“But that’s what makes it perfect.” She leaned forward earnestly. “I could have attempted to talk any number of rakes or roués into an alliance, but I don’t wish to lie with someone who has already lain with twenty others. Nor would I like my first experience to be with someone whose face or touch repulses me. I simply wish to be wanted, by someone I also want, and enjoy a night or two of mutual pleasure.”
He stared at her over his steepled fingers and tried to think how best to proceed. Without ruining them both. He found everything about her—from her soft curves to her bookishness to her startling frankness—undeniably attractive, but that didn’t stop this proposal from being the worst idea he’d heard in years.
Miss Downing plainly failed to comprehend the irrevocability of what she was offering. What she was suggesting he become party to. She was an innocent in every sense. Her peers would not overlook such a transgression. She’d spent her life surrounded by books, not people. She might think that made her worldly, but it did not. The real world was a harsh place—an unfortunate reality she had yet to face, and with luck would never have to.
Presuming she didn’t follow through on this plan. Or proposition other men when she failed to seduce Xavier. His muscles tightened.
While she might think she had devised the perfect, mutually pleasurable, secret arrangement, she did not know him well enough to know whether he had slept with every whore on the Continent or whether he could be trusted to keep her debauched state a secret. She hadn’t even asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Nothing was ever as simple as it sounded, especially when trying to predict other people. The bon ton, for example. The things people said did not necessarily correlate with the things they felt. And the behavior one witnessed in another person did not necessarily represent what they did when no one else was around.
The fact that she was willing to put her reputation in the palm of his hands based on nothing more substantial than consecutive seats at an opera proved her naïvety—and the need to keep her innocence intact.
If she was hell-bent on ruin, he would simply have to talk her out of it.
“Miss Downing,” he began, keeping his voice as calm and rational as possible. “You are currently an innocent. Despite your or my personal feelings on the matter, young ladies such as yourself must remain virgins if they wish to continue being welcome members of Polite Society.”
Her chin thrust forward. “I never claimed I wished to be part of Polite Society. If I am now, ’tis only on the fringes. Wallflowers are more popular than me. Apart from my brother, the only individuals who can even recall my name are the three who joined us at the theatre last night.” She waved a hand. “Who, precisely, am I saving my maidenhead for?”
He blinked. “Your future husband?”
“What future husband?” Her eyes flicked skyward. “I’m not a particularly sought-after commodity on the Marriage Mart. I’m plump. I lack an impressive dowry. I’m well above the age most men find appealing. If I wish to experience passion, the only way of achieving that goal is by going after it myself.”
If she was plump, it was in all the right areas. However, admitting his attraction to her would only convince her that this plan was the correct path. She was looking in the wrong place. He was not the man for her.
“The right person won’t care about your age or your dowry, and you’re just as pretty as your peers. If you throw away your maidenhead—on me or any bloke—you will never find a husband.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I refuse to help you ruin your future.”
Her fists clenched briefly. “Whatever assets I might bring to a marriage, my innocence is the least valuable. Try to be logical. The groom takes his bride’s maidenhead in the first seconds, and then it’s gone. So why bother at all? Besides, how would he even know, if I never tell him?”
He arched a brow. “You would lie?”
“I will never be in that situation in the first place.” She pressed her lips into a white slash. “Most of the beau monde select their spouses because the union is advantageous to their pocketbook or social status. I’m not only at peace with mine—as a bluestocking and a spinster, I enjoy more freedoms than most—I would not give them up for a husband I didn’t love.” Her lips curved. “Fortuitously, I wouldn’t have to relinquish either for a mere lover.”
“Just your maidenhead.”
“By definition,” she pointed out dryly. “Is lovemaking not the point of taking a lover?”
Of course. But it didn’t signify.
The risk of jeopardizing her chances of attracting a future husband might not give her pause, but her idealistic views didn’t matter. He drummed his fingers. He would not be a willing party to her complete ruin. She should be on the arm of some venerable duke or earl, not offering her charms to a cynical ex-soldier. She was smart and beautiful. He didn’t deserve her esteem and he certainly didn’t deserve her virginity.
His chest tightened as he thought of all the ways it could go wrong. She was innocent. He was a monster. Any relationship with him could not end well. He had seen the darkest parts of the world. He had been the darkest part of the world. The shadows were where he belonged. Not with her.
Not even for one night.
“I’m not against marriage,” she said, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Or husbands. I simply don’t have the option. And after all this time, I’ve come to appreciate what I do have. A brother who loves me. Enough books and pin money to keep me clothed and entertained. The freedom to do as I please. If I marry, my time, money, and freedoms will depend wholly on the whim of my husband. I don’t think that’s a very good trade.” She held up a hand when he started to interrupt. “I could be wrong, I admit. That’s why I’m here.”
His eyebrows shot up. He was meant to be an experiment?
She clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “How do I know if the marriage bed is worth relinquishing the freedoms of spinsterhood? I cannot make an informed decision until I’ve experienced it for myself. If I dislike it, I’ll simply never do it again. With marriage, I wouldn’t have that luxury.”
