Page 55 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“Not that girl. The other one.”
He didn’t turn to face her. He didn’t want to look upon her fresh beauty, or stand too close to it. Not when he couldn’t lay claim to it. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do know. But you don’t want to tell me. Why not?”
He merely shook his head.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“The street sweeper. You gave her a crown. And then what? Where is she now?”
He looked away. And then he lied. “In the bowels of Seven Dials? How should I know?”
“You are not telling the truth.”
She stepped nearer and he turned away.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
He followed the line of a low branch and peered again over the hill. The pair down there stood close together. Were they holding hands? He hoped so. He hoped they did something scandalous to keep his attention diverted and to prevent Glory from pursuing this line of questioning. “There is nothing to tell.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He gritted his teeth against a surge of frustration. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“The truth, for a start. Answers, too.”
He turned to her finally. “What are you doing, Glory? I thought I made it clear—”
“Oh, you did! You made it clear that I’m to leave you alone. I should listen, I know. The problem is, it’s the very last thing I want to do. I don’t know why. I didn’t expect this to happen. I don’t know how you make me feel so easy . . . and so restless at the same time. But you do. You stir me up and make me feel things I never expected to. And if I’m to ignore them, or pretend that they don’t exist, then I want to understand why, at the very least. So, tell me about the girl.”
She made him feel every empty spot in his soul. Worse, seeing her pain, hearing her put his own thwarted feelings into words, it was as if she crawled inside of him and scraped them more hollow, still.
“No,” he rasped. “It won’t help.”
“It will help me.”
She was wrong. Baring his soul never helped anyone.
She glanced behind her to the other luncheon guests, still seated or roving among the seats and then she took the step that would place the plane tree between them.
He glanced down, but Lycett and Miss Ruddock had gone all the way to the green and were partially hidden by the stone balustrade of the stairs.
Glory moved closer still. They were entirely hidden for the moment, from everyone. And he was tempted. So very tempted. He wasn’t used to denying himself, after all. The whole point of his lifestyle was to prevent it.
Perhaps he didn’t have to.
It was the wicked whisper of the small part of his soul. The hungry part. The part that didn’t care if he’d be left alone and wanting at the end of this folly, should he embark upon it.
“You said you would not ask for what I could not give,” he said roughly.
“It’s just a simple question. Not so very difficult.”
She didn’t know. It was difficult—and he was hard. He let his gaze roam over her. Creamy skin and pink lips, plump on the bottom at just the right spot for kissing, and so often quirked in wry humor or keen observation. Why? Why did her quick wit and earnest gazes hold him riveted? She roused him in ways that the harlots and barmaids he normally indulged in did not, despite their round arses and bosoms on display.
Glory made him laugh. She made him forget. She made him talk. She woke protective instincts inside of him, urges that he’d thought had died with his mother. And then she turned around and protected him. He ached for more and now he knew how she tasted and how her breast filled his hand and he burned with the urge to discover the rest.
