In his cynical experience, women like Caroline Rosemond cared only for their own interests. She would bow to the whims of whichever gentleman paid her rent.
“Do you have access to this note?” If something truly had happened to Miss Rosemond, he did not wish to be embroiled in a scandal.
Struggling to meet his gaze, she glanced down as the apples of her cheeks flushed pink. “It is not a note. It … it was written in her diary.”
In the four years that he had lived with his affliction, in the years where he had hardened his heart to all sentiment, he had never felt a stirring of emotion in his chest. Yet the look of guilt etched on her face, the way her mouth curled down with remorse, touched him.
Spending so much time with Alexander and Evelyn had evidently softened his steely resolve.
“In times of trouble, we must do what is necessary to find the answers we seek,” he said in a bid to console her.
When her tempting lips curled up into a weak smile in response, he suddenly felt like the richest of men.
“That was how I knew you had been on … on intimate terms with her.”
“Trust me,” he said with a snort. “I have never been on intimate terms with Miss Rosemond.”
“But she mentioned your name and when you said you knew her, your words implied otherwise.”
“I knew you were not who you were pretending to be. As I said, my intention was to shock so you would stumble.”
She gave a resigned nod. “Oh, I see.”
“I can’t explain why she saw fit to write such things, but I can assure you I am not a man who welcomes such complications.”
“My sister certainly would be a complication in any gentleman’s life.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know where to turn now. I don’t know what to do.”
The urge to come to her aid pushed to the fore, but he ignored it. He could not afford to draw undue attention to himself. Perhaps if there was an incentive. If he could sate the desire simmering beneath the surface. But despite the clawing need in his loins, he refused to dally with an innocent.
“What about family, can they not help you?”
“Oh, no!” Her eyes grew wide, the soft delicate blue reminding him of a cloudless sky on a summer’s afternoon. A wave of regret swept over him, a reminder of all he’d lost and he sucked in a breath to eradicate the feeling. “There are too many secrets,” she continued, “things my mother would not understand.”
“I see.” She did not need to say any more, and he did not want to ask. Not out of politeness, but because he did not wish to deepen their acquaintance.
“Well, there is another possibility to explore,” she said. “And I would trouble you for just one more thing.”
He almost said ‘anything’ but curbed his eager tongue and merely nodded.
“My sister was friendly with a gentleman called Barrington. I would ask you to point him out to me.”
“Lord Barrington!” The lady would do well to stay clear of such a man. “I do not know what you intend to do here, but I suggest you let me escort you to my carriage. My coachman will take you wherever you need to go. I am confident your sister will make a dramatic appearance in a day or two. It would not be wise to jeopardise your own reputation.”
She gave him a tender smile that expressed gratitude. “I thank you for your counsel. But instinct tells me you’re wrong. I know something awful has happened. Just as I know you speak the truth when you proclaim your innocence.” Her gaze drifted over his face, and his heart lurched. “Now, can you tell me if you’ve seen Lord Barrington this evening?
“Miss Rosemond,” he said with a sigh.
“It is Mrs. Denton, Grace Denton. But I ask that you mention it to no one.”
“You’re married?” Disappointment flooded his chest. The lady looked no older than twenty. While her words revealed a level of maturity and intelligence, there was something pure and unworldly about her. She held an innocence and a level of naiveté he found endearing.
She offered a weak smile. “I am a widow.”
The revelation caused another momentary surge of emotion. The more they conversed, the deeper, the more intimate his knowledge of her grew. As he tried to shake the feeling of comfortable familiarity, he glanced over her shoulder to see Lord Barrington hovering on the steps as he scoured the garden.
What Elliot did next was unarguably the most foolish, most surprising thing he had ever done. He wrapped his hands around Mrs. Denton’s delectable arms, pulled her closer to his needy body and kissed her.
It was a way of preventing her seeking out Barrington, a way to let Barrington know he’d staked his claim. After all, widows were fair game. But when she gasped as her lips touched his, he couldn’t fight the urge to plunder her mouth. Wild and reckless, he thrust his tongue deep inside, desperate to taste her, desperate to sate the passion burning within.