“Innocent woman? Tell me then, little virgin, do you make it a practice to entertain men in your bedchamber?”
“Pardon me?”
He indicated her scanty attire. “I only wondered why a beautiful and innocent woman would so blithely display her attributes before a veritable stranger.”
Daphne winced as though she’d been struck, glancing down at her sheer nightgown and open robe as if seeing them for the first time.
Her bewilderment, her pain, were like blows to his gut, and the bandit’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. She had no way of understanding the complexity of what he was feeling. Hell, he didn’t even understand it himself.
Soberly, he watched her draw the edges of her robe together with trembling hands, and shame and remorse converged inside him. She was as artlessly naive as a child, possessing not a shred of experience at seducing men. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted her beyond reason, that she stripped away an iron control he’d spent thirty years building. The weakness was his, and he had no right to torment her for it.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, “that assault was inexcusable. You owe me no explanation.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to offer you one.” Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her breasts. “It isn’t that I’m unduly immodest. ’Tis only that I didn’t realize—that is, I don’t think of you as—I mean, I know you’re a—but I never imagined…” Twin spots of red stained her cheeks.
“You mean you never thought of me as a man?” The bandit stepped closer, lifting her chin with one gloved forefinger. “I assure you, Daphne, I’m very much a man. And you are very much a woman.”
“You know my name,” she whispered.
“Your name—and a great deal more.”
Those incredible hazel eyes searched his face, as if seeing clear through his mask to the man beneath.
“You’re wondering who I am.” Gruffly, he read her mind.
“I’m wondering many things. I have so many questions.”
He slid his hand around to caress her nape. “Ask, then. Anything but my name. Ask.”
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “My head is spinning. I can’t seem to think.” A tiny smile. “I’m sure I’ll berate myself in the morning. But, be that as it may, you dare not tarry longer, for our servants are instructed to arise before dawn. Whatever questions I have must remain unanswered. Nothing is more important than your leaving Tragmore undetected.”
He stared at her mouth, possessed by the nearly uncontrollable desire to tear off his hood and kiss her.
She seemed to feel it, too, for her breath came faster, and the pulse in her neck began to beat rapidly. “I’ll pray for you,” she whispered.
“I don’t believe in prayers.”
“But you must. You answer them.” Tentatively, she brushed her fingers across his masked jaw.
A low groan escaped his chest. “Ah, Daphne.” Touching her in the only way he could, he sifted his fingers through her hair, wishing he could feel its silky texture. “Pray for me then.”
She smiled. “I always do.”
If he didn’t leave now, he never would.
“Good night, Daphne.”
“Wait—” She stayed him, blurting out her request as if it required all her courage. “I know it’s none of my business, but unless you have a specific workhouse chosen to receive tonight’s profits, would you consider donating them to an establishment I know to be especially needy?”
He said n
othing, still combatting the fire in his loins.
“Please?” she repeated softly.
“What is this workhouse?”
“It’s located in Leicester and is called the House of Perpetual Hope.” Daphne gave a hollow laugh. “ ’Tis anything but.”