The truth hung on the tip of his tongue, and he let it fall with shocking ease. “I see you, only you. A woman whose courage leaves me in awe.”
Her eyes sprang wide. When her surprise faded, happiness danced there.
What would it be like to have the heaviness of their burdens lifted? What would it be like to wake with her each morning, to live a life of peace and contentment? Live the truth, not a lie?
Magical.
Heavenly.
A dream beyond his wildest expectations.
“And what of your truth?” he said, aware of Cutler’s and Alcock’s curious gazes upon them. The coachwoman’s need to protect her mistress meant she accompanied them on every journey.
Scarlett remained still for a moment before taking a step closer. “Here is my truth, Wycliff. It is about time you learnt to recognise it.”
Her hand came up to cup his cheek. Her lips met his with the same level of tenderness he had shown her when he thrust the gold cross into her palm and kissed her forehead.
The muscles in his abdomen clenched. He fought against pulling her to his chest and devouring her pretty mouth. This was a demonstration of her feelings, not his, and so he let her taste him in the soft, sweet way that spoke of affection rather than experience.
She withdrew on a contented sigh, though it took a few seconds for her to retrieve her hand from his cheek. It was like the first kiss of an innocent. Yet he was so damn hard for her, just as he always was in his dreams.
“The temperature is sure to plummet tonight,” he said in a tone that did not sound contrived. “A man worries he might not have enough coal to keep warm.”
She arched a coy brow. “You forget that I’ve been living in your house for three days. You have enough coal to keep the whole street warm for weeks.”
“But my room is particularly cold.”
“So cold, you insisted on stripping off every stitch.”
He laughed. “From what I’ve heard of Dermot Flannery, I may find myself in need of another nursemaid.”
“Then I shall send to the registry for they are sure to have one on their books.”
“But the women are old and smell of vinegar. I want a nurse who will wipe my brow, run the tips of her soft fingers over my chest, marvel in the magnificence of my muscular body.”
“Then it’s a brothel you want, not the registry.” She shook her head as if he were a mischievous child. “Come, we had better not keep Mr Flannery waiting, and I am returning to my own house tonight, so you may stop with the teasing.”
“Who said I’m teasing? The night is still young.” He offered a grin full of self-assurance. “And you know what people say about The Silver Serpent.”
“No, what do people say?”
“Anything can happen at the gaming hell.”
* * *
Damian Wycliff was incorrigible. Incorrigible, and the most devilishly attractive man ever to make her acquaintance. There was little point hiding her feelings. He had been awake when she conducted a thorough examination of his naked body. Well, not so thorough, for that would have meant delving beneath the bedsheets, stroking those impressive thighs, fighting against the temptation to caress another part of his anatomy, pressing her lips to his warm skin.
With every passing day, they grew closer.
With every passing day, she caught more glimpses of the man behind the arrogant facade, felt her own disguise slipping more times than she could count.
And then he had gone and made the comment that obliterated her defences. The comment that made her heart ache, even now.
I see you, only you.
Not the actress.
Not the widow.