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She shook her head. “It does have a certain appeal but surely you can see it draws disapproval?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I do not care for anyone’s approval.”
“At least we make a good match now,” she said on a sigh then straightened, her eyes widening. “Not that—”
He held up a hand. “We make a good match,” he agreed. “At least in the bedroom.”
“Yes.” Tidying her skirts, she plucked at a crease and tried to smooth it between two fingers. “Or the carriage,” she murmured, her lips curving.
“That too.”
Her gaze lifted to his, two sea-green pools that he could not help but read as full of desire. Still. For him of all people. It wouldn’t take much from her. The slight purse of her lips or the arch of her neck and he’d be willingly back on his knees and drawing out every ounce of pleasure from her while he ordered his driver to loop the entirety of London.
“What are we to do about this?” She gestured between them.
“I can think of a few things.” He kept his tone low and saw a tiny shiver wrack her shoulders.
It gratified him to know she felt this as intensely as he did. This desire knew no rhyme or reason. It did not care that she was technically in his employ or that despite sharing similar circumstances of birth, they were from different worlds. He had narrowed his eyes to a sliver. Hers were wide open. He still wanted no part of that.
But his fingers flexed with the need to touch. His mouth dried when he thought of kissing her again. His cock twitched as he recalled driving into her softness. This desire for her would not abate if he did not satiate it. He could blame too long being celibate, but it was more than that.
It was her.
“Valentine, be serious.”
“I’m deadly serious.” He held up a hand, ticking his fingers off one at a time. “My bed, a chaise maybe, a plush rug in front of a fire...”
“It’s summer,” she pointed out.
Damn. And if his plan worked, he would not have her in his arms by winter. He shoved away the feeling clawing deep at his gut that felt too much like regret for his liking.
“The library,” he added.
Her dark brows rose. “The library?”
He nodded.
“It sounds as though you have been thinking about this.”
“Most intently.”
Her mouth tilted. “Good. So have I.” She folded her arms, drawing his increasingly distracted attention to her curves.
Her gown remained draped across one shoulder. If anyone had ever told him his strong self-control would be snapped by a mere shoulder, he might have laughed at them but that bare shoulder was responsible for quite a lot at this point. It was going to change the course of his life—at least temporarily.
“We should pursue this,” he declared. “At least while you are investigating. Clearly, I cannot control myself around you...”
“And I do not seem to have much control either.”
Valentine managed to keep his expression and shoulders straight, but the fact she suffered as much as he pleased him. If he was to have to suffer, at least he would not do it alone.
“I suggest we indulge this until we have discovered what happened to Mr. Harper.”
“Agreed.”
He narrowed his gaze at her.
“What is it?”
“That was surprisingly easy.”
“I am no fool and—” Her cheeks reddened. She turned her attention back to the crease in her gown.
“And?”
“Well, I have never indulged my widowhood as some women might. I am...eager to learn more.” Her eyes sparkled when she met his gaze and he had the awful feeling he’d just unleashed something so powerful even he could not control it no matter how small he kept his world.
“I like the sound of the library. And the chaise. And whatever else you may come up with.”
Dear God. What had he done?
