silk covering his eyes.
She clutched his wrists to hold his arms down. “The truth.”
Cold gripped his heart. “The truth, then. Let’s have it.”
“I’m not a lightskirt. I’m a widow.”
“A widow?”
“Yes, and of course a proper wife does not perform such indecent acts on her husband.”
He had the distinct sense she was mocking someone, but he wasn’t certain whom. “And you chose me as your first?”
“Y—yes.”
“Who was your husband?”
“I mustn’t say. A member of the country gentry. I dare not let it be known that I am in London, that I have done these scandalous things.”
He heard the soft sigh—the sigh of relief. For finally giving him the truth. “Where are you staying?”
“I cannot tell you that either, of course.”
“So how am I to send you home?”
“We’ll worry about that later, my lord.”
“Dash. Call me Dash, pet.”
Maryanne could think of a thousand reasons why she should not. Such intimacy now could mean disaster later if she forgot herself. Dash…even more intimate than Dashiel. It occurred to her then that he had not recognized her voice, even though he had spent a few evenings in her presence. Well, a few minutes out of those evenings, but nonetheless…
Maryanne Hamilton had made no impression on him.
And, in truth, had Verity? Tomorrow night he would find a new partner, and that woman would share his wonderful bed.
“Lie down, sweet. You’ve been awake all night. You need to sleep.”
“But what about Georgiana? You told me you would tell me about her.”
“Georgiana would sell an innocent to the highest bidder, Verity. And how do you know Georgiana Watson?”
She swallowed hard.
“Now lie down, love.”
She did as he asked, drew up the sheets. She couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure as they settled against her sweaty, naked skin. His lordship lay on his side. Smiling, still blindfolded, he snuggled against her, and her heart gave a soft pang. His muscular arm lay across her tummy beneath the covers, as though he knew she wanted to run away and he wanted to keep her by his side.
Oh, how she wanted to sleep like this.
But she had to wait until he went to sleep. Trent House was so close…a little farther down Park Lane—it was safe enough to race there. Since her sister and brother-in-law spent their nights exploring sensual intimacy, they often slept late. At least her mother and sister Grace had stayed in the country after summer.
She closed her eyes. It was so easy to stay awake. Her heart tumbled about in her chest as she remembered every intimate thing he’d said. Tomorrow night he will say those things to someone else.
Had she failed Georgiana? Guilt sat in her belly, acrid and heavy. Or had Lord Swansborough—Dash—been correct? Had Georgiana, the wretch, gone in pursuit of an earl after putting her at risk?
Was Georgiana really in trouble? Was she in danger?
What was her next step?
Georgiana’s house. Tomorrow, or rather today, she would have to slip away and try to get into her partner’s home. Where else could she hope to find the name of the gentleman Georgiana had pursued?
His eyes opened to complete darkness.
Panic hit Dash first. The pounding of his head second. Christ, why couldn’t he see? Brandy. He remembered it splashing into his mouth, down his chin.
He remembered the sweet, simple, erotic perfume of Verity.
So much for taking a peek at his mysterious partner, which had been his plan. He’d passed out asleep beside her.
He rolled onto his back. Fumbling, he reached for the silk that still swathed his eyes, caught it, and pushed it up. His sheets stretched out beside him, rumpled but empty. She’d left him.
Where had she gone? Hell, not to the next clue—it would be too late.
Now, a glance at his mantel clock told him it was after ten o’clock in the morning.
Groaning, Dash sat up.
His gaze fell on the folded sheet of paper that lay on his night table.
She clutched his wrists to hold his arms down. “The truth.”
Cold gripped his heart. “The truth, then. Let’s have it.”
“I’m not a lightskirt. I’m a widow.”
“A widow?”
“Yes, and of course a proper wife does not perform such indecent acts on her husband.”
He had the distinct sense she was mocking someone, but he wasn’t certain whom. “And you chose me as your first?”
“Y—yes.”
“Who was your husband?”
“I mustn’t say. A member of the country gentry. I dare not let it be known that I am in London, that I have done these scandalous things.”
He heard the soft sigh—the sigh of relief. For finally giving him the truth. “Where are you staying?”
“I cannot tell you that either, of course.”
“So how am I to send you home?”
“We’ll worry about that later, my lord.”
“Dash. Call me Dash, pet.”
Maryanne could think of a thousand reasons why she should not. Such intimacy now could mean disaster later if she forgot herself. Dash…even more intimate than Dashiel. It occurred to her then that he had not recognized her voice, even though he had spent a few evenings in her presence. Well, a few minutes out of those evenings, but nonetheless…
Maryanne Hamilton had made no impression on him.
And, in truth, had Verity? Tomorrow night he would find a new partner, and that woman would share his wonderful bed.
“Lie down, sweet. You’ve been awake all night. You need to sleep.”
“But what about Georgiana? You told me you would tell me about her.”
“Georgiana would sell an innocent to the highest bidder, Verity. And how do you know Georgiana Watson?”
She swallowed hard.
“Now lie down, love.”
She did as he asked, drew up the sheets. She couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure as they settled against her sweaty, naked skin. His lordship lay on his side. Smiling, still blindfolded, he snuggled against her, and her heart gave a soft pang. His muscular arm lay across her tummy beneath the covers, as though he knew she wanted to run away and he wanted to keep her by his side.
Oh, how she wanted to sleep like this.
But she had to wait until he went to sleep. Trent House was so close…a little farther down Park Lane—it was safe enough to race there. Since her sister and brother-in-law spent their nights exploring sensual intimacy, they often slept late. At least her mother and sister Grace had stayed in the country after summer.
She closed her eyes. It was so easy to stay awake. Her heart tumbled about in her chest as she remembered every intimate thing he’d said. Tomorrow night he will say those things to someone else.
Had she failed Georgiana? Guilt sat in her belly, acrid and heavy. Or had Lord Swansborough—Dash—been correct? Had Georgiana, the wretch, gone in pursuit of an earl after putting her at risk?
Was Georgiana really in trouble? Was she in danger?
What was her next step?
Georgiana’s house. Tomorrow, or rather today, she would have to slip away and try to get into her partner’s home. Where else could she hope to find the name of the gentleman Georgiana had pursued?
His eyes opened to complete darkness.
Panic hit Dash first. The pounding of his head second. Christ, why couldn’t he see? Brandy. He remembered it splashing into his mouth, down his chin.
He remembered the sweet, simple, erotic perfume of Verity.
So much for taking a peek at his mysterious partner, which had been his plan. He’d passed out asleep beside her.
He rolled onto his back. Fumbling, he reached for the silk that still swathed his eyes, caught it, and pushed it up. His sheets stretched out beside him, rumpled but empty. She’d left him.
Where had she gone? Hell, not to the next clue—it would be too late.
Now, a glance at his mantel clock told him it was after ten o’clock in the morning.
Groaning, Dash sat up.
His gaze fell on the folded sheet of paper that lay on his night table.
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