hint of skin revealed, but suddenly the room felt far too small. He swallowed hard, leather creaking as his thighs clenched. What the hell had happened? How had he lost control of this entire situation?
“I love how fiercely you control yourself,” she murmured. Her smile was entirely coy, her gaze watchful. She felt safe now, when it was he who was so evidently distressed. “Another button, sir?”
His lips thinned and he leaned back in the chair. Curse her, but he wouldn’t cry foul. “As you wish.”
“Mmm, not even a hint of concern. You’re very good, my lord.” The second button gave. This time skin gleamed through, warm with her body heat.
The scent of her perfume grew stronger. Everything in him wanted to shove that fucking table out of the way and drag her into his lap. A vein in his temple throbbed. But he hadn’t learned control over all these years for nothing.
“It’s very tempting,” he said. “Would you like more tea?”
“I would like,” she purred, “to undo all of these wretched buttons.”
“If you start this game,” he warned her, “I will finish it.”
Their gazes locked. Dueled. The damned woman smiled. “I dare you, sir.”
Leaning forward, he poured her another cup of tea, anything to keep his mind and body busy. The knuckles of his hands tightened as he heard her fingers whisper over another button. He didn’t dare look up.
“I would like to undo all of your buttons too, my lord—”
His hand shook and tea spilled across the polished silver tray.
“I don’t have buttons,” he replied sharply, cursing the hoarseness of his voice.
“Not on your coat, no.” Her gaze dipped, dark lashes fluttering against her smooth cheeks. Leaning forward, her bodice gaping, she took the teapot from him and accepted her cup and saucer. “But then, I wasn’t speaking of your coat.”
The only buttons he had were on his trousers. Mercy. His cock swelled and he shifted to hide the sight.
“I’m more interested in yours.” He smiled tightly, determined to regain the upper hand. “Another button, my dear?”
She sipped her tea, holding the saucer elegantly. “What will you give me?”
Those vibrant brown eyes warmed in victory before she looked down demurely. “Tell me, why would you choose to become a rogue?”
“You hate not knowing, don’t you?”
“My affliction.” She smiled, fingers trembling over the next button. “How much would you like to see more?”
“Very much.”
“Then answer me.”
His eyes hooded. “The year I turned fifteen, I told my father I had no intentions of dueling Alistair. He was furious, but no matter how much he raged, I would not give in. So he forced my hand. He orchestrated it so that when it came time for the blood rites, the Council offered me a choice: duel Alistair for the right of heir or be denied the rites.”
Her fingers tensed on the button, as if surprised. “You chose to deny yourself your birthright?”
“It wasn’t worth it. Not if I had to kill my cousin.” He gestured. “Now, I believe that has answered your question.”
His hot gaze devoured her. Mrs. Marberry gave him a coy smile and slowly, slowly undid the next button. “Satisfied?”
His body burned. “Hardly.”
That earned another smile. They were almost as devastating as her slow manner of undressing.
“Now,” she murmured, “your turn.”
He stared at her. “I thought you didn’t like being questioned.”
“I mean to play fair, sir.”
“I doubt that.”
Another enigmatic little smile that made his cock clench. She sipped her tea.
Where to begin? Hell, what had he even asked her so far? He raked a hand through his hair. “How long were you married to your husband?”
