“I didn’t, but I do,” Giles said. “In fact, I always wanted to marry you. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”

Yasmin leaned backward, away from him, as her eyes searched his face. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That is my fault,” Giles said. “I couldn’t allow myself to woo you, even though I wanted to.”

“Because of my mother’s past or my own? There is a difference.”

“My reasons are irrelevant. I couldn’t stop myself from—”

“From desiring me,” Yasmin said, her tone rather stiff. Her facade slipped for a moment, and he saw hurt shining from her eyes. “You mistake yourself, my lord. There is no need to propose.”

Giles felt a touch of frost somewhere in the area of his chest. Why would she want to marry him? He had been rude, cold, and dismissive.

“You don’t like me,” she said flatly.

“Only because I thought I couldn’t have you.”

“I find that hard to believe. My reputation precedes me always,” she said, swallowing hard. “Men assume I am for sale. I am not certain that a marriage ring will change that.”

“No man will ever assume that my countess is for sale.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve lived with that expectation for my entire adult life.”

“Just as I have lived with the complexities of my parents’ marriage and my father’s death.” He pulled her into an urgent kiss that tried to say everything he was failing to put into words. This time, he let his hands range down her back and then, because she was uttering inarticulate but agreeable sounds, he ran his hands up her waist until his fingertips just touched the curve of her breasts.

Improper sentences came to him unbidden, tumbling through his mind, babbling about her perfumed skin, except it was natural perfume. About the fact he’d like to lick her all over, nibble her like the finest delicacy ever made.

He barely stopped himself from talking and stilled his hands, knowing they were shaking.

“Giles.” Her voice was velvety rough.

“Yes?” His equally so.

“Nom de Dieu, touch me!”

Giles looked into her eyes. “Not unless you marry me.” His fingers slid up, just slightly, caressing the curves of her breasts.

“I can’t marry you,” Yasmin said, looking exasperated, her lids heavy. “You don’t like me.”

“I do like you.” Giles had never had to seduce anyone; women fell into his hands, attracted by his money, if not his features.

“Pish,” Yasmin said. “Just kiss me some more.”

“No,” Giles said, sliding his fingers down to her belly. “I love this curve,” he murmured into her ear. “But I shan’t kiss you again or touch your breasts.”

She wiggled and then nipped his earlobe. “Are you actually saying that I have to promise to marry you before you’ll kiss me again? Or . . . Or do anything else?”

“That’s it,” he said.

Yasmin muttered a few things in French.