She smiled at him, though the expression still held some irritation. “I never thought you abandoned me on purpose.”
That was something, he supposed. He ought to go back out on patrol, but now that he was finally talking to her, he needed to know how she was really doing. Especially now that he saw telltale redness in her eyes.
“Why were you crying?” He shut her bedroom door quietly, then turned to study her.
“What? Oh.” She pressed her hands to her face. “No reason, really.”
He arched his brows, challenging her with his expression.
She shrugged. “I was thinking about melancholy things. And worrying about you.”
He gave her a weak smile. “I am safe. What melancholy things?”
Her gaze grew abstract as she wandered about the room. It was large for an Irish cottage but small for what she was used to, and he wondered if she felt cramped. She didn’t look uncomfortable as she dropped down onto the edge of the bed and looked at her hands. “Oscar and I had a normal marriage,” she said. “Despite the way we began, we learned to rub along well enough.”
He winced. He did not like thinking of her in a marriage with anyone other than him, normal or not. And he absolutely did not need to hear the details. But she appeared to need to talk, and so he would stand and listen, no matter what it cost him.
“You miss him,” he said when she fell silent. “You were married for twelve years. That is only natural.”
“He fell ill nearly three years ago. And though he would get better for a time, he never fully regained his strength.” She took a breath and exhaled. “Do you know, I have not been touched in three years? His skin became so sensitive, you see. At times he could not tolerate even the slightest brush of the sheets.”
He shuddered. That sounded horrendous.
She looked at him, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “I have only kissed two men in my life. Him and you.” Her smile took on a mischievous bent. “I am a wealthy widow now. I begin to wonder what that means for me.”
He jolted, very shocked. He knew what becoming a widow meant for many young women. Free of the restrictions placed on them by their husbands, they indulged many immodest appetites. Indeed, he’d seen several such women at the gaming hell where he’d been working. The women’s side of the building catered to all kinds of sins. The idea of Diana—this goddess—descending to debauchery left him physically ill.
He took a hasty step forward. “You cannot know what you are saying.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Why can’t I? Men indulge themselves from the moment they hit adolescence until the day they become too infirm. Why do you think a woman has no appetite?”
Women did have appetites. He knew that very well. He just had not thought that she… That Diana would… He swallowed and looked away. “You’re a proper lady,” he finally said.
“I have been,” she admitted. “But I find time and experience have changed me. Maybe I don’t need to be so very proper anymore.” She stood up until she came close enough to touch him. She didn’t, and he didn’t reach for her. But his skin prickled at her nearness, and his breath heated as his heart sped up. “I am a woman finally free,” she said softly. “My elderly husband is gone after being ill for years. Why shouldn’t I experience a man’s touch if I want to? Someone I choose.”
He wanted to do it. He wanted to take her in all the ways a man fantasizes. But in his mind, she was a lady and a goddess, as holy for him as the Madonna. To possess her now as a matter of appetite felt profane. And yet she stood before him in a dressing gown light enough for him to see the outline of her nipples, tight and perfect. Lust surged through him, lifting his cock to attention.
But he did not move. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right. She was a new widow, and he was supposed to be protecting her, not seducing her, and…and…what kind of man took advantage in a situation like this?
She waited a moment. A very long moment, then she sighed and wandered away. This time she went to the window, which still stood open to let in the evening breeze.
“Keep back—” he rasped.
“I know.” She stayed far enough away from the window that she would be difficult to see from outside. But he saw every part of her outlined by the moonlight. Her sweet curves, her full hips, and the way her hair tumbled into the fabric of her gown to create a kind of veil. It made him hungry to slowly reveal that which was already filling his thoughts.
“I have spent so much time thinking about our kiss,” she said. Her gaze settled on the distant moon. “We were teenagers, and every time you looked at me, I thought I would burn up. When we kissed, I felt like I’d become the sun.” She abruptly spun back to him. “For twelve years, I have been a good wife to Oscar. I never strayed and always acted for his best interest and that of his family. And yet on the night he died, I was in your arms. How could I do that? I think back to that moment and wonder what madness possessed me.”
“Diana.” He did not need a replaying of what they’d done. He’d already relived it a thousand times. He’d held her. That was all. But in his fantasies, they’d done so much more.
Her gaze cut straight to his. “You were the perfect gentleman, but I wanted…” She shook her head. “Such things that I wanted from you.”
He had been far from a gentleman in his thoughts. “You’d been attacked. It’s natural to want to feel alive again.”
She seemed to consider that. “Maybe. You do not understand the loneliness of my life. Years at the bedside of a dying husband with no companion except servants or the occasional hateful visits of his children. My family would try to visit, but I often put them off. I fought hard for respect because that was all I could hope for. Until you walked in.”
“I am here to protect you,” he said because that was the only honorable thing he could confess.
“And what of the tenderness I see in your eyes when you look at me? What of the need that burns there when you reach for me? Am I not allowed those things?”
