“What business has the Earl of Lempster’s daughter wandering alone at night?” he demanded, though the answer was written in her guilty eyes.
She flinched when she heard her father’s title.
She is ashamed.
Raph watched the blush creep over her delicate features. A rare pang of guilt tugged at him, and with it the decision to reveal himself.
“My name is Raph Hartton, the Duke of Brentmere,” he said curtly, his voice leaving no room for doubt.
Lady Camelia’s eyes widened with realization, then closed at once, lashes sweeping down as if she dared not endure his gaze now that she knew who he truly was. Her cheeks burned crimson, and for a moment, he thought she might swoon.
Fully aware of the fear and fascination his name elicited, Raph waited, calm and watchful, yet she said nothing.
He studied her, his eyes traveling across the swell of her breasts, his jaw tightening as he recalled the press of her soft body against the rigid strength of his own.
He longed to hear her soft gasps again, andthe memory of her warm skin beneath his palms sent unwanted heat through him.
He cleared his throat.
“To Lempster Estate!” he barked at his driver, who immediately obeyed. The sound of his own voice chased away the heated memories.
Lady Camelia’s head snapped up, fear flickering in her eyes. “N–No! Please, Your Grace. I shall hail a hackney and return home on my own.”
Afraid to be escorted to her home. What secrets fester behind those walls?
His fists clenched as dark thoughts flooded his mind. What disaster could have driven her to the foulest alley of Whitechapel?
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I have not made myself plain, Lady Camelia. Iwillescort you home.”
He watched her anger flare beneath her composure and admired her restraint.
The carriage rocked over the pebbled road as they neared Lempster Estate. His shoulder jerked, and the sharp pain made him wince. The ache was constant, a reminder…
“Are you hurt?” she asked, her gaze darting to him. For all her defiance, a flicker of concern betrayed her.
“You refuse to answer even one of my questions.”
But Lady Camelia only pressed her lips into a stubborn line, as immovable as ever.
What an intriguing woman.
“You’re no common woman, that much was clear. I’d recognize a lady from miles away, and your bearing, your speech, and that fine muslin clinging to you were proof that you didn’t belong in a place like that.”
Her cheeks flushed as she crossed her arms over her breasts, and Raph ground his teeth when the soft mounds pressed upward, plumping deliciously as if to tempt him.
“If you knew that, then why play with me? Why let me… humiliate myself if you never intended to—” She broke off. “To do anything?”
Raph leaned back and narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m not the one owing an explanation here. You’re the one who stepped into that alley, pretending to be someone you’re not. Why did you leave the comfort of your home to chase this… absurd sum of money?”
Lady Camelia’s lips pursed, and she turned her face to the carriage window, avoiding his gaze. “I simply needed the money. Nothing beyond that concerns you.”
“Needed it?” Raph asked harshly. “For what? A new gown? A season in London? Or is it something more desperate?”
She fixed her gaze on the passing street, her silence more cutting than any retort.
“You are mistaken if you think it was for my own desires,” she said at last, her voice trembling. “It was… for my family.”
What torment could push her to sacrifice her virtue for her family?
