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I would rather have tried and failed than be riddled with doubts and regrets over what might have been.
Fully aware that her request—her actions—might precipitate other regrets, she summoned what little courage she possessed and pressed forward. “I shall be out of your life within the week. You shall neither see me nor hear from me again. Might you grant me a parting favor?”
He said nothing—the silence hanging between them like an unwanted houseguest.
She licked her parched lips.
Timothy’s gaze dipped to her mouth, and the black centers of his eyes grew, making the lovely rings of green almost nonexistent.
“The favor?” He croaked the words, his voice deep and raspy, the sort that scraped along the skin, sending gooseflesh on end.
Her heart pounded against her ribcage, silent and fierce. Words clustered together on her tongue like a herd of sheep, and the image of her future in the country urged her forward.
“One night of passion. With you.”
* * *
Blink.Blink, blink, blink.Timothy shook his head, trying to clear it. Surely he had misheard her. This from the woman who believed merely lying next to a man, fully clothed no less, would lead to pregnancy? “Have you run mad?”
He took a dangerous step forward. “Do you even know what you’re asking?”
“I believe so, yes.”
He laughed, the sound of it brittle to his own ears. “Go home, Priscilla. I have no desire to deflower you and then send you off to marry another man.”
“You lie!”
The accusation punched the air from his lungs. “Not the best approach to seduce a man.”
“Do you deny you desire me?”
He turned away. “We’ve had this conversation. Ad nauseam.”
“I want to hear you say it. Do you deny it? Say yes, and I shall go. But do me the courtesy of speaking the truth.”
He spun and pulled her into his arms, the passion which she sought raging dangerously close to erupting. “Yes, I desire you, though I wish it were not so. Giving in to these desires can only bring pain, Priscilla. To us both. Don’t you see? I cannot offer you anything more than physical pleasure.”
If he expected her to pull from his embrace and run away, he was sorely mistaken. She remained rooted before him, no trace of fear in her eyes.
Fool.
Although he wasn’t certain if he should apply such an insult to her or himself.
“I have no misconceptions regarding your feelings or rather the lack thereof, sir. You’ve made it abundantly clear you do not—cannot love me. I accept that fully and without reservation. All I ask is that you leave me with one fond memory to live upon while I spend my days in the country, just as you have memories of a girl named Emma.”
“And your knowledge of the act?” He had to know what she expected lest he go too far. Lord, was he truly considering her outlandish request? Hadherun mad?
“More than it had been. I made . . . inquiries in the country before returning to London. Mrs. Wilson, the woman I assisted in childbirth, was more than helpful.”
The flush of her cheeks, visible even in the low candlelight, indicated she spoke the truth.
Foolishly, he appealed to her reason. “You’re not concerned your Mr. Netherborne will know?”
“I don’t plan to tell him.”
As if it were that simple. He almost barked a laugh at the serious expression on her face. Good God, must he spell it out? “I meant that you no longer would be untouched.”
Her eyes widened. “He could tell that?”
