Her comfort, first and foremost.
Deciding not to argue, she thanked him instead, sat down on the edge of the bed, and started unpinning her hair. One lock fell down her back, followed swiftly by another and then by a third as the pins came loose. She shook her head slightly and reached for her comb, clasping it just as she heard Philip suck in a breath.
She glanced toward him and stilled. He’d risen without her realizing and was presently staring straight at her as if in a daze. Slowly, he placed one foot in front of the other, moving toward her like a man entranced by what he was seeing.
“You are...” He arrived by her side and reached out his hand, allowing his fingers to slide through her hair.
Leonora held her breath and simply waited to see what came next. Her heart beat rapidly against her breast while tiny sparks of awareness played across her skin.Yes. Please. Touch my hair more. Touch me. Kiss me.
He shook his head and took a step back, his expression wrought with a mixture of longing and pain. “I’ll give you some privacy so you can prepare for bed. There’s water over there on the table if you need it.” And then he strode to the door, grabbed his greatcoat and flung it over his shoulders as he rushed from the room.
Leonora’s heart sank. He would resist her as was proper, for which she ought to thank him. Instead, against all odds, she wanted him to do the opposite, which could not possibly speak well of her character. Apparently she was not the straight-laced plant enthusiast everyone thought her to be, but rather a woman with a newfound interest that beckoned to be explored.
But would you be willing to give him your virtue? If that is the price to pay, can you do it?
Probably not.
No.
Not probably.
Definitely.
Definitely not, that is.
She would only allow her true husband to bed her, which meant she would have to wait a really long time, perhaps even forever.
#
WHEN PHILIP RETURNEDupstairs to their room after taking a brisk walk outside, the oil lamp was dimmed and Leonora was tucked into bed. He closed the door quietly behind him before casting a look in her direction. She was turned on her side with her arm flung over the coverlet, allowing him a glimpse of bare arm and shoulder until it was interrupted by the strap of her chemise.
Emitting a groan, Philip took off his greatcoat and crossed to the chair. Temptation would likely drive him mad and possibly even kill him before the sun rose again. He sat and began removing his boots while cursing himself for allowing this situation to arise in the first place.
Earlier, when he’d seen her hair, the need to touch it, to feel it slide over his skin, had assailed him more fiercely than any need ever before. It had robbed him of logical reasoning and drawn him toward her, like a helpless sailor toward a siren. His only course of action had been to flee. It had been either that or ravish her until she forgot her own name.
But now, seeing her there in the bed with her stunning red hair fanned out on the pillow...
He scrubbed one hand across his face and prayed for strength. It had been at least a year since he’d last had a woman, and that had been an unpleasant experience with an opera singer whose ego surpassed the span of the Atlantic Ocean. Since then he’d been too busy, preoccupied by work and unwilling to repeat his last disastrous round of lovemaking.
Until Leonora Compton walked into his life with equal parts personality and beauty. He’d never wanted a woman more. Hell, he could scarcely think straight or find a comfortable position for himself without the ache of his need exerting a strain on each cell in his body. She was everything he wanted, everything he’d once dreamed of having with Claire. But he’d been young and foolish back then, and she, so eager for him he could scarcely believe his good fortune.
But then came their wedding night, and Philip began to suspect he might not be Claire’s first, second, or even third lover. Her experience had been far too telling, and when he finally chose to confront her, her answer was worse than what he had feared. The names of the men who’d had her had spilled from her lips with little effort, her taunts and insults in the face of his accusation spearing him to his soul.
He’d thought himself in love. Instead he’d been thoroughly used.
“You were just a means to an end. A way for me to save my reputation.”
Her words had stayed with him ever since. In the end, he’d been the one humiliated, the one who’d unwittingly married a woman who’d continued to flaunt her lust for other men while everyone laughed. Not at her, but at him, the poor boy deceived by illusion.
Philip stretched out his legs and stared into the fire. He would never marry again, and he would most definitely not make another man suffer the way he once had, which meant he would have to keep his hands to himself where Leonora was concerned. When she eventually went to her real husband on her wedding night, she would do so with her innocence completely intact. And if she didn’t, then he would not be the one to blame.
But this course of action was tested to the full extent of Philip’s restraint when a rustling sound made him stir. He was still half asleep when he opened his eyes and saw her standing near the fire with her back toward him. Philip’s pulse leapt, not because she was there, but because the glow from the flames allowed him to see so much more than he was supposed to. It turned her chemise into a translucent veil, offering him a view of pale skin curving down over her waist to her impeccably rounded bottom and legs that appeared to go on forever.
Jesus.
He hissed out a breath between his teeth and clutched at the armrests. Why was she there instead of in bed? “Leonora?” He had to inform her that he was awake. It would be wrong of him not to.
She flinched and spun toward him, which only made matters worse, because now he was able to see...everything. “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked her gruffly.
