large for her delicate features. The effect intensified her dramatic expression as she seemed to take him in with identical wonder.
“Yes, you’ll do rather nicely, I think,” she breathed, apropos of nothing. Her voice, alternately husky and sweet, seemed incongruous with this place. There was temptation in it, but no sin. Innocence, but also desire.
She leaned forward on his lap, and he became very aware that he held her like a man held his bride when crossing the threshold.
The thought terrified him, and yet he couldn’t seem to let her go.
“Which one are you?” she asked as though to herself as she conducted a thorough examination of his features. “I can’t think of any biblical hero you’d resemble…and none with a mask, besides. I like a bit of mystery.”
He cocked his head at that. Biblical? This was all lunacy. He neither knew this woman nor did he want to. If she was a prostitute, she was a bloody good one, but he was no customer. He should lift her to her feet and send her on her way. He’d work to do and—
The soft scrape of her fingers against his shadow beard froze him in place. She watched her own hand with a dazed, almost unfocused gaze as she discovered the line of his jaw with a featherlight touch before cupping it in her small palm.
The tender curiosity demonstrated in the motion unstitched something hard within him.
“No…” she whispered. “No, you’re no hero.”
He could do little else than hold his breath, his every sense hanging upon her next words. What would be her verdict, he wondered? Would she compliment or condemn him?
“You’re an angel, aren’t you? An archangel, perhaps. Or a fallen one? A warrior…” she decided. “But… for which side?”
“I’m no angel,” he warned. “I’m nothing but a shadow.” Morley hated to disappoint the fanciful woman, hated to dispel whatever magic she was weaving through him with her touch. But it was better he told the truth. Better for them both.
“How ridiculous of me, I beg your pardon. I’d like to say that I’ve been caught up in all this fantasy, but it’d be a lie. I’m like this all the time.” At this she gave the ghost of a giggle, and the sound was more pleasant than the rush of the fountain beneath which they’d fallen. “You’re a very solid shadow, sir, if I may say so.” Her gaze finally focused to resolute. “How much?”
He frowned. “How much?”
“How much?” she encouraged meaningfully with a thrust of her sharp chin. “For you? The—er, footman told me to select any one of the Stags of St. James who were not previously engaged. And I’ve decided upon you. I want to make love to you—or rather, I want you to make love to me. But only i-if you don’t have other women—er—plans. I mean, that is, prior engagements.”
“Prior engagements?” he echoed.
Her hopeful features fell into a petulant pout. “Did someone already make an appointment at Hyde Park for tonight?”
“No,” he said carefully, wondering what to do next.
She brightened immediately. “Excellent. Then…tell me how this works. I’ve never…hired a man to make love to me before. And I confess I’m ignorant of how else to proceed rather than plainly. So, would you do me the kindness—er—the honor?”
Morley blinked down at her as three things had just become inexorably clear to him.
The first was this woman talked incessantly when nervous, and her babble was oddly endearing.
Second, she was from a wealthy family, likely blue-blooded and likely married.
And tertiary…he’d lived probably nearly forty years and had never met a woman he’d so keenly desired to fuck.
A hunger awakened within him with all the ferocity of a hibernating beast. It had teeth and claws and tore his decency to shreds before going to work on his restraint. His heart kicked at his ribs, which restricted in turn, relieving him of breath.
He was a moral man, goddammit. Lawful and without prejudice or vice. He’d lived as a veritable monk for more years than he cared to admit, and there was good reason for it. He should bloody well stand up and take his leave of her. Right now.
Except, what if she didn’t go home? What if she lingered in search of a different stag?
That wasn’t going to bloody happen. He wouldn’t let it.
He could throw her over his shoulder and return her to her father. Her husband. Or whatever woebegone individual had the responsibility for her safekeeping.
He made to do just that when another variable struck