“That’s your argument?” he said with a choked laugh. “You want me to have my wicked way with you just to find out if it’s awful?”
“Not at all. I want to experience passionate, carnal relations with someone I can’t resist. Someone strong.” Her eyes met his without flinching. “Someone honorable. Someone I crave.” Her low voice raked his soul. “And that man is you.”
His breeches tightened in response to her words. Bloody hell. His entire body thrummed with awareness. This woman was intoxicating. Her cheeks were pale, her lips flushed, but her sensual brown eyes gazed right into his soul.
Of course he wanted her. He would have to be made of stone not to want her. And after a speech like that, he had to summon every ounce of his willpower to stay in his chair rather than carry her to bed and give her exactly what she’d asked for. Slowly. Deliciously. His body ached to make her his.
But he was not who she thought he was. Nor could he be.
“You say you desire an honorable man. That you believe me to be honorable. But anyone who accepts the gift of your body without a care for your heart or your future is deplorable, not honorable.” This had gone on long enough. He rose from his chair. “I’ve secluded myself out here in this cottage to protect others from me, not to ruin them in my own home.”
She leaped to her feet in response. “You don’t want any woman, or you don’t want me? If I were a light-skirt, we would already be naked. Or is there nothing about me that attracts you, and I’ve been wasting my breath since I got here?”
He grasped her shoulders and let his harsh voice betray his passion. “Everything about you attracts me. You think you’re the only one with carnal dreams? There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t love to be in my shoes right now. To be this close to tasting your lips. To cover your body with mine.”
Her nostrils flared. “There isn’t a man in London who even knows
my name.”
He stepped back and shoved his thumbs into his waistband. “They know your name. They also know your brother would thrash them within an inch of their lives if they so much as touched you.”
A choked laugh gurgled in her throat. “Isaac?”
The shock on her face indicated she’d never considered there might be any other explanation beyond her “plump” frame and modest dowry.
Xavier leaned closer. “You have no idea how tempting your offer is. Just like you have no idea what you’re truly giving me permission to do with your mouth and your body.”
“Don’t I?” She fished a small sketchbook from her reticule. “I’m not going to be shocked by the mechanics of lovemaking. Not when I’ve studied an illustrated guide. Page fourteen: Riding backward. Page twenty-seven: Oral stimulation. Page—”
His lungs froze. How in Hades had she come into possession of such a thing? He snatched the book from her hand and threw it against the wall. “Enough.”
“It’s never enough.” She grabbed the lapels of his coat and lifted her face to his. Her body fit perfectly against him. “Show me what I’m missing.”
He couldn’t move. Dear Lord, he could not push her away.
“One night,” she whispered. “I’m already here. What happens next is up to us.” She touched her lips to the edge of his jaw. “Send me away in the morning, but first give me one night of passion.”
Her voice was soft, her eyes shuttered. Her mouth right there for the taking. Her body...
He forced himself to step back while he still had the strength to do so.
“I shall not be your experiment, Miss Downing. If you throw away your future, it won’t be on me.”
Chapter 6
Jane pivoted away from Captain Grey as heat flooded her face. He didn’t want her. She couldn’t ignore the nausea in her belly or the hole in her chest. She had made her case with every wile available to her. Logic, physicality… even pleading.
And she could not have been rejected more soundly.
Failure cut deep. She crossed to the far wall on stiff legs and bent to retrieve the fallen sketchbook. Its long guarded illustrations had robbed her of countless nights of sleep. Now she couldn’t even bear to look at it. She shoved it back into her reticule with trembling fingers.
The depictions of pleasure therein would have to remain theoretical.
She laid her reticule on the mantel and quit the parlor without a word. Captain Grey did not stop her. Why would he? There was nothing left to discuss.
Egui’s abandoned wicker basket lay at the end of the corridor. If she didn’t get the cat back in his basket, he would wreak havoc on Captain Grey’s home. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Corralling Egui was a task she was familiar with. Challenging. Perilous. But not impossible.
Who would’ve believed it easier to catch a demon cat than the interest of a lonely soldier?
She made her way to the end of the hall and looped her arm through the handle of the basket. With luck, Egui hadn’t destroyed the rest of Captain Grey’s cravats during the course of their disastrous conversation. The evening would be uncomfortable enough without also owing the man an entirely new wardrobe.
“I need to find the cat,” she called over her shoulder. “May I hunt in any open rooms?”
“You may do as you please,” he replied from only a few feet away.
She spun about.
He stood at the doorway to the parlor, watching her. His blue gaze was inscrutable.
After a heartbeat, he disappeared back into the parlor.
She straightened her spine and smiled grimly. She could not do as she pleased. Not here and not anywhere. She couldn’t have the man she wanted. Couldn’t find the devil cat she didn’t want. She couldn’t even hop into a hack and go back home.
Her motives might have been foolish, but her plan had been sound. Too sound. Blasted snowstorm. It had seemed so fortuitous at the time, and now… Just another cosmic mockery.
Her brother was two hundred miles away. The servants suspected nothing. She’d changed hacks every half hour to make certain no single person knew where she’d been or where she was going. The Dog & Whistle had indeed been over capacity, providing her with a legitimate need for close, safe lodging. The relentless snow ensured her welcome inside the cottage.
