His jaw tightened. "And ruin you for the marriage you seek?"

"Yes."

"That is not a deterrent."

She blinked.

"The thought of you wed to another," he growled, "compels me to insanity."

Marguerite's hand rose to her throat. "Say no more," she begged in a whisper, her mind reeling. "I lack the sophistication required to banter in this manner."

His prowling stride did not falter. "I speak the truth to you, Marguerite." Her eyes widened at his use of her given name. "We lack the time for meaningless discourse."

"It is not possible for us to have more."

The marquis's pursuit forced her to retreat until her back hit the wall. Only the delicate barrier of leaves shielded them from view. They had a moment alone, at most.

He tugged off his glove and cupped her cheek. The touch of his skin to hers made her burn, his spicy scent made her ache in unmentionable places. "You feel it, too."

She shook her head.

"You cannot deny the affinity between us," he scoffed. "Your body's response to mine is irrefutable."

"Perhaps I am frightened."

"Perhaps you are aroused. If any man would know the difference, it is I."

"Of course," she said bitterly, hating the possessive jealousy she felt.

"I have wondered," he murmured, his gaze on her parted lips, "how it would be to make love to a woman such as you-beautiful and sensual beyond compare, but too innocent to wield it as a weapon."

"As you wield your beauty as a weapon?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his sculpted mouth. It stopped her heart to see the way it banished the lines of cynicism that rimmed his eyes. "It pleases me to know that you find me attractive."

"Is there any woman who does not?"

The marquis shrugged elegantly. "I care only for your opinion."

"You do not know me. Perhaps my opinion is worthless."