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At last he cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Archer. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

Such a gentlemanly thing to say after he’d just been kissing her with such abandon. It rather amused her. “If I am to call you Noel,” she said with a teasing smile, “the least you can do is call me Eve. And you didn’t take advantage, I assure you.”

He gazed at her steadily. “Didn’t I?”

“No.” To be honest, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had kissed her. Father had been so strict that he’d rarely let any of the détenus near her. And it wasn’t as if she could find the right sort of man here in Holborn. They were all mostly married, or shopkeepers who looked down on her family for their meager existence.

But the few times she’d been kissed in Verdun had been nothing like this. She fancied she could still feel Noel’s mouth against hers, and she slid her tongue along her lips to see if she could still taste him there.

For a moment, he followed the sweep of her tongue with a hungry gaze, and his eyes seemed to heat. Then, as if willing himself to ignore whatever he felt, he shuddered, and an impenetrable veil dropped over his features. “All the same,” he said regretfully, “it must not happen again.”

His words both startled her and told her only too well what he thought of her. She ignored the tears stinging her eyes. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry over it. “I agree—it must not,” she said, when what she really wanted to do was ask why it mustn’t happen again.

Unfortunately, she knew the answer. He was a viscount, and she a poor nobody now, the daughter of a détenu baron whose will apparently hadn’t even provided for her and her family. She ought to have realized she was far beneath his notice, only worthy of a dalliance. Clearly, he was too much of a gentleman even for that.

Except when he was kissing her.

“But I do wish to see your needlework,” he said, his tone softening, as if he’d realized he’d hurt her feelings. “My mother still has the apron you embroidered for her as a girl for Christmas.”

“With the red ribbon and gold bells?” she asked, willing to say almost anything to keep from discussing their kiss. Although truly, she was surprised to hear that his mother had kept her embroidery. “It wasn’t as well-done as I’d prefer. I’m much better at needlework now.”

And she was babbling. But what else could a woman do when faced with a man who kissed as intoxicatingly as the viscount and then wanted to forget it ever happened?

“My mother thinks that apron is beautiful,” he went on, “and treasures it as one of her favorite things. She won’t even wear it for fear it will get dirty. In fact …” He paused. “I’d like to pay you to make another just like it, so she can have one to use and one to keep.”

He might as well have slapped her in the face. Now, he wanted to be her customer? That was how little the kiss had meant to him?

Instantly, she cloaked herself in her pride. “I see. So, that’s why you wanted to view my present needlework. To see if you might employ me?”

He blinked. “Good God, no! I only meant … That is not what I intended at all. I merely thought that you and your mother could use—”

“The funds.” She crossed her arms over her chest, struggling to hide her anger. “So, you pity me, is that it, my lord?”

“Don’t call me that, for God’s sake,” he muttered.

“Why not? It’s who you are.” And the sooner she got that through her thick skull, the better off she’d be. “I suppose, since I refused to let you outright give money to my stepmother, you now mean to have me embroider something for your mother so you can pay us for it. But either way, it’s charity, and I won’t take charity from you.”

“It’s not charity,” he said firmly. “Christmas is coming, and I want to give a gift to my mother that I know she’ll appreciate.”

“I’ll be happy to embroider another apron for your mother,” she choked out. “I remember her fondly. But it will be my gift to her. You will not pay for it.”

“You’re going to be stubborn about this, I see.”

“I’m afraid I must.”

He stared down his nose at her. She stared up his nose at him.

At last, he shook his head. “Fine. At least I can accompany you to Lincoln’s Inn Gardens.”

“No need. I shall wait until Maman and Jimmy return, and then I’ll go.”

“Why wait?”

Because you’ve made it very clear what you think of me, and I need to be away from you before I really am tempted to stab you with one of my needles. “Because I’m sure an important man like you has better things to do than wait on the leisure of a trades woman like me.”

“You are no more a tradeswoman than I am a merchant,” he bit out. “I was not trying to say that.”

“True. You weren’t trying to say it at all. You were succeeding, and quite handily, too.”