The urge to come to her aid pushed to the fore, but he ignored it. He could not afford to draw undue attention to himself. Perhaps if there was an incentive. If he could sate the desire simmering beneath the surface. But despite the clawing need in his loins, he refused to dally with an innocent.
"What about your family? Can they not help you?"
"Oh, no!" Her eyes grew wide, the soft delicate blue reminding him of a cloudless sky on a summer's afternoon. A wave of regret swept over him, a reminder of all he'd lost and he sucked in a breath to eradicate the feeling. "There are too many secrets," she continued, "things my mother would not understand."
"I see." She did not need to say any more, and he did not want to ask. Not out of politeness, but because he did not wish to deepen their acquaintance.
"Well, there is another possibility to explore," she said. "And I would trouble you for just one more thing."
He almost said 'anything' but curbed his eager tongue and merely nodded.
"My sister was friendly with a gentleman called Barrington. I would ask you to point him out to me."
"Lord Barrington!" The lady would do well to stay clear of such a man. "I do not know what you intend to do here, but I suggest you let me escort you to my carriage. My coachman will take you wherever you need to go. I am confident your sister will make a dramatic appearance in a day or two. It would not be wise to jeopardise your own reputation."
She gave him a tender smile that expressed gratitude. "I thank you for your counsel. But instinct tells me you're wrong. I know something awful has happened. Just as I know you speak the truth when you proclaim your innocence." Her gaze drifted over his face, and his heart lurched. "Now, can you tell me if you've seen Lord Barrington this evening?"
"Miss Rosemond," he said with a sigh.
"It is Mrs. Denton, Grace Denton. But I ask that you mention it to no one."
"You're married?" Disappointment flooded his chest. The lady looked no older than twenty. While her words revealed a level of maturity and intelligence, there was something pure and unworldly about her. She held an innocence and a level of naiveté he found endearing.
She offered a weak smile. "I am a widow."
The revelation caused another momentary surge of emotion. The more they conversed, the deeper, the more intimate his knowledge of her grew. As he tried to shake the feeling of comfortable familiarity, he glanced over her shoulder to see Lord Barrington hovering on the steps as he scoured the garden.
What Elliot did next was unarguably the most foolish, most surprising thing he had ever done. He wrapped his hands around Mrs. Denton's delectable arms, pulled her closer to his needy body and kissed her.
It was a way of preventing her seeking out Barrington, a way to let Barrington know he'd staked his claim. After all, widows were fair game. But when she gasped as her lips touched his, he couldn't fight the urge to plunder her mouth. Wild and reckless, he thrust his tongue deep inside, desperate to taste her, desperate to sate the passion burning within.
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.
Chapter 3
Grace raced through the garden, desperate to be away from the world of sin and degradation her sister found so appealing. Inside, her chest burned. Days of suppressed emotion refused to be tempered yet still she fought to keep it at bay.
To cry would mean failure and she would not desert her sister in her hour of need.
Lord Markham proved to be worthy of his scandalous reputation. Of course, she'd only had the word of a stranger and a few notes in a diary, but his crude assault supported their statements.