Dancing With Danger (Goode Girls #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,33

swallowed her tongue. Should she be anxious?

Was she?

Raphael paused long enough for her to take in a breath. “Have you ever seen a naked man before?”

She forced herself to drag her eyes back to his. “Of course, I have.”

His dark brow arched as darker questions emerged upon a growl. “When? Who?”

“Well... there’s David, of course, and various other statuary. I mean, Achilles is right there in Hyde Park for all to see.”

He seemed to relax, and when he looked at her, his eyes swam with limitless tenderness.

“There was also a medical text Felicity and I found in Titus’s office. We studied that most thoroughly. I know all there is to know about the male anatomy...medically speaking.”

A soft catch in his throat could have been a laugh, but he schooled his features admirably.

“But never...in the flesh?” he clarified.

That word. Flesh. It made her tingle.

She didn’t want to be untried. Couldn’t bring herself to admit her inexperience in front of a man who likely knew all there was regarding what they were about to do.

And so, to retreat from answering an uncomfortable question that would leave her open to his derision, she found herself babbling.

Starting a conversation.

At a time like this.

And actively hating herself as she did so.

“I wanted to tell you...I exonerated you to Chief Inspector Morley. Scotland Yard is no longer after you—well—for Mathilde’s murder, at least.”

“Oh?” His hands remained hooked in his waistband and made no move at all.

“He seemed convinced as I that you didn’t do it.”

“I suppose I owe you my gratitude, Detective Goode.” He smiled down at her.

“I showed him the sort of boots that left the print and... I drew diagrams.” Stop talking, you ninny, she ordered herself. Or he’ll never undo his trousers. “I was thinking perhaps tomorrow night we could both go to the Midwinter Masquerade, see who we can question regarding Mathilde.”

Lord, but she was bungling this.

She should have guessed that she would.

His hands fell away from his trousers. “You’re not going to the masquerade.”

“I don’t recall asking your permission.”

“I don’t recall mentioning to you where it was being held.”

For once, she bit her tongue.

Mathilde had informed her where it was being held, but he needn’t know that.

“Mercy.” He went to the bed and sat on it, taking one of her hands and allowing the other to keep her modesty, such as it was. “Women like you don’t belong at the Midwinter Masquerade. You’d regret it if you went.”

“I’m not an idiot. You needn’t threaten me.”

“I’m warning you. It’s not a savory affair. Surely you know that.”

“Everyone knows that,” she said with a droll look. “Are you going to be there?”

“If I were to attend, I might not be around long enough to make certain you’re safe.”

“Why not?”

For the first time, he couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. “If you find anything else out about the case, do not follow up on it yourself. Go to the authorities. To Morley.”

“But—”

“Please?”

She sighed...wondering if this man had ever begged another human being in his entire life.

She phrased her reply with the utmost care. “I will go to Morley with anything additional I learn about the case.” After the Midnight Masquerade, she amended silently. She was no retiring debutante who needed her delicate sensibilities protected along with her reputation. She knew better than to be alone with any of the reprobates who would surely attend. But it was the last plan Mathilde had ever made. She owed it to the woman to seek the truth there.

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her knuckles. “I consider it a personal favor.”

“You’re going to leave tonight,” she realized aloud. Of course, that’s what he’d been referring to when he said he would not be around. They weren’t proper lovers. This was no affair of the heart. He’d made certain to let her know that, even during his proposition.

Would you let me fuck you, Mercy Goode?

He said nothing about caring or cuddling.

Staying.

He would fuck her and then... What? Thank her promptly and dress?

Even sitting, he towered like some Roman god, skin like honey poured over steel.

And frozen with an aghast expression on his face.

“Not that I’m expecting you to stay,” she rushed on in one breath, attempting to appear nonchalant. “I am aware that such liaisons are conducted without much ceremony or expectation, and I wanted you to be comfortable knowing that you’ll get none from me. We shall...do what it is we’re here to do and take what—several minutes at least? Though I’ve