Whenever he believed he had seen her at her best she surprised him. The more he came to know her, the more beautiful she became. He could not remember ever seeing a sunset as beautiful as her kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks—but it was those eyes, shining blue around deepest black, that moved him, that spoke to some part of him he had not known he had. Even the deepening bruise did not detract from her beauty—although it did spur him on. He needed to persuade her to trust him, to let him take care of her. She could not stay with Mrs. Wattington. She needed to be with him. He needed her to be with him. She leaned closer to him, her mouth quivering, and his gaze dropped. It was hard to see anything beyond her need—and his own. There was no way he could resist her. He had been fooling himself. She was meant to be his. He should have realized it before.
