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“Do I look like a punctual man to you?” He gestured to his scruffy appearance.
He sat at the cherry wood table, as far away from her as he could get. If he didn’t control himself, he’d be upon her in seconds, ignoring whatever it was she needed to tell him.
Poor Julian deserved better.
She seemed oblivious to his internal torment and swayed her hips as she walked toward him, taking a seat so close that their knees were practically touching. She was infuriating. She tweaked the lace of her cap, pressed her lips together and her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath.
Whatever it was, it could not be good.
“Charlotte—the maid with whom I share a room—knows something.”
“Something?”
“Very well. She knows it all.”
“All?” He sounded stupid but he couldn’t fathom how else to react. The words were like a punch to the gut—a huge fist pressing deep, snatching his heart and slamming it fiercely against his ribcage.
Someone knew of their ruse. And what had he told her about her being discovered?
She would have to leave.
Chastity glanced at her worn fingernails. “I must leave.”
No.
He wanted to bellow the word. No. She couldn’t leave, not yet. Not when he still desired her every moment of the day. Not when things were…
Damn it. She really did need to leave. This was getting dangerous.
“What exactly does she know?” he asked rather than doing what he should have done and agreeing with her.
“That I am the duke’s daughter and that I’m investigating Mr. Harper’s death.”
“Good God. Did you just confess all?”
Chastity fixed him with a glare. “She is no fool. I could lie to her no longer.”
You could have done, he wanted to rage. Lied and continued our ruse. Then he wouldn’t have to think about never having her in his arms again. He curled his fingers into the smooth wood of the arm of his chair.
“She will not tell anyone, I vow,” she said, lowering her voice to a delicate, soft whisper that made chills run along his skin. He shifted, pushing his chair back so he wasn’t so close. He couldn’t think with her so close. How was he to make a sensible decision when every breath he took was scented with her essence?
“How can you be sure?”
She cocked her head, strands of her brunette hair falling from her pins. “I see you’d rather I shout this secretive information at you.”
He scowled. “I’m not deaf. I can hear you just fine without you clamoring on top of me.”
Her brows rose. “I hardly think I am clamoring and you did not mind me clamoring the other day.”
Images of flesh upon flesh, her hot breath whispering over his skin, the myriad ways they had explored each other seared his mind. He could not fathom how to let her go when his mind was so warped by their lovemaking.
Hell, by her very existence.
“If this information gets out…”
“It will not. I trust her.”
Valentine snorted.
