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“You were discarded.” The soft rumble of Evan’s words broke the quiet.
“I was.”
“It was hard?” His grey eyes centered on her, the kindness in them making her chest constrict.
“Yes. I was rather destroyed by it.” She paused, drawing a deep breath. “But beyond that, there was the terror.”
His hand dove under the lapel of his coat and he extracted a silver flask. He pulled the stopper, took a quick sip and then leaned forward, nudging the flask into her hand. “The terror?”
“I’d been cast out by the viscount. I’d ruined myself so thoroughly—my own choice, mind you—that there was no going back to my mother. My sister still had a chance at a respectable union—not with a peer, but a local vicar or a solicitor, or a soldier at the very least. And she needed every chance to make that so.”
Juliet sniffed at the opening of the flask. Whisky. She took a slow sip, the warmth of it burning down her throat. Potent whisky. She shouldn’t have expected anything less from Evan.
“So what was I to do next? The terror of that question held me in a hard vise for so long, it was all I could do to breathe in those days. I’d been discarded, no money, no home, no protector. I’d been exiled by my family and all my friends and acquaintances that could not touch the scandal of me. There was no help. I was a fallen woman and it was terror, every moment of every day.”
“Is that when you landed at the Den of Diablo?”
A shiver took a hold of her and she shook it off, then took another sip from the flask. The fire having already burned a path along her throat, this gulp slid easily down. “It was. By the graces, I ended up at the Den. It was just starting in those days—Hoppler was hiring anything that walked into his door. He hired me. That was where I found my people. People like him. People who were not just determined to survive, but to thrive. Creating something out of nothing. People who took loyalty as the only trait that measured a person. We catered to the men—the peers, the wealthy—of the world I left behind. It was easy for me to do, because by then I could see every one of them for what they were.”
“Which was?”
“Worthless, stinking heaps of refuse. Just idiotic men we could take advantage of—men that deserved to be taken advantage of.”
His head tilted down, his gaze intent on her. “You do realize not every peer is an arse?”
Her head cocked to the side. “In my opinion, yes. Yes, they are.”
“Then you haven’t met the right ones.”
“Believe me, I’ve met enough. And I’ve suffered more entitlement by the bastards than anyone should have to endure. I don’t need to meet more to test my hard-won knowledge on the matter.”
“So why continue to stay at the Den? Why not leave that life?”
“And do what?” Her hand flipped up, palm to the roof of the carriage. “Understand that question has nothing to do with money. I now have enough saved to last me the rest of my days.” Her hand fell back down to her lap and her fingertips played along the bottom edge of the flask. “It is that I can think of nothing that would fill my days. That would keep me busy.”
“Why do you need to stay busy?”
“If my mind is occupied, I do not think about what could have been. How my life could have turned.”
He leaned forward, the stature of him taking up all the open space as he rested his forearms on his knees, his stare sharp on her. “What are you, Juliet, twenty-four? Twenty-five? Your life could still turn any which way you want it.”
She met his look, refusing to fight reality. “No. I have long since come to terms with what I will have out of this life.”
“For a woman clearly in control of every aspect of her world, you have very little appreciation of possibilities.”
“Appreciation?”
He leaned farther forward, stretching across the space between them, and his lips met hers. Soft at first touch, but within a moment, raw and hungry, pulling her into the moment, pulling her into him. He broke, his lips brushing against her with his words. “Appreciation of possibilities might at least let you enjoy what is right in front of you. A man who wants nothing from you except what you’re willing to give. A man who knows what to do with your body.”
She pulled her head slightly back, their breath mingling. “You know what to do with my body?”
“Aye. I do.”
Carnal bolts shot through her core at the wanton purpose wrapped in his soft burr. Damn. She wanted him. Could already almost feel him deep inside of her, pulsating.
Words choked from her throat. “You seem confident.”
“I am.” He dropped onto one knee on the floor of the carriage as his fingers buried into the hair at the base of her neck, tugging her head to the side as his mouth moved downward, his tongue trailing along her neck. “You seem curious.”
