“Why?” Cornelia asked, making herself small in a corner of the carriage.
“Because I love you,” he said violently, “and I want to take down your hair and bury my face in it. I want to touch your white skin, which tempts me beyond endurance, because I want to hold you in my arms, to kiss your lips until you cry for mercy and then to make you kiss me in return.”
Cornelia felt suddenly that it was difficult to breathe, the passion of his voice moved her so that she could only tremble, her fingers clenched in an effort to steady her own feelings.
“I love you, Désirée,” he cried. “Are you made of stone that you can resist me for so long? Who is this man who attracts you so strongly that you can remain faithful to him after all these nights we have been together? Is he a God that you should lo
