Better if she had.
Setting aside his pen, he read what he’d written, key phrases jumping out at him.Moon-kissed tresses. Sapphire eyes. Heart-shaped face.He realized he’d described Althea, made her the protagonist in this tale of murder and revenge that he’d only recently begun penning.
Bloody hell. He spread his palm, splayed his fingers over the foolscap, gathered it up, balled it tightly between his hands, and tossed it into the wicker bin that he’d been filling with the rubbish he’d written ever since he’d awoken at dawn.
He couldn’t get her off his mind, how she’d been as light as a feather cradled within his arms, how right it had felt to have her pressed against his chest as he’d carried her from that filthy alleyway, terror at the thought of her dying in his embrace gripping him. Later in the parlor, he’d kept his arms crossed and his shoulder against the wall becausehe’d desperately wanted to curl himself around her and offer whatever comfort she’d required, even as he’d believed at the time that she wouldn’t welcome his nearness, that she’d viewed him as beneath her. That she’d taken a dislike to him.
Only she hadn’t. Or if she had, she’d changed her mind before seeing him to the door.
He was accustomed to people looking at him disparagingly. A bastard born and raised, he knew what it was to reside in darkness, searching for a sliver of light. When he’d finally found the courage to ask Ettie Trewlove about how he’d come to be on her doorstep, he’d learned how the sadness of being forsaken could eat at one’s soul, how sometimes it could drag one under like being caught beneath a wave and unable to find the way back to the surface.
But he’d also learned from Ettie Trewlove and his siblings that love tempered the hurt. He understood the power of touch, of feeling a connection, of knowing someone was there for him, would always be there for him.
Still, he’d neverfallenin love, had never trusted anyone outside his family to love him completely, flaws and all.
So he couldn’t explain the ferocity with which he was drawn to Althea Stanwick, this irrational need he had to protect her. Lust was a big part of it, a physical attraction unlike any he’d ever experienced. When he’d finally gone to sleep, he’d dreamed of licking every inch of her, of her licking every blessed inch of him. He’d awoken aching with need and hard as granite, had been forced to take himself in hand.
That hadn’t happened in a good long while.
As he seemed unable to forget about her, he would avoid her in the future. No more trips to the Mermaid. He would begin frequenting a nearby pub.
The rap sounded on his door. As usual, without waiting for him to bid entrance, Jewel opened it. “You have a visitor in the parlor.”
He knew it wasn’t any member of his family. They would have just come up and barged in without even bothering to knock.
Probably his publisher come to give him an update on the book that had been released two months earlier—his first. Although generally they just sent a message that they needed to see him, and he went to their office. They weren’t particularly comfortable with his current living accommodations and were keen that no one found out about them. Bad publicity to own a building used as a brothel, apparently.
“I’ll be down straightaway.”
She disappeared from sight. Shoving back his chair, he stood, grabbed his jacket, and shrugged into it, buttoned his waistcoat, straightened his neck cloth. He headed into the hallway. Most of the women were abed. Although like him, Jewel seemed to require little sleep, enjoyed basking in the early-morning quiet.
Descending the stairs, he welcomed the distraction of having someone to take his mind off Althea. But when he strode into the parlor, he was bombarded with thoughts of her, because she was the one standing by the window with the rare winter sunlight streaming over her. She wore an emerald-green frock more suited to a ballroom than a parlor, the low neckline revealing the slender column of her throat and gentle swells of her breasts, the short sleeves displaying the delicate bones and creaminess of her arms.
“Good morning,” she said softly, her smile uneasy, and he didn’t want to consider how he would like to greet each day with her speaking those words to him, tucked beneath him as he slid into her.
“Did the coal not arrive?” He despised how gruff and rough his voice sounded.
Her smile seemed a bit more steady. “It did, yes, thank you.”
Then why was she here? To thank him once more for his assistance last night? He didn’t require her thanks. And why was she wearing something so alluring that it seemed a sin to take his eyes off her?
“Would you care for something to drink? Sherry, brandy—” He cut off the list. It wasn’t yet noon. “Tea?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who serves tea.”
“I never serve tea. That was Jewel’s doing last night. But I can have someone fetch some if you fancy a cup.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine as I am.”
He didn’t want to contemplate the truth of those words, the smooth flawlessness of her skin. Her tiny waist. Surely, he could find some fault with her that would calm his body’s need to be pressed up against her. “Then how may I be of service?”
“I’ve come to discuss your proposition.”
He felt as though he’d been bludgeoned. It was the very last thing he’d expected after her lack of interest in even hearing him out the night before. Especially after deciding he wanted nothing further to do with her.
He should tell her the proposition was no longer available, but the reason behind it still existed. And he wasn’t fool enough to cast aside the possibility of gaining what he wanted without at least having an earnest conversation on the matter.
Based on the personal nature of what she assumed the request involved, he strode across the room, leaned against the window casing, and crossed his arms over his chest so he wasn’t tempted to touch her. The fragrance of gardeniaswelcomed him, and he imagined her bathing before coming to him. He’d never seen her in such bright light before. She had three freckles lining the curve of her left cheek. Only those three, no others. They fascinated him. Had she had more as a child, and these had been too stubborn to fade away? Or were they the only three daring enough to appear?
