she said she always carried. Now it made more sense than he could have imagined. His heart ached for her, just as the fury she told him he shouldn’t feel anchored in his chest. “Then why are you telling me? Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Just listen.” The simplicity of her request quieted the anger inside him.
He cupped her face. “Tell me.”
“I was young, just seventeen. After he raped me, I left. I fetched Beatrix from school, and I’ve taken care of her ever since.” Her voice held no emotion but something burned in the depths of her blue eyes. “My husband, Sir Barnabus, was a kind and understanding man. He was also rather old and had no desire for the marriage bed.”
She’d never known a man’s touch in a caring manner. Harry was incredibly humbled that she trusted him. “You can still change your mind,” he said softly, gently caressing her face with his thumbs.
“I’m not going to. I’ve waited a very long time for the right moment. The right man. It’s now. You’re him. Will you take me upstairs?”
“Selina, my darling, I will take you anywhere you want to go.” He kissed her sweetly, and then he opened the door.
Selina couldn’t seem to stop her mouth from uttering secrets she’d long kept buried. No one knew what had happened to her when she’d been a governess except Beatrix. She was torn between feeling regret for having opened herself up to Harry and an overwhelming sense of liberation.
The latter felt much better, so she decided to grasp it with both hands, just as she intended to do with Harry. The sensible part of her brain told her to go home, to play the role she’d performed the past twelve years. But the part of her that was always pushed to the side, ignored and repressed, longed to be free to pursue her most basic desires: comfort, care, love.
Not that this was love. That was not an emotion she allowed. Not for anyone except Beatrix, because they only had each other.
Harry took her hand and led her up the backstairs to the first floor. His chamber was at the rear of the small house—smaller even than hers. Decorated in dark, rich tones of burgundy and sable, the room provoked a sense of comfort along with passion. Two things that might have been at odds, but seemed perfect when she thought of him.
He made her feel more relaxed than anyone in a very long time, maybe forever. While at the same time, he kept her on edge, both because of who he was and because of the attraction that smoldered between them. How different would things be if she were not a fraud and he were not a Runner?
He let go of her hand as they entered the bedchamber. Selina removed her gloves and then her hat, glancing around at where to put them. Harry took them from her and set them on a chair near the hearth.
Selina surveyed the room, but mostly focused on the bed against the left wall. Hung with burgundy draperies and covered with opulent bedcoverings, it reminded her of who he was. He might be a Bow Street Runner, but he was also the son of an earl.
That made it hard to forget who she was: a child of the streets with no knowledge of who her parents even were. She was worse than an orphan.
But she would forget. At least for now. She’d spent her life doing just that.
Removing his hat and gloves, Harry set them on a dresser. Then he removed his coat and laid it over the back of the chair. Seeing him in just his shirtsleeves made him seem even larger—his shoulders more broad, his presence more imposing. Not in an intimidating way, but an alluring one.
Selina stood near the end of the bed where there was a cushioned bench. Harry came and sat. “This is where I put my boots on every morning. And take them off every night.” He removed one, then the other, revealing his stocking-clad feet. “I don’t know that I’ve ever removed them in the middle of the afternoon.” He pulled off the stockings next and looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye.
She sat beside him and leaned over to unlace her boots. He quickly knelt before her. “Allow me.”
Selina sat up and let him take over removing her boots. He did so adroitly, his fingers moving while he kept his eyes