“I thought the same, Mr Sloane.” Her cheeks glowed red. “Mr D’Angelo wished to read the documents alone, and I woke in a sudden panic, fearing this new information might be too much for him to bear.”
Sloane glanced at Dante’s bare chest. “There is no need to explain.”
No, because it was obvious they’d been devouring each other, were seconds away from stripping off their clothes and writhing on the floor in a naked frenzy.
“Mr D’Angelo wanted to show me his scars.”
“Indeed. One must be thankful they’re all on his chest.”
Dante grabbed his shirt and dragged it over his head. “I’m to see Miss Sands home. Why don’t you pour yourself a drink and study the notes while you wait? I’ll be ten minutes, no more.”
“Ten minutes?” Sloane mocked.
Dante firmed his jaw and gave an inconspicuous nod, a sign for Sloane to cease with the teasing comments. Could he not see Miss
Sands fought to hide her embarrassment?
“I shall fetch my cloak and meet you outside,” she said, keen to make a hasty escape. “Good night, Mr Sloane. I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts on the case.”
Sloane inclined his head. “I shall give the matter my full attention.”
She tucked her golden hair behind her ears and left the room. Having retreated to the hall, no doubt she took a moment to catch her breath, to close her eyes and chastise herself for succumbing to primal urges.
“I’ll be back shortly.” Dante tucked his shirt into his breeches.
Sloane stopped him before he reached the drawing room door. He lowered his voice. “Beneath the bravado, you’re a good man, D’Angelo, and I love you like a brother. Miss Sands has struggled these last twelve months, and I’m sure you don’t want to hurt her.”
“Trust me. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Then have a care. She’s not a courtesan, not someone to use and discard.”
Dante resisted telling his friend to mind his own damn business. “I know who she is.” A woman who brought calm to his chaotic world. A woman who affected him like no other woman had before. Someone rare. Someone special. Someone who deserved more than he could ever give.
He left the room, snatched the package from the console table in the hall, remained lost in the memory of her sumptuous mouth while Bateson helped him shrug into his greatcoat.
The brief walk to Howland Street was plagued by an uncomfortable silence. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. He supposed he should apologise, but he was not sorry.
When the silence became deafening, he gripped her elbow and brought her to a halt. “Beatrice, about what happened before Sloane arrived.”
“When I asked you to kiss me, and you did, so thoroughly?”
He could see through her feigned confidence. She didn’t know how to deal with these odd emotions either.
“The kiss, I did not intend for it to be so … so …”
“Wild and passionate?”
He smiled. “I did not mean to overwhelm you, yet I got caught up in the moment. And I—” Hell! Why could he not construct a simple sentence?
“You don’t want me to presume it was anything more than an experiment to see if my uncle’s attentions have caused irreparable damage.”
He could not reply.
That’s not why he’d kissed her.
“One thing is clear,” she said, a little choked. “I’m not frightened when I’m with you, Dante.”
Her words touched him in a dormant place. He reached into the inside pocket of his greatcoat and removed the leather box. “I want you to have this. It’s not a bribe, or a means to make amends for mistreating you tonight, but—”