His for the taking.
No, what the devil was he thinking? He could not seduce Persephone. Rafe reached for a towel and blotted his face, neck and hands. She had already been mistreated by far too many arseholes, and she deserved better. A woman like Miss Wren was the sort a man married, not the sort he shagged.
And Rafe wasn’t the kind of chap who longed to find himself leg-shackled. His life was plummy the way it was. He was happy tending to his family’s gaming hells and bedding whomever he bleeding liked.
Reminding himself of that often would likely be a necessity if he stayed here in Mayfair for too long, the temptation of Persephone too close for comfort.
On a sigh, he finished dressing and then left his chamber, a lone taper accompanying him to illuminate the way since the hour was so early, even the servants were still abed. May as well get a start to his day. He had an endless mountain of work awaiting him. The Sinner’s Palace II was, quite unlike its predecessor, a West End affair. For the rich culls who didn’t dare venture to the stews. For earls and dukes and marquesses and mayhap even princes. This was to be their true beginning. A solidification of their family’s power and influence.
And he could not bloody wait for the doors to open, the tables filling with arrogant, soft-palmed lords ready to lose their papa’s coin. Grinning at the thought, Rafe descended the stairs and stalked down the hall. He supposed he would leave through the mews. He did not think he would ever grow accustomed to Jasper having a butler and footmen and all manner of fart catchers, and he could do for himself as well as any coachman or groom.
He was almost at the end of the hall when he noted light flickering from beneath a door. Curiosity and suspicion mingling, he decided to investigate. This was Mayfair, yes, but that fact had not deterred trouble from finding its way here.
He extracted the blade he always kept secreted in his boot, thinking he may have inadvertently stumbled upon a thief, attempting to filch something of value. Slowly, he opened the door to the library, peering through the crack to determine his next course of action.
What he found within, however, was not a thief.
Rather, it was the woman he had not been able to stop thinking about. His troublesome cock was already rising to attention at the sight of her, curled in a chair by the fireplace, a brace of candles on the table at her side, a book in her lap. He tucked his knife inside the sheath in his boot.
Christ, she was asleep, her head tilted back.
She was going to get a cramp in her neck.
Rafe told himself that was the reason he was crossing the threshold and carpets to where she sat instead of leaving through the mews as he had intended. He most definitely was not rushing to her side because the scent of her had been taunting him all night long and he was desperate for one more sniff. Or because he was desperate for any excuse to be in her presence.
He placed his taper on the table beside her, then plucked the open tome from her lap. Curious, he glanced down to find it was written in a language he didn’t recognize. Latin? French? He could not be certain. All he did know was that his Persephone was a damned intelligent wench.
His Persephone?
He needed to pull his head out of his arse. What was the matter with him? No woman had ever affected him thus before, and he didn’t like it. Not at all.
He snapped the book closed and placed it on the table as well, taking a moment to drink in the sight of her, face relaxed in slumber. All the starch was gone from her shoulders, and she hardly looked prim with her legs curled beneath her bottom, her curves accentuated by a dressing gown that did nothing to hide the ample blessings of her breasts and hips.
What he wouldn’t give to worship every inch of her body with his tongue.
You’re dicked in the nob, Rafe Sutton.
“Persephone,” he said softly, not wanting to give her a start but also knowing he needed to wake her before he spent the next hour watching her sleep like a lovesick pup who had never seen a quim before.
She shifted and made a sleepy sound of contentment that made his prick twitch.
“Persephone,” he tried again, this time touching her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Rafe?”
Her frown of puzzlement was adorable, damn it. He would give his left arm to kiss her.
Stop touching her, you horse’s arse.
But she was so warm, searing his palm and fingers and he could not seem to stop now that he had begun. “You were sleeping.”
“Oh dear. What a waste of Mr. Sutton’s candles.” She jolted upright in her seat, the tension which had become a familiar sight returning to her shoulders. “I should never have come here.”
Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from her shoulder, offering it instead for her to pull herself up. “The hour is quite early. You ought to return to your bed for some sleep.”
“Thank you for waking me. I never intended to fall asleep here.”
Her hand settled in his, and from the moment their bare flesh connected, he recognized the mistake he had made. But it was too late now. She may as well have touched him with flame. Her dainty fingers wrapped around his callused digits. He never wanted to let her go.