between her legs.
Anya’s levity fled. He’d spent himself inside her. Considering the timing of her monthly courses, there was a slim chance she could fall pregnant. The thought of carrying his child didn’t fill her with dismay. On the contrary, she’d like nothing better than to bear his child, but she was damned if she’d do it outside of wedlock. Unconventional she might be, but she refused to become notorious throughout Europe as the “unmarried, pregnant princess.”
It was time to bring him up to scratch.
Chapter 40.
Seb stepped back from Anya’s naked body, cursing himself in every language he knew. The explosion that had robbed him of his hearing had clearly addled his brain too.
No, that wasn’t true. It was Anya who addled his brain. He had no control, no finesse when it came to her. The scent of her made him fevered. The touch of her skin sent him over the edge into full-blown insanity. He was putty in her hands.
Shame and regret poured through him like acid. God, she was a princess, practically a virgin, and he’d just tupped her over his desk as if she were a common dockside whore. Christ, they hadn’t even made it to his bed. He was still wearing his shirt and breeches. He was an animal, unfit to call himself a gentleman.
His gut clenched. For the first time in his life, he’d been so carried away by passion that he’d forgotten to use protection and spilled himself inside a woman.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He closed the front of his breeches with shaking hands as she straightened and retrieved the robe from where it had fallen to the floor. She shrugged it on, keeping her eyes downcast, and he regarded her warily, trying to gauge her reaction. Was she angry? Insulted? Ashamed? He gestured awkwardly toward his bedroom door. “There’s water and linens through there. If you want to, ah, freshen up.”
His voice was a husky croak, and he cleared his throat. God, he sounded like some callow youth who’d never spoken to a woman in his life.
She inclined her head. “Thank you.”
She sailed past him, head held high. The overlong robe trailed after her like a royal train, and it occurred to him that he’d never seen her look more regal. Or more out of his reach. The door to his bedroom clicked closed, and he stood there in sudden bemusement. He’d imagined her in his bedchamber a thousand times, but never when he was banished to the sitting room.
He heard the faint splash of water as she poured the ewer into the basin, then various rustling sounds. His anxiety grew with every moment. God, he was such an idiot. He’d messed everything up right royally. The unintentional pun made him flinch.
He loved her. He needed her in his life. He wanted her with a desperation that would have been funny if it weren’t so painful.
He raked one hand through his hair as despair and blind panic churned in his gut. He wanted to marry her, more than anything in the world, but if he proposed now, she’d think it was only because he was trying to be noble, trying to protect her reputation if she should fall pregnant.
He didn’t want her to accept him because she feared the consequences of being an unwed mother. His own mother had married his father for precisely that reason—to legitimize him and avoid a scandal—and while he was very grateful for his position as a duke’s son, theirs had not been a successful union. Ben and Alex had been right—marrying for anything other than love was a surefire recipe for disaster.
He wanted Anya to marry him because she loved him too. Was that too far beyond the realms of possibility? He paced over to the fireplace then back to the desk.
Sod it. He couldn’t let her leave without at least trying to win her. He wasn’t a coward. If she refused him, so be it, but he couldn’t let her return to Russia without asking, couldn’t go the rest of his life wondering what if.
Yes, he was a selfish idiot to even ask. She was far above his touch, not just socially but morally too. She was a thoroughly decent human being. She taught harlots to read, for God’s sake, whereas he ran a gaming hell catering to despots and gamesters.
But he’d never met anyone with whom he was more compatible. She wasn’t a woman who needed constant coddling. She was utterly competent in her own right, a