She shrugged this obviousness away irritably with one shoulder.
Finally he said wearily, “But yes. People ought to be able to do hard things. You’re not wrong.”
“Why did your affair with Lady Pilcher end?”
Dear God, these silences: the weight of them between every question and every answer. Her pain. His discomfort.
“Because I had it wrong.” His voice was thick; it was a struggle to put into words what he’d only instinctively felt, and his own sense of self-preservation fought him mightily. She was unraveling yet another layer. “And I don’t suppose I felt any moral compunctions about it, so it’s not that. Think of me what you will. It was just that it was wrong for me. There are reasons outside of purely baser impulses that people will seek out that kind of... let’s call it companionship. Something in me wanted... easing... but when I soon realized it had nothing to do with Lady Pilcher and a bed, I ended it. I should like to cease discussing this now,” he said abruptly.
She was quiet.
“Do you think Lord Vaughn is an excellent kisser?”
He froze. “I beg your ever-loving pardon?”
He’d thoughthewas a fighter. She was ruthless. She came out with knives whirling in her hands and one clenched between her teeth. A menace in silk, aiming straight for his weakness.
She was his weakness.
And even though he understood her tactics, he was shocked to find himself helpless against them. He could almost taste the jealousy, like blood in his throat. He was at once filled with ferocious admiration and fury, at both himself and her.
“I’m afraid I can offer no educated opinion on the matter, as I haven’t kissed Lord Vaughn.” His voice was cold.
“Is he the only person in London you haven’t yet kissed?”
“Have a care, Keating,” he warned quietly.
She fell silent at his tone.
“Would you like a list of them?” he added. “Because it’s not very long. And I warn you, I will not lie.”
They stared at each other.
“No. I don’t think I would enjoy hearing it.” She paused. “Would you like my list?”
“Yes.”
“His name was Henry Thatcher. He was eighteen years old. He kissed my cheek after an assembly when I was eighteen years old.”
There was a little silence.
“Lucky, lucky man,” Dominic said softly. Fervently.
She exhaled a soft sound.
They stood side by side. Flickering torchlight competed with the waning moon to light her hair.
“Do you think someone like Lord Vaughn would know about... this spot here?” Without looking at him, she drew her fingers lightly up the downy hairs at the nape of her neck.
He stared. Absolutely clubbed speechless.
“Why there?” his voice was hoarse.
“Because... when you...” She swallowed. “I felt it everywhere in me,” she whispered. “Everywhere in my body.”
When had it become too late to walk away?
Five minutes ago? Three seconds ago? The moment he’d seen her standing alone?
