Page 43

He let out a chuckle. “Do not worry so much. I am not easily offended. Besides, I am hoping to explore a lot of firsts with you.”

She brought the glass to her lips and hid her gaze.

Had he said something wrong?

Ian hadn’t done any extra due diligence into Mrs. Helen St. John and her life. She wasn’t his target. She was a means to an end. And he had thought the things he had found out to be sufficient.

She was a widow, that much he knew. From all accounts, her marriage was a love match. Except that her husband was a known adulterer. He’d had several mistresses and after one of his mistresses had died when he didn’t show up to their assignation—he was held up with another woman at that time—he took to drinking and died beside a bottle of whisky.

This fate could have been Ian’s. Not the fate of a married man seeking comfort in another woman’s arms, but the fate of a drinker dying with a bottle in his hands. If things went differently, if Davenport hadn’t found him, Ian could have found his end at the bottom of a bottle.

But looking at Mrs. St. John now, he couldn’t fathom how a man, any man, could be married to this gorgeous creature with soulful brown eyes, a generous spirit, have access to her bed every night, and yet choose to go to another.

Sometimes Ian didn’t understand men. He had observed hundreds of men from the shadows. It was his job to understand how they worked and what they did, but sometimes he had trouble understanding the whys.

Particularly in this case.

Not that it mattered.

Mrs. St. John’s husband was dead.

And he didn’t need to understand Mrs. St. John’s motivations. As long as it helped him to get closer to her cousin-in-law, it didn’t matter why she asked for his assistance. But he wanted to know.

Why him? Why now? And why did she not want any kisses? Why ask him for pleasure and then hide her gaze when he offered more?

Was she still in love with her dead adulterer of a husband?

Ian’s blood started boiling, and he realized with a strange kind of irony that he was jealous of a ghost. Already.

And he hadn’t even kissed the woman yet.

Perhaps it was a good deal, after all.

The easiest way to make a woman calm, to seduce her, and to bring her pleasure was with kisses. But it was also the easiest way to fall for her—to crave her taste and to feed his desire.

It would be better if they never kissed. Pleasure could be brought by other means. Ian took a glass from her slack fingers and took a large sip. The cool drink passed down his throat, calming his heartbeat.

She watched the fire, as she worried her lower lip between her teeth, that familiar little frown between her brows. Ian reached out, slowly, and ran the pad of his thumb over her forehead, smoothing her worries away.

“If you’re uncomfortable with anything, I want you to tell me.” He handed the glass back, and she took it.

She raised her eyes to his, conviction evident in her features. “I want to explore the uncomfortable, the unknown, perhaps even the nerve-wracking.”

“As long as it is pleasantly uncomfortable, I have no qualms with it. But as soon as it becomes unpleasant, I want you to tell me.”

“Can it be? Unpleasant, I mean?”

Ian shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. But I know that if you’re scared, even the mundane can become unpleasant. And what you’ve asked of me… It’s not going to be mundane.”

She looked at him from under her lashes, her cheeks burning red. “You might think it strange that a widow who was happily married for four years is asking you for… for this.”

Happily married. So she did consider her marriage happy, despite her husband’s open infidelities. His heart always gave an unpleasant pang when the subject of her late husband came up. He imagined it wasn’t pleasant for her either, especially if she was still loyal to him. So he decided to steer the conversation. “I am not easily taken aback by requests when it comes to liaisons. I suppose that’s why you picked me. I am a known rake. I’ve been caught naked in the most scandalous brothel in town. It is very difficult to surprise me.”

She scooted closer to him. “What is it like in that brothel?”

One side of his mouth kicked up in a smile. Was she to pretend as though she was never there? He knew that she didn’t see anything beyond Grace’s office and the corridor, so perhaps she was truly curious. “It is a place where every person’s desire is catered to. Whatever you wish for, you can ask for it and you shall get it, no matter how strange you think your request is. It’s a sanctuary. No judgments.”

She looked at the bottom of her glass and swirled it, causing the berries inside to jump and roll around. “What are some of your desires?”