He laughed. He had to. “You were adorable, even then.”
“Well, I am glad you stopped. Glad you saved me.”
Had he?
Had he saved her? Or had he ruined for her any chance at a secure future? No man of means would have her now. Her only option was a life with her aunt in God knew what kind of environment.
“Have you ever been married?” Her eyes widened and she leaped up to stare at him in horror. “Are you married?”
He gusted a laugh. “No. To both questions.”
“Oh thank heaven. I would hate to think I led you astray.”
She? Led him astray? She had no grasp on what had happened, did she? He was the one who had taken her hand and led her down the garden path. Even though it had been her idea, he should have known better.
She tipped her head to the side, as she often did when she was about to lance him with a question. “Have you ever wanted a wife?”
He snorted. “A man like me? Not likely.”
“Most men have them.”
“Not me.”
Her delicate brow furrowed. “Why not? You would be a good husband, I think, and an excellent father.”
Good God. What a heinous thought.
“You know very little about me, Tildy.”
“I think I know enough.”
“Such as?”
“You are patient and gentle.”
He was not. Not in the least. “I’ve killed men with my bare hands.”
She lurched back in shock. “You have not.”
“I have.” She needed to see. Needed to understand. He was not the hero she saw him as. He was the villain of this piece. Hell, he was the antihero of his own life’s story.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you kill them?”
They were coming at him with bayonets. He shrugged. “I didn’t want to die.”
“Well, you see. That is a good reason.”
It most certainly was not. There was no good reason to kill another man.
“When did you kill them?”
“When I was in France.”
“Oh.” She blew out a dismissive breath. “It doesn’t count when you’re at war.”
Didn’t it? “It always counts.”
“That is utter nonsense. War is a kill-or-be-killed situation. Have you ever had the desire to kill someone when you were not at war?”
Every day while he was at Eton.
“Tildy…”
“You cannot punish yourself for things you did in France, Dev. I cannot allow it.” She was adamant enough, he almost believed her. He had been a different man then, a desperate one. Every second could have been his last. And things had changed. His entire existence. He would not know the whole of it until he arrived at the barrister’s office, but he knew his circumstances were significantly altered.
“You have shown me what a wonderful man you are and I will not let you think less of yourself. You deserve to know peace and happiness.”
What a strange and wonderful thing to hear.
She raked her fingers through his hair, though gently, and kissed his brow, making him feel cherished and raw.
“Now, rest up,” she said.
“Rest up?”
“Yes.” She shot him a grin. “I would very much like to continue my explorations before our night together runs out.”
Hell. Hell and blast. The reminder was like acid in his veins.
“You…” His voice broke. “You should stay longer than one night.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You should.” He fixed her with a pedantic look. “There is so much more to experience.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes.”
In response, she merely hummed.
He folded her close and held her.
He could keep her, he thought.
He should.
He’d ruined her.
It was his obligation to make things right.
He could keep her.
He would.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY MADE LOVE MOST OF THE NIGHT, stopping only to rest between bouts. Dev, true to form, was gentle and thorough and showed her many new and thrilling positions. When she finally exhausted him, he fell into a deep sleep, which was sad, but at the same time sweet, because she was able to study him without interruption.
She needed to remember his face, remember everything.
She would need to hold it to her breast for the rest of her life.
But she had to go.
He’d suggested she might stay longer than one night, but she knew she could not. She hadn’t lied when she said this experience had changed her. It had. And one of the changes was a growing affection for this man.
This perfect, tempting, fascinating man.
She stared down at Dev, at his beautiful, sculpted features. His eyes were closed and his lashes created a sooty arc on his cheeks. His lips were loose and soft in sleep.
He was a man she could have loved. Might have loved.
And they’d both agreed, falling in love was a foolish thing. If she stayed with him, she knew she would tumble. This yearning she had for his presence, for his touch, would swell into something she could not survive.
Especially because she knew how he felt about marriage.
But he’d made his position clear. He had no need, no desire for a woman in his life.
If only life had been different.