Snow dotted his dark hair. Flakes fell and instantly melted on her lips. Lips that still tingled. The taste of his mouth seemed forever imprinted on her tongue. His scent still intoxicated her senses. Despite the cold, her blood still smoldered and hummed. They had exchanged countless, impassioned kisses in the carriage, on the way home from the most magical experience she’d ever known. The Italian Opera House had met and exceeded her most imaginative daydreams of color, richness, and elegance. Her ears, her blood, and her very bones seemed to pulsate with an echo of the music. A lovely panorama of emotion burned and pressed upon her throat.
But now it was time to settle back to reality and put her feet firmly on the ground. Too much happiness could be hazardous. Especially to the heart. “You said you were taking me home.”
“I have taken you home. This shall be your home from now on.”
“I tried to tell you gently before but now I shall be blunt, I don’t want to be your whore.”
He winced. “Whore is such an ugly word, Jeanne.”
“Harlot?”
“My darling, I am asking you to be my mistress, not my whore.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
“There is one, I assure you.”
“Explain it to me.”
“A man pays a whore to leave. He pays a mistress to stay.”
“Now you want to pay me to stay?”
“I want to cherish you. To provide for and protect you.” He took her hands. “This is very discreet. It is a quiet street, filled with decent, hard-working people who mind their own business.”
“People never mind their own business.”
“Jeanne, you live in a virtual brothel in Whitechapel. Now you’re concerned that a few busybodies here may judge you because I shall be paying your bills and visiting you?”
“No, you misunderstand. I live there because I had no choice when Papa became too ill to pay the taxes on our home. Everything we had was confiscated and resold to pay his debts. People in that boardinghouse do not judge me because they know what hardship is. But that is my past. My future is to support myself with real, honest work—not whoring.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Is the truth too blunt for you? I have been a whore.”
“As you say, it is in your past. Neither of us wants to see you enter that line of work again. I am offering you something from my heart.” He put his hand on the small of her back. “Come, it is frigid out tonight. At least have a look at the house.”
She sighed. “If I do, will you then be satisfied with my refusal?”
A slight tensing of his sensual mouth told of his irritation. “Just have a look inside.”
With his hand quite fierce against her back, he began walking towards the house.
“Just have a look inside.”
He was so determined. What else could she say? After he’d been so kind, so thoughtful of her this evening, it would be churlish of her to refuse to at least look at the house.
“Oh, very well.”
If he could be determined, so could she. She would have a look and then leave. It was perfectly safe.
Chapter Eight
Once the door had shut, they were surrounded by darkness. The air was scented with new paint and what smelled like rose and lavender sachets. There was a slight chill and Jeanne hugged her shoulders. She heard him fumbling with something, and then soft yellow lamplight filled the entryway.
“I have hired servants, but they shan’t arrive until tomorrow.” He touched her pelisse. She allowed him to help her remove it. He hung it on a hook by the door then removed his greatcoat.
The house was silent. The sense of seclusion and intimacy hit her. They were totally alone here. If she called out, no one would hear. No one would come.
He had paid for this house for the sole purpose of making her body available for his use. The thought filled her with a definite sense of the difference in their positions in life. The difference in their power in this situation.
He picked up the lamp and met her eyes. Something primal crackled on the air between them. The carnal tension that had developed and built all evening since he had put his head into her lap and asked her to wear the evening gown. Edgy energy seemed to spark along her skin. An uneasy mix of arousal and apprehension fluttered in her belly.
He walked to a darkened doorway to the left.
She followed him, and his lamplight revealed a sitting room decorated in tones of deep red and blue. A lush sensual place.
A place where lush, sensual things might happen.
Her sense of agitation increased. It was as though she hung precariously over a precipice waiting for something to push her.
A soft clink sounded. David setting the lamp down. Though the thick rug muffled his footfalls, she sensed his approach in her skin, like a magnet’s force upon metal. From behind her, he touched her shoulders. She’d been expecting it but she still startled. Perhaps it was more enjoyable to be startled?