The Unclaimed Duchess by Jenna Petersen Page B

and he forgot, in that one glorious moment, all the pain and lies that had brought her here to his side.
    Yet, even as lost as he was, grinding his mouth over hers, his body against hers, he knew this couldn’t last. Some small part of him remained in utter and total control, and that part finally forced Rhys to pull back abruptly.
    He didn’t try to right Anne as she staggered when he released her. It wasn’t because he wanted her tofall, but because he feared if he touched her once more that he wouldn’t be able to listen to that small voice in his mind that still clung to the virtues of propriety. He feared if he even so much as touched her arm, he would end up on the bed behind them, her skirts around her waist and his body pushing into hers.
    It was an impossibility. They could never make love again. He had to treat her as if she was no longer his wife.
    He shook his head at the thought and looked at her. She had managed to right herself, and now she smoothed her skirts with shaking hands before she lifted her gaze to his. He expected horror to light her eyes because of the way he had molested her with so little finesse. He expected fear or even anger.
    Instead her green-blue gaze was filled with triumph. She folded her arms and speared him with a stare and a tiny smile that made his gut clench with renewed desire.
    â€œYou’re right, Rhys,” she finally said softly. “I can see that you don’t want me.”
    He expelled a frustrated breath at her quiet sarcasm. How he hated complications, and this one he had put upon himself because he hadn’t been able to control his need for her.
    â€œAnne,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. “You don’t understand.”
    She shook her head. “Then explain it to me, Rhys. After all our years together, you should know I’m not stupid. I want to understand why you have run from your responsibilities, from London, from me. And since I’m not planning on leaving, you will have a great deal of time to give me all the details you so fear to share.”
    Rhys stared at her for a long moment before he scrubbed a hand over his stubbly face. “Why, Anne? Why can’t you just trust me that it is better for you to return to London and forget all this. Forget our betrothal, forget our marriage.”
    Her face crumpled again, but this time there was no anger to line it. There was only pain, a pain so intense that Rhys was almost mesmerized by its power.
    Until she spoke and turned his world upside down.
    â€œBecause I love you, Rhys Carlisle,” she said, as matter-of-factly as if she was announcing she was going for a ride. “I have always loved you.”
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    The moment she said the words, Anne wished she could take them back. Oh, she had always imagined she would one day confess her heart to Rhys, but not under these circumstances. And she had certainly never pictured, in those girlish fantasies, that he would stare at her, spearing her with the same lookhe often gave to people who disgusted him.
    â€œYou don’t mean that.” His voice was even and quiet, controlled as he was always controlled. He didn’t even sound like he cared that she had just handed over her heart.
    In fact, quite the opposite.
    She shut her eyes. She had already spoken once out of emotion, she wanted to be certain she didn’t repeat that mistake. She had to consider all her options before she responded.
    And she did have options. She could open her eyes and smile in an empty fashion and tell him that no, she didn’t mean what she had said. And then she could return to London. It would make Rhys happy, she was certain.
    But she had spent her life trying to make Rhys happy. And her father. And Society. And everyone else in the world but herself. Longing had been her companion in her bed at night as she pondered her future. A longing for Rhys’s love, a desire for those glimpses of goodness she saw in him to