Seven Nights Of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors(2)

She didn’t answer at once. She removed her wet blanket, and then her pelisse—one of quality, he had the presence of mind to note—and wrapped one of the dry blankets around her shoulders.

It was beneath him to notice her bosom, but he excelled at disillusioning society’s expectations. And it was an excellent, attention-grabbing swell. Her waist was nipped and her hips were full. All in all, quite a luscious package.

She used the other blanket to tousle her hair in an attempt to make her curls wilder still. As she did so, she surveyed him from beneath her lashes. And damn, they were long.

“Can I trust you?”

He blinked. No one had ever asked him that question and he wasn’t certain how to answer. For one thing, could he be trusted? He hardly knew.

“Trusted for what?”

“Why, not to return me from whence I came.”

“Did you come from Bedlam?” It was a logical question. She had been walking in the rain.

Her laugh was lovely. It made the tiny hairs on his arms rise. Something else stirred as well. How he would love to hear her laugh, just like that, as he buried himself in her—

“No. But I have run away.” She raked his person with what he could only assume was meant to be a merciless survey. She was like a ferocious kitten, this one. “You look like the type of man who might return me to my brother.”

Ah. She had not run from a husband. He was not certain why relief trickled through his veins. Or was it lust?

“I shall not return you to your brother.” This, he pledged with his hand to his heart and she seemed to believe him.

She gushed a sigh. “Oh, thank God for that.”

“So now, will you tell me why you were traipsing along the road in a storm?”

“I most certainly was not traipsing. I never traipse. And I already did tell you.” She cocked her head to the side. “Are you not paying attention?”

“I thought I was.” But clearly he had missed something.

“I was running away.”

“You were hardly running. Surely, you can understand my confusion.”

To his shock, his dry wit amused her. For so many people, his jests were like pigeons, soaring over their heads and occasionally loosing a rain of aviary excrement. But she got his humor. He saw it in her eyes.

He decided he liked her. He liked her very much.

“All that aside, I was indeed fleeing.”

“And what were you fleeing?”

She leaned closer. Her scent, tangled with the smell of rain, danced to him, curling through his olfactory process and making his mouth water. She smelled divine.

“Well, a fate worse than death, of course.” She sniffed and buffed her hair a little more. “Why else would I brave this weather?”

“A fate worse than death?” In his understanding, this phrase had one meaning and one meaning only. Something settled in his chest, a hard and furious ball. “Did your brother…” God, he couldn’t say it.

She peered at him when he didn’t finish the thought, blinking several times like a sparrow. “Did he what?”

Dev swallowed heavily. “Did he…accost you?”

He’d kill the man, whomever he was. Kill him with his bare hands.

“Oh good God, no.”

He nearly collapsed with relief. He’d killed enough people on the battlefield. He didn’t really want to kill any more. That part of his life was over.

“He is forcing me to wed.”

“Oh.” It was an effort to keep back his bark of a laugh. Was that all?

“Don’t say, oh. The man he wants me to spend the rest of my life with is a complete and utter stick.”

“A stick?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. Curls tumbled.

It should be illegal for those curls to roam free. Dev longed to gather them up and tie them into a queue so they did not distract him so much with thoughts of…other uses.

Yes. He was a perverted soul for even having the thought. This girl was pure as the driven snow. Without asking he knew she was a virgin. Probably a lady. And the stick her brother wanted her to marry was probably a lord of the realm.

“So you’ve run away.”

“I have.”

“And where are you going?” Where did one go to escape a fate worse than death? When one was a woman in this age where women were so dependent upon men?

She pressed her lips together.

“That’s all right,” he said. “You don’t need to tell me.”

Contrarily, she did. “I have an aunt living in London. She will help me get it done.”

Myriad questions assaulted him at the same time. He grasped the first and foremost. “Get what done?”

“Why, lose my virginity of course.”

“Of course.”

“Then no man will want me.”

Oh, how untrue that was.

“And this aunt will help you, um, divest yourself of this unwanted virginity?”

“Naturally. She’s quite avant-garde. After her husband died—he was twice her age, you know—she decided never to marry again. She lives a truly blissful existence attending parties and balls and answering to no one.” She leaned closer once more. Her eyes sparkled. “She has lovers.”