But no. They were not. He was here. Longing hit her, fierce and intense.
She would recognize that devastatingly handsome figure anywhere. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he stood at a window, observing the street below. He was clad in a gentleman’s polished Hessians, buff pantaloons that showed his muscular calves and thighs to perfection, and a black coat with a light waistcoat beneath, a white cravat tied simply at his throat.
To look at him, one would suppose him a lord.
Her weak stomach knotted. Thank heavens it was the afternoon and she had managed to hold down some tea and toast, but his sudden appearance had her ill at ease. Nor could she tamp down the happiness blossoming within her at the sight of him.
How had it been so long since she had seen him, reveled in the caress of those knowing fingers, had felt his skillful lips traveling over her body? It seemed an eternity.
“Mr. Winter,” she greeted him formally, moving forward with purposeful strides.
Careful, however, to maintain a proper distance between them. There was a different air about him, almost tangible, and her mind and heart were both everywhere, uncertainty about her future, about a future with him, about what she needed to do for her children, making her hands tremble. She laced her fingers together to keep her weakness from showing.
He spun about, unsmiling and serious and quite unlike himself. Nevertheless, he offered her a superb bow. Everything about the man was as refined as his fashion and his gleaming boots.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted solemnly, his familiar charm notably absent.
“What are you doing here, sir?” she asked quietly when she reached him.
She stopped near enough to taunt herself with his scent. Not in close enough proximity to surrender to her weakness and touch him. That was imperative. If she were to touch him, she would be lost and she knew it.
“I am paying you a call,” he said simply. “Such a thing is customary in your circles, is it not?”
“Of course calls are customary,” she managed to say, struggling to keep her expression and her voice bland. Emotionless. To quell all the furious yearning erupting within her. “How did you find me here? Lady Fortune promises anonymity to its patrons. Indeed, such a thing is paramount to both the continued patronage of ladies such as myself and Lady Fortune’s future success.”
His sensual lips thinned, his countenance becoming an impassive mask of displeasure. “This has nothing to do with Lady Fortune.”
“Then how did you find me?”
“Davy.” He quirked a dark brow. “You do recall stealing him away and bringing him to your home before returning him when it became apparent to you just how much trouble the lad is, do you not?”
“My intentions were noble,” she defended. “Davy had no wish to remain here, and he made himself clear on the matter by thieving everything within reach until he was caught.”
“Aye.” He gave an indolent shrug. “Call it as you will, Duchess. If you wanted to keep all your secrets, you should never have brought Davy here.”
She had not supposed the scamp would betray her. But then, his loyalty to Damian was clear. It was her own judgment which had been compromised.
“I am beginning to realize the error of my ways,” she said.
“In more senses than one, I hope.”
His low words, issued in that delicious baritone that still caused shivers to trail down her spine whenever she heard it, made her heart pound and her body ache with remembrance. The passion they had shared had been overwhelming. She had never known such pleasure existed.
She had to tell him about her suspicions. Had to reveal she may be carrying his child. But as she looked at him now, the words refused to find her tongue. When she had informed Stanhope of the success of his visits, she had always done so primly, through letters. Nothing about her previous relationship had been anything like what she had shared with Damian.
What she had ended.
He came nearer before she could speak, deliciously close. “Why did you disappear, Mira? Why did you leave me with nothing but a note?”
Her heart gave a pang at the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability in his handsome face. “Because I did not dare allow you to persuade me to change my mind.”
“You feared I would?”
She wet her lips, wishing he were not standing so near, battering the crumbling rampart of her defenses. “Yes.”
But he did not stray from his place before her, nor did he hide the yearning in his eyes, in his voice. “Tell me you do not feel it any longer, Mira. Tell me you do not want me, and I will go.”
“I have a duty to my children,” she told him as much as she reminded herself.
