didn’t make a jackass of himself by reaching for her hand so he could jerk it back and press it to himself.
No, he stood there, trying to control his ragged breathing as she glared up at him, her face flushing a delicate rose tint.
“Who?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. Well, he supposed his tone had been rather sharp. The word had forced itself out. He was as stunned at his demanding tenor as she. But who was this man? A gentleman? Someone of importance in Philadelphia? Certainly she would have been noticed. Her beauty would bring all traffic on Main Street to a stop on market day. Certainly any gentleman possessed of any fire at all would have pursued her. Offered her anything.
So why wasn’t she ensconced in a cozy little house somewhere, cocooned in luxury?
Why was she here with him now?
The memory flashed into his mind. The memory of her sad, sad eyes those first moments in the bookseller’s shop, when she had touched him. Touched him deep, deep inside and he had felt, for the first time in years, how empty he was, how cold.
A sudden tightening of his chest forced him to slow his breathing. The flare of his arousal ebbed as one clear thought penetrated the earlier haze of lust.
Someone had taken this audacious, wild girl and warmed themselves with the fire of her passion. And then they had thrown her away.
Carelessly.
Callously.
Without even a congé to lift her out of her poverty, to free her from obligation to family and a dreary, duty-bound life of drudgery that her fiery nature would never, ever be able to bear without that bleak sadness in her eyes.
“Who?” he repeated, more gently this time, for he did wish to know the man’s identity. Because if a gentleman were to blame, the brigand ought to be called to account.
The rose color drained from her face. She went completely ashen, her eyes widening. It was as though the softness of his tone had stricken her. She shook her head slowly.
What the devil? He had entered this chamber, intent on first coming to a mutually agreeable contract between them. And then he had intended to have her. To sate himself on her. To find some peace from the maddening fire of lust she had aroused in him.
Now she was staring at him with that bleak, sad look.
It was wrenching his guts. Flaying him.
Good God, would he really call her former lover out?
Well, it was a certainty now.
“Beth.” He reached out gently to touch her cheek.
She compressed her lips and turned away.
A burning sensation went twisting through his guts. “Why must it be some deep, dark secret if you’ve had—”
She whirled on him, her blue eyes blazing. “He was my lover, not my protector. Never my protector.”
The telling catch in her voice on the word “he” increased the burn twisting through Grey’s belly. “You loved him.”
Damn, that sounded like an accusation.
“He is unimportant now.” She spoke quickly, avoiding his eyes.
She had loved this unknown man. Or fancied she loved him. Which amounted to the same thing. This man might still be in her life. Fucking her at his leisure. The thought rested on Grey like a suit of needles.
It shouldn’t matter. Her life away from him was none of his business.
God. He recalled all his maudlin thoughts of only a few moments past. They were strangers, really. Just a man and a woman who had come together for a few hours’ release. A few hours’ escape from the boredom of their lives.
So, she’d had a gentleman provider before and she’d been too young at the time and been bruised in the ending. Perhaps she’d had a taste of luxury and missed it. Maybe she had targeted Grey himself because of his great wealth. No matter, he was certainly willing to shower her with a bit of it. That was the sort of arrangement he favored the most. One where there were no sentimental feelings to muddy everything. He would not make her a lot of emotional promises. She would always know where she stood with him and he would treat her generously
No, he stood there, trying to control his ragged breathing as she glared up at him, her face flushing a delicate rose tint.
“Who?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. Well, he supposed his tone had been rather sharp. The word had forced itself out. He was as stunned at his demanding tenor as she. But who was this man? A gentleman? Someone of importance in Philadelphia? Certainly she would have been noticed. Her beauty would bring all traffic on Main Street to a stop on market day. Certainly any gentleman possessed of any fire at all would have pursued her. Offered her anything.
So why wasn’t she ensconced in a cozy little house somewhere, cocooned in luxury?
Why was she here with him now?
The memory flashed into his mind. The memory of her sad, sad eyes those first moments in the bookseller’s shop, when she had touched him. Touched him deep, deep inside and he had felt, for the first time in years, how empty he was, how cold.
A sudden tightening of his chest forced him to slow his breathing. The flare of his arousal ebbed as one clear thought penetrated the earlier haze of lust.
Someone had taken this audacious, wild girl and warmed themselves with the fire of her passion. And then they had thrown her away.
Carelessly.
Callously.
Without even a congé to lift her out of her poverty, to free her from obligation to family and a dreary, duty-bound life of drudgery that her fiery nature would never, ever be able to bear without that bleak sadness in her eyes.
“Who?” he repeated, more gently this time, for he did wish to know the man’s identity. Because if a gentleman were to blame, the brigand ought to be called to account.
The rose color drained from her face. She went completely ashen, her eyes widening. It was as though the softness of his tone had stricken her. She shook her head slowly.
What the devil? He had entered this chamber, intent on first coming to a mutually agreeable contract between them. And then he had intended to have her. To sate himself on her. To find some peace from the maddening fire of lust she had aroused in him.
Now she was staring at him with that bleak, sad look.
It was wrenching his guts. Flaying him.
Good God, would he really call her former lover out?
Well, it was a certainty now.
“Beth.” He reached out gently to touch her cheek.
She compressed her lips and turned away.
A burning sensation went twisting through his guts. “Why must it be some deep, dark secret if you’ve had—”
She whirled on him, her blue eyes blazing. “He was my lover, not my protector. Never my protector.”
The telling catch in her voice on the word “he” increased the burn twisting through Grey’s belly. “You loved him.”
Damn, that sounded like an accusation.
“He is unimportant now.” She spoke quickly, avoiding his eyes.
She had loved this unknown man. Or fancied she loved him. Which amounted to the same thing. This man might still be in her life. Fucking her at his leisure. The thought rested on Grey like a suit of needles.
It shouldn’t matter. Her life away from him was none of his business.
God. He recalled all his maudlin thoughts of only a few moments past. They were strangers, really. Just a man and a woman who had come together for a few hours’ release. A few hours’ escape from the boredom of their lives.
So, she’d had a gentleman provider before and she’d been too young at the time and been bruised in the ending. Perhaps she’d had a taste of luxury and missed it. Maybe she had targeted Grey himself because of his great wealth. No matter, he was certainly willing to shower her with a bit of it. That was the sort of arrangement he favored the most. One where there were no sentimental feelings to muddy everything. He would not make her a lot of emotional promises. She would always know where she stood with him and he would treat her generously
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