The corner of Talent’s mouth twitched. “Ian and I do not see eye to eye on everything.” He resumed his glaring. “Point of fact, I cannot fault the women for seeking coin. I know how desperation feels. The men who use them are what makes me ill.” The scowl upon his face grew. “It’s disgusting.”
“Because they are not treating the woman as people?” She almost smiled at him. But he brusquely shook his head, killing her sudden goodwill.
“Those women make their choice to be treated as such.” His lips curled. “But by procuring, those men are degrading the act into something meaningless.”
He shocked a laugh out of her with that. “Goodness, you are a prude.”
Talent snorted. “Prude? Because I object to the buying and selling of women? How very hackneyed of you, and everyone else,” he muttered before leaning forward to crowd her with his body and pin her with an intense look. “Believe me, angel, I am not a prude. Just because the very idea of lying with a woman who doesn’t truly want me turns my stomach doesn’t mean I don’t want to tup one. I’d simply rather have some regard for my partner.”
Mary blinked and tried to ignore the flush of warmth his words wrought in her. “But you’re a man.”
He cocked his head. “What the bloody devil does that have to do with anything?”
“Men do not differentiate between the physical act and love.” Not any she knew. As for her opinion in the matter, she found the endeavor noisy, awkward, and undignified. Indeed nothing in her personal experience would lead her to recommend it.
“First off, I’m not talking about love, merely mutual respect and desire.”
“What is to say that the prostitute and the procurer do not mutually respect their arrangement?” She was half goading, but enjoying it nonetheless. “How very shortsighted of you, Talent.”
Again his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a happy smile he fought, not if the annoyance in his eyes was anything to go by. “Secondly,” he went on in an imperious manner, “I don’t know why I’m bothering to discuss this with you, as women are notoriously weak of will and flesh, especially when it comes to carnal matters. You are far too innocent to be hearing such things.” A sneering laugh drifted into his tone. “By rights you shall be soon swooning.”
Blood rushed through her veins. “Why you arrogant, ignorant bast—” She stopped short, catching his pointed and eloquent look. Inwardly she winced.
Talent’s voice was smooth silk, tinged with the smallest hint of censure. “Do not pigeonhole me, Chase, and I won’t do so with you.”
Despite her having been outmaneuvered, a smile pulled at her cheeks. Talent’s gaze went to her mouth, and he drew an audible breath, leaving Mary feeling a bit breathless herself. “Point to you, Talent.”
His grin was quick, devastating, then gone. But he did not crow over his victory. Instead silence fell between them again. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but certainly a truce. “I wish the rest of your sex felt similarly,” she said after a time.
“Do not hold your breath, Mistress Chase.”
She made a noise of agreement. But her curiosity would not let go. “So, then, if not with prostitutes…” Shut up, you imbecile. “That is, there are certainly other means.…” Gads, but she couldn’t say the words and survive the humiliation. She bit down on her lip to stop.
He peered down at her. “My, my, Mistress Chase, you do have quite the interest in my sexual activities.”
She picked up her pace, heading for Nelson’s Column. “Do not give yourself airs. I merely asked out of banal curiosity. I’ve never met a man who eschews casual exchanges, and I wanted to understand more.”
His laughter reached her just before he did, easily catching up to her with his long legs. Without warning he grabbed her, the quick move forcing her to swing round and face him. “Little liar.” Talent’s eyes danced with annoying glee, the brackets along his mouth deepening with his amusement. “Ask it,” he demanded in a husky voice. “How many women have I had?”
Impishness ought not be so beguiling. Nor should he smell so good, nor the heat of his body be so compelling. His lips, when he wasn’t pressing them together in his angry way, were well-formed and appeared surprisingly soft just then. Mary edged back. Those lips had spewed forth far too much verbal vitriol for her to be admiring them.
She focused on a point over his shoulder. “I don’t care.”
He dipped his head, and his lips came close enough to steal her air. “I’ll tell you my number if you tell me yours.”