The moment the words were out, she cursed herself, images of precisely what he might do with her flooding her thoughts.
He laughed, low and dark. “I assure you, what I do with the girl will be well worth watching.” He met her gaze, and she resisted the urge to back away. Anna did not back away from men, even when she wished to. But for some reason, few men made her as uncomfortable as this one, with his beautiful, knowing gaze that seemed to see right into her.
She was taller than most women, and wearing heeled slippers that added several inches to her height, but still she was forced to look up at him, to take in his strong, square jaw, his equine nose, the fall of blond locks across his brow.
He had to be the handsomest man in Britain. And the cleverest.
Which made him incredibly dangerous.
He shifted, and she wondered if he was as uncomfortable as she was.
“You should not be alone with me.”
“It is not the first time we have been alone.” They’d been alone the night before. On that balcony. When he’d tempted her just the same.
One of his brows rose. “Yes, it is.”
Damn. She’d been Georgiana on the balcony. Another woman. Another time. She quickly recovered from the mistake, pouting and pretending to think. She let her lips curve seductively. “Perhaps I am merely dreaming it.”
His gaze narrowed. “Perhaps,” he said, the word dark and liquid. “It’s a wonder that Chase allows it.”
“I do not belong to Chase.”
“Of course you do.” He paused. “We all do, in a sense.”
“Not you,” she said. He was the only person who was not beholden to her. This man, whose secrets were as well kept as her own.
“Chase and I need each other to survive,” he said, “just as it seems you need him.”
She inclined her head. “We are all in this boat together.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “You and I are in the boat,” he said. “Chase may have built it and set it on its course. But it is our boat.” The words were punctuated by the sound of his wool coat sleeve shifting. He lifted his hand and brushed a curl back from her neck, sending a thrill through her. “Perhaps we should sail away. How do you think he would like that?”
She caught her breath. In all the time that they had worked together—in all the time they’d spent passing messages back and forth from the mysterious, nonexistent Chase—he’d never touched her in any way that could be considered remotely sexual. But that was about to change.
She shouldn’t allow it. She’d never allowed it before. Not with anyone.
Not since—
But she’d wondered about it. She’d wanted it.
And if she admitted it, she’d wanted it from this man, handsome as sin and twice as brilliant.
This man, who was offering it to her.
“He wouldn’t like it,” she whispered.
“No, he wouldn’t.” His fingertips a lick of heat following their path as they stroked along her jaw, down the edge of her neck to where her shoulder gave way to the hollow of her throat. “How did I fail to see it before?”
The words echoed the caress, soft and tempting, and her breath caught there, beneath his fingers, as they retraced their path up the column of her neck and tilted her face to his. She watched his beautiful mouth as he spoke. “How did I not notice it? The scent of you? The curve of your lips? The line of your neck?” He paused, and leaned in close, his mouth a hairsbreadth from hers. “How many years have I watched you?”
Good Lord, he was going to kiss her.
She wanted him to kiss her.
“If I were him,” he whispered, so close, so quiet that she fairly ached in anticipation, “I would not be happy at all.”
If he were whom? The question formed and dissipated in an instant, like opium smoke, taking thought with it. He was drugging her with words and looks and touch.
This was why she stayed clear of men.
But just once, just this time, she wanted it.
“If I were him,” he continued, his thumb stroking high across her cheek as he cupped her head and brought her to him. “I wouldn’t let you go. I would keep you. My lady.”
She froze at the words, fear and panic threading through her. She looked up at him, finding his clear, intelligent gaze. “You know.”
“I know,” he said. “But what I do not understand is why?”
He did not know everything. He did not understand the life that she had chosen was not Anna, but Chase. Not the lightskirt, but the king.
She told the truth. “Power.”
His gaze narrowed. “Over whom?”
“Over everyone,” she said, simply. “I own my life. Not them. They think me a whore, why not play one?”
“Under their noses.”
She smiled. “They see only what they wish to. It’s a beautiful thing.”
“I saw you.”
She shook her head. “Not for years. You thought I was Anna, too.”
“You could own your life beyond these walls,” he argued. “You do not have to play this part.”
“But I like this part. Here, I am free. It is Georgiana who must scrape and bow and beg for acceptance. Here, I take what I want. Here, I am beholden to none.”