not quite done.”
“It is perfect.”
“I still need to carve out his left ear.”
“It is perfect, Hugh,” she said with a greater insistence.
Joining her on the bed, Hugh took her mouth under his, and Lila melted into his embrace. There was nothing frantic or rushed or hurried about this kiss, but rather, a tender joining.
After he broke the kiss, Hugh lay back down beside her and drew her against him. “Who are you, Lila March?” He placed a lingering kiss at her temple.
Setting the flittermouse back where it’d previously rested, Lila angled her head to look at him. “I thought you didn’t want to know anything about me.”
“I was wrong. Indulge me.”
Some of the light in her eyes dimmed. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. “Tell me something no one knows about you.”
She drummed her fingertips on his chest, beating a little staccato against one of the tattoos he’d received as a young fighter in the streets. “Well, I sing and play pianoforte, and have since I was a small girl.” A mischievous little sparkle flickered in those fathomless brown depths, and she lowered her voice to a naughty whisper. “I sing tavern ditties.”
He barked with laughter. “What?” he asked when he could speak through his amusement.
She grinned and went on to sing, tipping her head in time to the up-tempo beat.
She’s a lady of pleasure, she’s a lady of joy
And she has no illusions of grandeur
You can get what you want when your money’s up front
She’s a sailor-lad’s port in a storm
A sailor-lad’s port in a storm.
She broke down, laughing with him. “My mother would be scandalized.”
It was a clue as to her origins. Of course, between her speech and the way with which she moved and carried herself, she was no woman of the rookeries. A merchant’s daughter, perhaps?
Either way, someone better than his sort.
“And your brother?”
She snorted. “Equally scandalized.”
“Just the one, then?”
“Just . . .” Her brow puckered as she flipped onto her side, matching him in repose so that they faced one another. “Are you looking for information about my family?”
He should have known better than to think her anything less than astute enough to gather what he’d intended.
Slipping her fingers into his, she joined their hands in a hold so very natural that heat spread throughout his chest. “You might have just asked. My brother is Henry. He’s stuffy and proper and boring.”
“In short, nothing like his sister.” A woman who, with her fierce displays of spirit and sharp wit, had put him under some kind of siren’s spell.
“Well, he was those things. He’s not them any longer. I’ve not painted him in the favorable light he deserves. He’s devoted and loving. He married a former performer and courtesan, and she’s had a thawing effect on him.”
“Ah.”
She drummed her fingertips along the top of his hand. “Let’s see. I also have a sister, who was widowed.” Some of the happiness faded from her eyes, and that distracted tapping of her fingers slowed to a stop. “Her late husband was killed in a fighting match.”
Suddenly, it made sense. The reason she’d sought him out. And her admission, it also served as an unnecessary reminder of the perils that came in fighting. “I . . . see.” How easily a man’s life could be snuffed out with nothing more than a tap to the temple. How many men had he witnessed fall as Lila’s brother-in-law had? How many times had he been on the other end of those lethal blows? His stomach muscles contracted. “And you still sought me out?”
“Because I still say there can be some good in fighting, Hugh.” She spoke with a confidence of one who believed what she spoke. How naive she was. Had he ever been that innocent? He’d wager his very life not.
“You’re wrong on that score.” Over the top of her head, his gaze tunneled on the bayonet propped behind his bedroom door. “Be it for sport or survival, there’s nothing good in it.”
“What of you?” Propping her chin on his chest, Lila shimmied up until they were at eye level.
“What of me?” he asked, stalling for time.
“What about your family?”
He stroked a small circle over the small of her bare back, and she arched into his touch like a contented cat. “I was an orphan.” Am? Did that state ever truly change for one who’d never had a family? “I’ve no remembrances of any parents.” Likely, he was some bastard-born son to a whore on the streets. “There were no