And now she couldn’t leave.
She slipped off her half boots in order to tread through the cottage more quietly. Calling to the cat would only give him fair warning. Her only hope was to catch him unawares—before he did the same to her.
First, she tried the kitchen. This was where Egui had somehow destroyed Captain Grey’s cravat… Ah. There it was. A disgusting clump of wet fur and shredded linen. Right next to a similar pile of what once had been a tea towel of some kind. Lovely. Her brother’s cat was a never-ending joy.
She stood on her toes to inspect the top of every surface and dropped to her knees to check below each stick of furniture. No sign of Egui. She returned to the corridor and shut the kitchen door tight behind her.
The next open doorway led to what must be the servants’ quarters. The beds were made perfectly and the fireplaces had not been lit. Jane hugged herself against the chill. The empty rooms were far too cold for her, but Egui was blessed with a layer of steel-gray fur. The temperature would suit him fine, and his dusky coat would be almost impossible to detect in the quickly waning light.
Jane checked above every wardrobe and beneath every bed, but could find no trace of the missing cat.
She rarely did until it was too late.
Much like her interaction with Captain Grey, she supposed. She hadn’t been able to protect herself from being wounded because she hadn’t anticipated the source of the blow. Non-action hurt just as much as action. Perhaps even more so.
Her shoulders slumped. The wounds from Egui’s sharp little claws would clear up in a week or two. But Captain Grey’s outright rejection would leave its mark forever.
She sealed the door to the servants’ quarters and crossed the hall into the dining room. A tall mahogany sideboard lined the perimeter. An oblong table with eight wooden chairs stood in the center. No hiding places. No sign of Egui. Jaw set, she stalked into the next room—and abruptly stopped in the doorway.
A library. Small, but comfortable. A chaise longue and a wingback chair faced the unlit fireplace.
The bookcases were few, but contained a respectable number of titles. She couldn’t help but peruse them. Politics… agriculture… classics… Fanny Hill! She snatched the volume from the shelf and held it to her chest.
An erotic novel! She had longed to read such a thing, but hadn’t wanted to have to hide more than one book from her brother. There might not be explicit imagery within these pages, but anything calling itself Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure was something she wouldn’t wish to explain how it came to be in her possession some night over dinner.
Not that it was appropriate material here, either.
She slid the book back into its slot amongst the others. Reading about fictional erotic encounters while under the same roof as Captain Grey would only make her yearn for him all the more. ’Twas better for both of them to have her curiosity remain unsatisfied.
Although it was deliciously tempting to borrow it just for the night...
Forcing herself to abandon the book, she inspected above and within each shelf in search of the missing cat. Nothing. Not even a telltale gray hair to indicate he’d ever entered the room. She exited the library and shut the door firmly behind her. And swallowed hard.
The last remaining room was Captain Grey’s bedchamber. She hesitated at the open doorway.
Flickering orange light emanated from the fireplace, giving the room a soft, warm glow. Directly across was a large four-poster bed with thick emerald curtains. An armoire stood to one side, and a table bearing a pitcher and basin stood on the other. Yet she couldn’t take her eyes from the bed.
What might it have been like, to join
him beneath the blankets? Hot, obviously. Thrilling. Unforgettable.
But she would never know.
She clenched her fingers against the unbidden twist in her stomach. The truth couldn’t be plainer. Captain Grey wasn’t just an ex-soldier. He was a war hero. A leader of men. If he wanted something, he took it.
Therefore, he didn’t want her. If he did, she’d already be naked.
She set down the basket and knelt to peer beneath the bed. No cat. She tightened her jaw. Where in the world was he hiding?
A thump sounded in the doorway and she sprang to her feet in alarm.
Not Egui. Excitement infused her veins. Captain Grey. Delivering her trunk to his bedchamber.
Chapter 7
Xavier took a healthy step back from Miss Downing’s trunk. She was standing in his bedchamber. He should be far, far away. Not staring at her long, shimmering hair or imagining the feel of those voluptuous curves beneath his hands. Her untouched innocence attracted him just as viscerally as her beauty. He looked away. She was not for him.
He shoved his hands behind his back to shield them from her—and from temptation. He didn’t need to glimpse the silken unmentionables she might have packed for a seduction. He didn’t want to picture her alone in his bed, naked, and thinking of him.
Nor could he imagine how he was meant to make it through the long wintry night with his sanity—and her virginity—intact.
He kept his voice authoritative and firm. “My cottage has no guest quarters, so you’ll have to sleep in the master chamber. I, of course, shall take the servants’ quarters.”
Miss Downing’s rosy lips fell open and a flash of renewed hurt dulled her eyes. “You don’t intend to share your bed with me?”
He rubbed his face. “Forgive me for pointing out that I didn’t even intend to share my home with you. If you have developed any illusions about me or my character, please do away with them posthaste. I live alone for a reason. As an innocent, you may not fully understand the ramifications of your proposal, but I am not fit to be a husband and I shan’t be your despoiler.”
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 132