Julian scowled at her. “He said you’re irreplaceable. That there’s no other woman like you.”
Charlotte shrugged. She wasn’t about to peel back the complicated layers of her relationship with Devon for Julian’s inspection.
“Why?”
“Why?” Charlotte stared down into her glass. “Why what?”
Julian leaned forward, took her chin between his fingers, and turned her face to his. “Look at me. Why should he say that? He wants you as his lover, yes, but it’s more than that. This isn’t some casual flirtation between you. Heknowsyou. He knows you well enough to wantyou. Not just anyone—not just any woman. You.”
Charlotte stared at him, baffled. “Of course heknowsme. Do you think I’d trust a man I didn’t know, Captain? One who didn’t know me?”
“How well does he know you?”
She jerked her chin from his grasp. “I don’t—”
“Your marriage. Hadley’s death. The difficulties with your family. The reason you won’t leave London. Does he know I was your lover before you married Hadley? How much does he know?”
She took another sip of brandy. “More than anyone else does.”
“Damn it. Can you explain to me why you’d tell Devon your secrets when you won’t confide in your own sister? Your family?”
Because Ellie and Cam would try to fix it, to fixher, and she couldn’t be fixed. Hadley was dead, and there was an end to it. No resolution—no way to mend it. It simply was. Devon knew it. He didn’t try to resurrect the dead. He didn’t pretend it was anything other than what it was.
He didn’t try to make her pretend.
When she didn’t answer, Julian shot to his feet to pace the carpet in front of her. “Well? Can you explain it?”
Enough. “I don’t think, Captain,” she said, biting off each word, “I owe you an explanation about anything.”
Julian skidded to a halt in front of her, his hands clenched into fists. “You damn well owe somebody some bloody explanation. My God. Cam is at his wit’s end and Ellie is nearly ill with worry over you, and you choose to share your secrets withDevon?To share yourbodywith him? Devon, a scandalous rake, a man all of London believes to be a murderer—”
This time it was Charlotte’s turn to leap to her feet. “Don’t youdarerepeat that vile rumor in my presence. Devon’s no murderer.” That he should be accused of hastening his brother’s death even while all of London pitied her as a bereaved widow—the irony of it made her stomach heave with bitterness.
Julian closed in on her until the back of her knees touched the settee, and still he moved closer, so close she could feel the heat coming in waves off his body. “I see you’re his champion, just as he is yours.”
She raised her chin. “You sound surprised, Captain. I’m unfailingly loyal. Or don’t you remember it that way?”
“Devon isn’t a man you should trust. You’re deceived in his character.” His voice softened, and he brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheekbone. “He’s going to hurt you, Charlotte.”
She shivered at the unexpected caress. “If he does, then so be it.”
His dark eyes flashed. “You’ll do nothing to save yourself? Nothing to prevent your own ruin?”
“It’s too late, Captain.” She tried to laugh, but the sound that escaped her lips was filled with sadness. “It’s done. There’s nothing left to ruin, and nothing left to save.”
His body went rigid. “How can you say that?” His hand drifted from her cheek down her neck to her arm. His warm fingers closed around her wrist, and he pulled her against his chest. “Tell me what’s wrong, Charlotte. You’ve trusted Devon with your secrets. Can’t you trust me, as well?”
She tried to pull back, away from the seductive warmth of his body, but he wrapped his arm gently around her waist to still her. “Why should I? Because he’s a scandalous rake, and you’re a hero?”
He pressed his open mouth to her temple. “No. Because I can help you get what you need.”
How?Beyond this day, this moment, she didn’t know herself what she needed.
He couldn’t help her, but even so she let her eyes drift closed. It had been so long since she’d been held in a man’s arms, since she’d been touched at all. She’d been afraid to let anyone touch her, even Devon, lest she break apart.
Julian’s mouth moved over her face, leaving a trail of damp, hot kisses—the corners of her lips, the vulnerable skin behind her ear, and the curve of her jaw. “Why won’t you leave London, Charlotte? Do you stay for Devon, or is there something else that keeps you here?”
Charlotte’s heart began to beat a wild tattoo against her ribs. Somehow, her hands landed on his chest, and she hooked her fingers into his waistcoat to steady herself. His lips were so soft against her skin. Had they always been this soft? “I have to stay here, because…”
