Oh, how he wanted to feel disappointed. He wanted to prove that she was just an ordinary woman, nothing special. He wanted her to react as all the others had done: unrefined, vulgar, wanton — the only sort of woman he deserved.
But the Lord had delivered his most virtuous, most tempting angel to torment him.
With surprising strength, Mrs. Denton pushed him away. She swallowed visibly as her breathing came short and quick, her soft breasts heaving to punish him all the more. Bringing her gloved hand to her lips, she touched the tips of her fingers to her mouth.
“Mrs. Denton —” he began, but he had no words to account for his actions, the situation being strange and foreign to him and the more he thought, the more his mind grew hazy.
Which was why he failed to notice her draw back her hand.
When it connected with his cheek, it sounded like a dull thud but stung his pride like the lash of a whip.
“You mistake me for someone else, my lord,” she said, kindness and warmth replaced with coldness and loathing.
The stone barricade around his heart shook, bits of broken mortar crumbling away. God help him, he wanted her more than ever — to see her smile, to trust him, to open her caring heart to him.
Damn it.
Sensing her disappointment and disdain, he stepped back. “Go.” The word came out as a growl, a vicious warning and he simply stared as she pulled down her mask, picked up her skirt and ran off into the night.