“You knownothingabout me!” Her fury towards him was sharp and fierce. “You’ve no right to take me where you please! I’m doing what I must to survive!”
He ignored her protests and climbed into the waiting carriage, depositing her onto the plush velvet seats, his hand still firm around her arm to keep her from bolting.
“You are no escort. You don’t belong here. Where are you from?” he demanded, his eyes searching her flushed face.
The question caught her unawares.
Camelia turned away, her chest heaving, and she fought to catch her breath.
“You’ve no business prying into my affairs,” she muttered defiantly despite her exhaustion.
“Where are you from?” he repeated slowly through gritted teeth.
She ignored the growing fear in her gut and the stranger’s glare as she stared out the carriage window and searched for a way to escape.
“Why would you care where I am from? If you will not claim me, what do you intend to do with me?” she inquired.
“I shall simply escort you to your home,” he responded without hesitation.
CHAPTER 4
The carriage rocked gently as Raph studied the woman before him. Her chest rose and fell with uneven, furious breaths. Her eyes darted away from his scrutiny, and her fingers fidgeted nervously in her lap.
He reluctantly let go of her, fearing she would bolt from the carriage. But to his surprise—and delight—she stayed.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and asked firmly, “What is your name?”
She stiffened, her lips parting before pressing shut again.
Defiant little flower.
“I… I told you… My name is Cassandra.” The lie was as plain as the fear in her eyes.
Raph exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience waning. His gaze lingered on the beauty spot near her lip as she bit down on it nervously.
Just a few moments ago, he had tasted her sweet breath and soft, clumsy lips.
She would need to be taught how to seduce and kiss.
His jaw clenched as he imagined training her to pleasure him, but he quickly dismissed the thought before his body reacted to her… again.
“I do not have the time for games, little flower. What is your real name?” His voice dropped dangerously low.
She met his eyes, then faltered. “Why must you press me so?”
“Because I do not suffer liars,” he growled, leaning closer. “Now, tell me your real name.”
A faint tremor racked her body as if she considered. Eventually, the words slipped out, soft and sweet like the sinful promises she had made in the alley. “Camelia… my name is Camelia Wilmore.”
Camelia. How fitting for a little flower.
But then her last name registered.
Raph stilled.
Wilmore?
A memory flashed through his mind of an earnest man, kind to a fault—the Earl of Lempster. He had crossed paths with Bernard Wilmore once, long ago. A decent soul in a world that devoured such men. And now his daughter stood before him, cloaked in deception.
