He slipped the cloak from her shoulders, musclestightening as his fingers brushed warm skin. Too smooth. Too soft for a man like him.
The need to be inside her hit with brutal force.
“Turn around. Slowly.” Anticipation clawed at him, though he kept his tone measured. “Let me admire the result of my investment.”
She obeyed with maddening grace.
The sight punched the air from his lungs.
He loved her in red. It lit her pale complexion, made her black hair gleam like polished jet, and left her lips looking indecently plump. Too plump for a man trying to behave.
Every wicked word he knew crowded his mind.
He reached into his coat pocket and drew out the ruby necklace he’d bought from Woodcroft’s. Stepping closer, he swept aside the wisps at her nape and fastened it around her throat. The curve of her neck did nothing to improve his self-control.
“The look isn’t complete without this.” It was a lie. She looked complete in old breeches and a dirty shirt, her hair tumbling from flimsy pins.
Her fingers closed over the ruby, but the sparkle in her eyes could dull any gem. “It’s beautiful. Where did you get it? I never heard you leave the hotel.”
He’d had no choice but to escape the suite at the Carroway. Listening to her singing as she bathed in the next room was its own kind of torture. Almost as cruel as staring at the poster bed and imagining what they might do if they stayed the night.
“No need to excite yourself. It’s on loan.”
“Oh.” The light in her expression dulled.
He would’ve done anything to bring it back.
But admitting he’d bought it for her was a step too far.
“Never mind.” She smoothed her hands over the front of her gown. “It was foolish of me to think otherwise.”
Bloody hell.
Now he wanted to empty Woodcroft’s cabinets.
Or break into the Tower and steal a crown jewel.
He cleared his throat. “The manager at the Carroway will return it when he handles the gown and slippers.”
He’d paid the modiste a tidy sum to part with a dress intended for Lady Belmont. It was the only one close to the right size and could be altered within the hour.
“Of course.” She looked down at the marble floor, her disappointment as tangible as the thrum of lust in his blood. “I’m grateful you spared a thought for me.”
Merciful Lord.She’d bewitched him. He could almost feel her hands around his heart, squeezing until it hurt. Truth be told, he thought of her a damn sight more than he should.
He needed to master himself.
Dominic Hawke didn’t moon over a woman like some green lad, not with half of London’s libertines watching from shadowed corners and stairwells.
“You understand what it means if we enter the drawing room?”
It was time for a hearty dose of reality.
She shrugged one shoulder as if resigned to her fate. “It means everyone will believe we’re lovers.”
She paused on that word, and damned if he didn’t cram an hour of imagined sin into those two seconds. He was supposed to be immune to this madness. Cold. Controlled. Yet here he was, burning.
“It means I’ll never grace a respectable ballroom again.” She gave herself a small shake, brushing off the lapse into melancholy. “No matter. My future lies far from London. Finding the truth is all that concerns me now.”
