Deeper in Sin by Sharon Page Page A

platter if he did.”
    He sounded so angry. “He died. At Waterloo.” That was the truth. It made it easier to forget the bald-faced lie she’d just given him.
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œSo you don’t have to worry about ruining me.” She went up to him, then squirmed right up against him and put her arms around his neck. He pulled them off.
    â€œI’m not going to have sex with you,” he said flatly. “Desecrate the wife of a noble soldier? I could never do that.”
    She was confused. Somehow she had made everything worse by her revelation that she wasn’t a virgin.
    â€œYou said you won’t do it because of terrible memories. I could heal you.”
    â€œGod, no, you can’t—”
    He broke off. Tensed. The duke stood utterly still. He reminded her of an animal scenting prey—she had lived all her life in the country. He had the same expectant stillness, the same coiled tension, of an animal ready to attack. “But I know you are hurting,” she went on. “I want to help.” She did. It was more than just becoming his mistress. He’d saved her, and he was obviously in pain, like a lion with a thorn in its paw.
    She wanted to pull out the thorn.
    Caradon hadn’t answered. He’d cocked his head as if listening to the breathing of the stews.
    â€œI want to help you—” she began again.
    â€œQuiet. Get back, behind me,” Caradon growled quietly. He was staring at the dark alley lane a few feet away from them.
    â€œWhat is it?” she whispered, but the duke grabbed her and hauled her off her feet, forcing her to stand behind him.
    Then Sophie heard a muted, shuffling sound. Footsteps coming from the shadows of the alley.

4
    Here I was, a courtesan who had snared a most handsome marquis, yet I was slipping away from my lovely new house to meet an arrogant viscount who had done nothing for me except give me physical pleasure.
    He was a most irritating man. I did not even like him.
    He would tie my wrists together with a white silken cord, and I would wait on the bed while he undressed before me. I would be utterly nude beneath my cloak (though I did wear stockings, for to don slippers without stockings seemed quite wrong).
    The Marquis of N——was without flaw. My desire to flit away from the charming nest he had provided this pretty bird was without explanation. Goodness, on the first night he came to me, he brought me a necklace of twenty diamonds. I counted each one, doubting his claim. Of course, it was an offering of apology.
    But I was like a poor opium eater—the pleasure in bed I received from the viscount was a habit and a need I could not conquer.
    And even though I knew he would be the architect of my downfall, I continued to return to him. . . .
    Until the night I met the perfect duke. Suddenly, I had a choice—the fulfillment of all my dreams and hopes and plans in the person of the duke, or the fleeting physical satisfaction provided by my glorious auburn-haired viscount. An easy choice to make . . .
    Yet I could not do it.
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    â€”From an unfinished manuscript entitled A Courtesan Confesses by Anonymous
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    His soldier’s instincts knew something was approaching even before Cary heard the footsteps or saw the flicker of movement in the shadows.
    Miss—he still thought of her as a “Miss”—Ashley’s face went white. She began to gasp. “De—” Then she broke off and whispered low as if reassuring herself. “It’s not. It couldn’t be.”
    Interesting, but there was no time to pursue.
    Bouncing lightly on his feet, Cary wished he had a damned weapon. He’d brought nothing. No pistol. No blade. Not even his walking stick with its secreted sword.
    Three men emerged from the dark alley.
    The center man was short, fat, potbellied, and bowlegged, with missing teeth and a smug smile. The flanking one on the right was tall