War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 by Lynne Connolly Page B

to touch her. A frisson swept over the back of her hand, just as if he had, although he came nowhere near touching her skin.
    Deep, deep inside, where she confessed her most embarrassing secrets, she wished he had. She wanted to know what his touch felt like, especially in such an intimate situation. Not she would ever let her desire go any further. Why would he want to do it? Certain he had not thought he could resist her all too easily, she only smiled, but her lips trembled the tiniest bit.
    “Miss Carter, this is my question for this evening. Do you read for pleasure?”
    The breath gusted out of her, relief at such an easy question. “Yes, sir, I do, given the opportunity.” He watched her and she realised she could continue or not. “I read anything I can find. It’s my solace. I can enter a different world when I read.”
    “I see. We shall see what we can do about that.”
    He commenced discussing subjects she might be interested in, starting with history. When he reached French and she shied away, he moved on to something else, almost seamlessly, but not enough for her to confess, “I find languages difficult. I learned enough to teach young children, but I have problems with the subject.” She paused. “I shouldn’t be confessing that to you, should I?” She pushed her wineglass away.
    “I won’t tell anyone. Perhaps you need more practical experience. Talking with a Frenchman, for instance. How about your Italian?” He gave her a smile easier than any she had seen in him so far. Shock made her stop her breath. Was that smile what seduced her sister? Had he turned that on her? Because she feared she would be lost too, if he did that to her with intent.
    “I speak no Italian, sir. Only what I can glean from my knowledge of Latin.”
    “Do you read essays? How about the Oration on the Dignity of Man?”
    “Short, to the point and beautifully expressed.” She smiled. “I used to read it aloud to myself. Quietly, of course, not like Pico would have done.” She did not tell him that she’d fallen in love with the portrait of the philosopher in her copy of the writings of him and his friend Ficino. That, rather than philosophical concerns, had attracted her initially. But the essay was not a difficult read. “Profound in what it has to say about the creation of macrocosm and microcosm.”
    “But outdated, don’t you think? Does it really have any relevance today?”
    Plunging into a discussion of the essay, she forgot who she was in relation to him, only the joy of finally finding someone who had something interesting to say about the topic. Her reading had taken her into many unexpected avenues, but she had never tested her knowledge, too afraid of being labelled a bluestocking. But his grace didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to find it unusual that she enjoyed reading so much.
    He broke into their discussion as if suddenly tired of the topic.
    “Now it’s your turn. Ask me your question.”
    “Are you the father of the babies?” she blurted, without allowing herself to think.

Chapter Four
    Marcus almost laughed at her appalled expression. Clearly he’d succeeded into luring her out of her shell, so well she asked the question that must have nagged at her since she entered the house. He had told no one, except for Henstall, of course. He could rely on his butler’s discretion with his life. He could not say the same about this woman, however appealing he found her.
    “I must trust you not to tell anyone else if I answer that.”
    She stuck out her chin, making him want to use it to draw her closer. All evening he’d been watching her sweet lips, and her eyes sparkle as she drank more wine and began to enjoy herself. When had she last done that? He wanted to know more about her, suspecting there was much more under the surface. Teasing her, bringing her out proved good sport. He would not cheat by spreading out his senses and reading her mind.
    Shock rippled through him. He had not