A Wild Night's Bride (The Devil DeVere #1)(12)

***

Tilting her head, Phoebe assessed the large gentleman with greater scrutiny, deciding he was quite handsome in an unassuming sort of way. She guessed his age in the midthirties. His clothing was plain but well-cut with minimal ornamentation. He also displayed no outward signs of debauchery. His manners were impeccable, unusual enough under the circumstances, but moreover, he had addressed her with respect, most surprising in these circumstances. “In that case...” She smiled. “Perhaps just a short stroll.”

“It would be my honor.” He bowed formally and placed her hand on his sleeve. Phoebe didn’t know what had compelled her to accept his invitation to go outside when her entire purpose was to find DeVere who was certainly inside, but she found his lack of guile and self-deprecating demeanor both charming and disarming. Perhaps it was also that he looked so much like a fish out of water, much the way she felt.

She accepted his arm and exited the house into an enclosed courtyard that while well lit with flambeaux, appeared deserted. They perambulated the moonlit path for an extended time, the strangely companionable silence punctuated only by the crunch of gravel beneath their feet.

Phoebe couldn’t help slanting frequent glances at his face, a kind face, yet with a strong profile she found unusually attractive. “You must understand that I am not accustomed to private interludes with strangers. I am not a harlot, but an actress, you see.” She added cynically, “Though many deem there is little difference between the two.”

“I do not judge,” he said.

“No?” His words were welcoming, the timbre of his voice low and smooth, soothing to her frazzled nerves. His quiet presence seemed to encourage confession but then, perhaps, it was just that it had been so long since she’d had any confidante at all. Her eyes met his hazel ones and held. He had very nice eyes. Sensitive eyes, but she reminded herself she’d been fooled before. “Perhaps you will change your mind when you learn why I am here.” His genteel manner made her feel guilty, as if she had somehow deceived him. “I came for a decided purpose,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

He turned to face her, placing a warm hand over hers. “Though I wondered what would bring such a lady to a place like this, your reasons are your own, madam. I am only glad of your company.”

His statement, curious rather than judgmental, was nearly her undoing. Phoebe felt her lip quiver, her armor slipping. Why was he being so genteel, so kind to her? It had been so very long, years now, since anyone had addressed or treated her as a lady.

She awarded him with a sultry smile, Kitty’s smile. She leaned into him, tempting him with a close view of her décolletage. She smoothed her hands up his arms, relishing the strong solid feel of them and entwined her own around his neck. Her lips sought his ear where she murmured against his clean-shaven skin. “Then I am truly a finer actress than I thought...for I have come seeking a protector.”

She withdrew a few inches and focused an inviting gaze on his mouth, a full, sensual mouth, and briefly wondered what he would taste like and how it would feel when he pulled her into his arms. She was overcome with a yearning to feel his embrace, his warm lips seeking hers. Something about him drew her inexplicably, engendered a feeling of safety and comfort that she found irresistible, that her very soul craved. She also knew how dangerous such a man could be. You are not Phoebe. You are Kitty. You are here to find a patron, not a lover. Lovers betray, she reminded herself with a shake.

“A protector?” he asked.

“Yes.” She gifted him with a siren’s smile. “And I’ve begun to fancy you for the position.”

***

Her warm, sweet breath caressed his cheek, the generous swell of her lovely breasts, and lovely they were, pressed against his chest. His nostrils flared at the combination of her womanly essence with the light perfume scent of her hair. The sum total stirred his cock to life, seizing him with a rampant jolt of carnal hunger he’d been tamping down for three long years of self-denial. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth against the powerful urge to crush her in his arms and devour that luscious mouth.

With a herculean show of self-control honed from long practice, he gently disengaged her arms, putting her at a safer distance. His reply was formal, stiff and terse. “If that is what you sought from me, I’m sorry to disappoint. I would not be a suitable candidate.”

Her response betrayed bewilderment and then a complete misconstruction of his actions. “I have heard of certain women with a preference for their own gender...”

“Gad, no!” Ned barked. “It is no such thing as that! It’s just—I haven’t—I can’t—Oh, bloody hell!” He raked a hand through his hair. “Is it impossible to believe that not every man wishes to use women in such a demeaning manner?”

“Demeaning? You mean to say you have never paid for your pleasure?” Her tone was laden with cynical disbelief.

“I was young and wild once,” he confessed. “But unlike some of my acquaintances, I have discovered the deepest fulfillment of body, mind, and spirit comes not from random acts of lust, but from the abiding love of a woman.”

“You speak of a wife?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Then your presence here tonight belies your professed devotion, my lord.”

“Edward,” he answered softly, ignoring her sneer.