Duke by Day, Rogue by Night by Katherine Bone

didn’t feel any different.
    Mustering up her courage, she asked him, “Did … did you take advantage of me last night?”
    â€œWould you believe me if I denied it?” he asked.
    â€œTell me the truth,” she pleaded near tears.
    He laughed in spite of her distress. “Truth? I could ask the same of you,” he said. “You seem incapable of telling me who you really are.”
    â€œYou’re a pirate!” she accused. “What do you expect?” Wasn’t it obvious she couldn’t trust him? How could he expect her to reveal intimate details of her life? Her head reeled with images, sensations. “I can’t remember anything,” she admitted. “What did you do to me last night? Did you” — her voice cracked — “sleep with me?”
    Something wicked flashed in his dark brown depths and her gut twisted. He was hiding something. She held her breath, anticipating his answer as he dropped to his knee on the bed. She fully expected him to admit that he’d taken her virginity.
    â€œYou expect me to tell the truth when you are unwilling to give me your real name?” An unbridled smirk twisted his lips. “That’s amusing.”
    â€œYes. Yes, I do expect the truth, but it’s obvious I’m not going to get it,” she said.
    â€œAll right then,” he sighed. Relief flooded through her. “Aye. I slept with you.”
    A knowing glint warned her he would do so again, if he could.
    â€œYou ruined me?” she squealed.
    It couldn’t be so. Constance searched her memories but came up empty, finding no images, memories, feelings, soreness, that would lead her to believe he spoke the truth. If she had been violated, wouldn’t that have left an indelible mark upon her body? She’d heard tales from the servants about a woman’s first time. It was supposed to be a painful experience. Unmindful of the sheet covering her nudity, she balled her fists and proceeded to pummel him. The thin veil proceeded to fall to her waist, revealing the horrible bruise marring her breast.
    He held her at arm’s length. “You asked for the truth and I gave it,” he stated. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me, who did that to you?” he said, his attention riveted on her bosom.
    Constance shivered. Never before had she been stared at so intimately or been so affected by a man’s touch. The pirate’s eye blazed with fury, sizzling every inch of her flesh, contrary to his gentle touch. The power he wielded over her with but a look frightened, and thrilled. Was he actually angry at the man who’d manhandled her? There was no need to number her woes, that she’d been promised to an abusive oaf who’d sought to claim her without consent and before the wedding night. It was unseemly to be alone with a man, but Lord Burton had found a way to sequester her. And now she feared what would happen if she returned home and Burton discovered her ruination. The man was a viper who would promise her father anything. He only wanted her for her good name and what that association would do for his status in society.
    â€œFor all I know, you did this to me,” she spat.
    â€œOr perhaps you’re not as innocent as you appear.”
    She wanted to cosh him for his lewd accusation. His grip was tight, cutting off her circulation however. His eye bore into her, blazing a path to her soul. He let go of her hands and reached for one of the curls draping over her shoulder, worrying the strands between his fingers.
    â€œYour hair is the color of wheat,” he said. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen — ”
    His voice came from a distance, unlike the one she’d grown to fear. There was sorrow and pain wrapped in his voice and his nearness elicited a desire within her to reach out and flex her fingers over the broad expanse of his shoulders. She ached to be comforted, to comfort, a