He handed her the men’s shirt, and she put her hand on his. “Does it really have to just be today?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He let go of the shirt, taking his hand from beneath hers, and walked away from the bed. “I told you why.”
His wife.
Anne pulled the shirt on and found the pin to hold the V closed over her breasts. After tucking the hem into her waistband, she drew on the waistcoat. “I’m not asking you to love me,” she said quietly. “I’m only asking to continue what we share. You enjoy being with me, don’t you?”
He stood near the table, his back to her. “I do.”
But he didn’t want to. He felt guilty because of the love he’d borne his wife.
“I’m not asking you to stop loving her either. I would never do that. Nor would I ever wish to take her place.”
“You could never.” He repeated the words she’d said to him earlier, but they carried an entirely different meaning, one that closed a door rather than opened one.
When her waistcoat was buttoned, she slid off the bed and plucked up the cravat. A small mirror hung near the door. She went to it and tied the cloth around her neck. The knot was far simpler than what she’d done earlier, and frankly terrible, but it was the best she could manage at the moment.
Her hair was an absolute disaster. On its best day, the locks did as they pleased, but today, with the certain thrashing she’d done on the bed, she looked as if a bird had plucked every curl free in an attempt to find the makings for a nest. “You could have just used my hair as the nest,” she muttered.
“What did you say?”
She turned from the mirror to see he’d also pivoted and was now looking at her. “I was remarking on the state of my hair. It’s a good thing I’m merely trying to hide it under a hat.”
Returning to the bed, she found the pins that had been dislodged and set about securing it back atop her head in the most severe style possible.
He came to the bed and picked up his coat, drawing it on with ease. Pity, she liked looking at him in his shirtsleeves. His dark red waistcoat had stretched taught across his shoulder blades, accentuating the muscles beneath. She wanted to see them bare. She wanted to see all of him that way.
Tucking the last pin into her hair, she snagged his hand and held it up to her chest. She looked into his eyes. “Is there no part of you that you can share with me?”
His nostrils flared. “I have shared all that I can.”
“I’m not sure I believe you. I would take any part of you. I lo—”
He pressed his hand against her mouth. “Don’t. Please.”
There was a scent on his fingers. She nodded, and he removed his hand. “Is that how I…smell?”
His eyes darkened, the orange spot smoldering. “I wanted to put my mouth on you and nearly lost that battle. If there was ever going to be a next time, that’s what I would do.” He leaned forward, whispering, “Then I would kiss you, and you would taste yourself.”
Heat shot through her and settled in her sex, renewing her desire. “Well, that’s not fair to tease me like that.”
“Christ, Anne.” He ran his hand through his hair and pivoted so that he was once again in profile. “How the hell am I supposed to keep myself from you when you are so damned tempting?”
Joy bloomed in her chest. “I’d rather you didn’t.” She moved to stand in front of him. “There is no one else I want. I can be very patient. I tried to move on before, to do what I should instead of what I wanted. I’m not going to do that this time.”
He touched her cheek, his lips lifting briefly in a sad smile. “You deserve far better than me. I have nothing to offer you—nothing you truly want. I am trying to be the gentleman you think I am.”
“Then I’m right about that at least. Perhaps I’ll be right about more.” She winked at him and went to fetch her hat. “I suppose we should be getting back to Mayfair.” There was no point disguising the disappointment she felt.
He stared at her before going to pick up his own hat. Setting it atop his crown, he shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Anything you like. Just name the day and the place, and I will be there. In the meantime, I’ll be waiting.”
She left the room, knowing he followed her close behind, and hoped that wasn’t the last time they would be alone together. If it was, she at least had a memory that would make her smile.
But that wasn’t enough. She was going to fight for him. Not because she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, but because she believed he wanted her too.
He just had to see it for himself.
Chapter 9
The following morning, Rafe climbed into his coach and headed to Cavendish Square to pick up his sister. They were traveling to Redhill, to the Golden Eagle, to visit the younger sister of their nurse, Pauline Blaylock.
A nervous energy thrummed through him, but he wasn’t entirely certain it was due to hopefully finding their nurse. He couldn’t stop thinking of Anne and yesterday afternoon.
Their trip back to Mayfair had been strained—at least for him. Part of it had been his unspent lust, but the rest of it, and perhaps the greater portion, was due to what she’d plainly told him.
And what she’d tried to tell him, but he’d stopped her from saying. He couldn’t even allow himself to finish her sentence in his head. Eliza had loved him, and look where that had gotten her.
Instead, he thought about Anne’s honesty, her unabashed desire, how she made no apologies for being precisely who she was and pursuing what she wanted. He’d been like that once. As a boy, he’d possessed enough ambition for every young thief he’d led. He believed that if he worked hard and sought higher and higher ranks and responsibility, he’d find power and respect.
Years later, he’d found what really mattered and what he was trying so hard to avoid feeling again: love.
In the end, his ambition and his pursuit of happiness had completely destroyed not just his love, but his life. He could never go back to the way he was before, hopeful and…vulnerable. Anne couldn’t possibly understand that. Nor would he ask her to.
As he dropped her back at the Grosvenor Mews, she’d reminded him that she would be patient. She’d been earnest but gleeful, in possession of a boundless optimism he wasn’t sure he’d ever enjoyed. How could he, given the way he’d been raised?
The coach stopped in front of Selina’s house, and the footman ran to the door to let her butler know they’d arrived. A few moments later, Selina walked toward the coach, and the footman held the door as Rafe offered his hand to help her up.
“Thank you.” She took the forward-facing seat, which he’d left vacant for her. “I’m glad the weather will be dry today.”
Redhill was a four-hour drive each way. The journey could have been made faster if they rode. But he did not and neither did Selina. She, however, was learning, under the tutelage of her husband. He, like Rafe, was the son of an earl, and, unlike Rafe, knew how to bloody well ride a horse.
When Rafe let himself think about all the things he’d lost, specifically the things he’d missed doing with his father, he was nearly overcome with rage and sadness. This was yet another reason he would keep Anne at bay. No one deserved to be with a man as consumed by darkness as he was. And Anne had seen it, meaning it wasn’t just how he saw himself.