Deeper in Sin by Sharon Page

screeching laughter flew out of the pub at his attempt to walk.
    â€œIs that a man? I can’t tell, for his face is as dark as the night. Heavens, his skin is black with dirt and soot under his cap.”
    â€œI believe so,” Cary answered.
    Built like an ox, the man lumbered down the street. Then he stopped, lifted his head, and peered in the direction of the woman.
    The woman crooked her finger. “Aren’t ye a strapping one?” she cooed. “Want a little company this evenin’? This is me price.” She named a figure—a few pennies.
    Cary glanced at Miss Ashley. Her face had paled, and her eyes were wide.
    â€œHere,” the woman coaxed, reaching for the man’s beefy hand. “We’ll slip around the side of the pub, in that little opening there, where it’s quietlike, and I’ll lift me skirts for ye.”
    â€œShe cannot do that! Out on the street!” Miss Ashley’s face grimaced with sympathy for the poor woman.
    â€œShe probably only wants enough for a glass of gin,” Cary said.
    â€œWell, something should be done.”
    Cary sighed. “I donate to charities that help women like her. But they are often in the grip of an addiction. No amount of help, caring, or kindness can save them then.”
    â€œI will not end up this way. Not selling my body for pennies on the sidewalk.” She gazed at him. “I will be careful. Just because these other women fell into disaster, doesn’t mean I will. For a start, I won’t drink gin.”
    â€œGin is an escape, especially when you are doing something you have to do that torments your soul.”
    â€œIf you want to save me, all you have to do is make me yours.” Her eyes met his.
    God, she was lovely. Her eyes were the most intriguing color he’d seen. Her irises were a deep green, but rimmed in paler green, which made them look as iridescent and ever-changing as a forest of sun-dappled leaves. Long dark lashes swept over them. She was no demure lady; she was tremendously expressive. And impetuous. And hard to shock.
    In bed, she would be amazing. He could tell. She had sexual curiosity—which would make her a superb sexual partner.
    But he didn’t debauch innocents.
    It made him angry with himself that he felt desire for her.
    He, of all people, should not behave like a lust-driven animal.
    â€œWhy can’t you kiss me? I can’t understand why a young and healthy gentleman cannot make love. It makes no sense? Or—oh, is it that you prefer other men?”
    â€œNo, that isn’t it,” he said sharply. “I have made love to plenty of women in my life. But then—then something happened to me that changed me.”
    â€œYou were a prisoner of war. But why would that make you not want to kiss?”
    â€œStop.”
    But she gripped the sleeves of his jacket and launched up onto her toes. “I know you desire me. I felt your desire for me when you were pressed against me on the wall, when I was watching through the peephole.”
    â€œI don’t ravish virgins,” he said sharply.
    â€œThen you are in luck because I am not a virgin.”
    The duke’s brows shot up. “I don’t believe it. You screamed your innocence in the way you kissed me.”
    Sophie flinched. Had she been so terrible? “But it’s true! I—I was married.” It was an awful lie, especially since Samuel was killed before he could marry her.
    But she had to go on and make the duke believe her. “So you see, I was married, and I had . . . relations with my husband.”
    He raked his hand through his hair. “But you are still innocent. Innocence isn’t a physical thing. Having a husband gave you some sexual experience, but it didn’t dim your starry-eyed sweetness. Angel, this isn’t a game of semantics. You had a husband—what happened to him? He didn’t desert you, did he? I’ll have his head on a