The way Damien handled the trace of skin between her legs that she’d only truly figured out herself was a revelation, confirming her suspicions that the right man was the key to this entire sexual escapade business. Of course, she was jealous that he’d practiced his skills on other women—but she was stunned he’d saved the best for her.
How could one not fall in love when presented with such generosity?
From her spot beside him, Mercy tucked her smile behind her sketchpad, outlining the jut of his hip peeking from the sheet she’d tossed over him when he slipped to sleep.
“Quit grinning,” he murmured, turning his head into the pillow and taking a breath that seemed as if he were seeking to capture the fragrance clinging to it. “When I can barely find the strength to talk, much less smile. Never mind walking. I’ve never been so relaxed in my life.”
She laughed and used her fingertip to shade the hollow beneath this throat. “I told you I had a list.” She tapped her temple with her charcoal pencil. “A long one. I have a creative mind, DeWitt.”
“Do you ever, minx. Now my mind is filled with ideas. Cort always told me, once you do it, you won’t be able to think of anything else,” he murmured and rolled to face her. His hair was disheveled, his jaw covered in dense stubble, his neck sporting an angry mark from her teeth. They’d consumed every scrap of food in the place, forcing Damien to travel into the streets at dawn in search of sustenance. He’d come back with meat pies, two apples, a round of cheese, and a loaf of freshly baked bread.
After eating like they’d never eaten before, they crawled into bed and started the whole thing over again. Now, here they were, breathless and exhausted two days later.
Sated. Comfortable. Happy. Three things she’d never been at once in her life.
She propped the sketchpad against her bent knees. “How good of a chess player are you?”
“Bloody deadly,” he said, his lids quivering as he yawned. His eyes had turned all sorts of colors the past two days. From gold to hazel to a blazing emerald. As Lady Baumbach had stated, this variable alone was worth the price of admission. “I’ve read about a hundred books on proper strategy. I think five moves ahead, making me terribly hard to beat. It’s almost like I can see the board in my mind when I make the moves.”
This news did not surprise her. He was a victor in bed, too.
Hesitating, Mercy chewed on her lip and tapped her pencil against her thigh. She’d slipped into her torn chemise, a bit of a joke as it was hanging off her shoulder due to the ripped strap. “I have to go home this afternoon. My excuse for being absent won’t play out for another night. I’ve already sent three notes about assisting Countess Bentley after the birth of her daughter. My father never speaks to her, and it’s true she has a newborn, but I can’t use this forever.”
His lips clenched, a muscle in jaw flexing. “I have classes on Monday.”
“Oh,” she whispered, “so soon.” Today was Saturday.
He balanced his head on his fist, his eyes glowing a pale green in the lantern light. “I can come back next weekend. I may be able to get away on Thursday eve if I switch lectures.”
Mercy glanced to the sketchpad, her heart bumping against her ribs. “There’s a ball at Viscount Readlyn’s on Thursday.”
Damien sat up, causing the sheet to creep low on his hips. Dear heaven, the man was fetching. And angry. “Is the evening being spent with Montague, by any chance? He and Readlyn have been thick as thieves since Eton.”
Mercy turned to him, ready to placate. When she would have pitched a terrific fit if he were going to a ball with another woman. When he had every right to go to balls with other women. She laid her hand over his, the pulse at his wrist kicking. “I’ve already said yes to the event, Damien. I’m committed.”
“You’re still going to marry that lackwit, aren’t you?” Yanking his arm away, he gestured to the bed they’d wrecked with their antics. “The rumor is, he was dismissed from Cambridge because he flunked introductory literature. Twice.” Clamoring to his feet, he threw a disgusted glance over his shoulder. “Do you want a husband who can’t read?”
No, she wanted one who thought five moves ahead when playing chess—but that was like wishing upon a star. Unless she ran away with the youngest of the Troublesome Trio, at which point her father would disown her, she had no choice but to marry Percival.
Moreover, Damien DeWitt hadn’t asked her to run away with him.
Additionally, the situation was more complicated than anyone in the ton knew. “There’s a monetary difficulty,” she finally whispered. “A slight conundrum.”
Damien paused, his leg shoved halfway in his drawers. “What kind of conundrum?”
Mercy tried very industriously not to stare at his flexing buttocks. “My father owes a large sum to creditors. We’re in danger of losing the London terrace and the Hampstead estate. The Marquess of Grimwood has agreed to cover every note in confidence if a marriage to his son is forthcoming. Apparently, Percival is having trouble securing a commitment.”
Mercy’s cheeks burned. To admit you were being sold to the highest bidder to pay gambling debts seemed archaic—even if it happened every day. She wouldn’t know about the situation if Abby hadn’t overheard a private conversation between the marquess and her father. Her companion was of the mind to let her father stew in his own juices…but Mercy didn’t have the heart to let that happen. Not when it involved her younger siblings.
Damien settled his spectacles on his face, blinking madly behind the lenses. She could see the cerebral wheels spinning. “How large?”
She slumped against the headboard, tears pricking her eyes. “Five thousand pounds.”
“Five bloody thousand,” he repeated, his voice rough. “Minx, that’s more along the lines of astronomical. A hole so deep most poor souls never climb out.”
“I know,” she whispered, dropping her head to her hands, her sketchpad sliding to the floor. “It’s a disaster. My sister’s first season is this year, and I can’t let this scandal ruin her. Mary’s a dear girl, kind-hearted and gentle. Nothing sneaky, like me.” Her words dissolved as grief rolled through her.
How could she let another man touch her after this incredible encounter?
