Seven Nights Of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors(4)

His shoulders were broad and the muscles of his chest strained his shirt, and a glance at his thighs brought tree trunks to mind. He was powerfully built, handsome of visage and seemed to have a sense of humor she could tolerate.

They were all elements high on her list of desirable attributes.

He was an excellent candidate…if he wanted the job.

“So…” All of a sudden, his voice seemed to be a purr. There was a predatory glint in his eye, which made no sense, because she had rather offered herself, hadn’t she? One did not need to hunt a sacrificial lamb.

Still, she liked the look.

“So?” She forced a moue of nonchalance, though her heart was pattering harder than the rain.

“Are you serious about losing your virginity?”

“Very serious.” George was a nice man—gentle and intelligent and respectful—but he was a stick. She felt nothing when he kissed her. Certainly nothing like this strange swirling in her belly when Dev so much as looked at her. She could not spend her life with George. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. It wouldn’t be fair to her and it wouldn’t be fair to him. No one wanted to live without passion. And like her aunt, Tildy was determined to know passion, taste it, wallow in it.

She’d seen her friends marry and turn overnight from impish, adventurous girls to sour-faced prisoners beneath the thumb of their domineering husbands. That would not happen to her.

She decided long ago that she would script her own story. She would control her destiny. And when Charles had announced that she was now betrothed—before her coming out, even—she rebelled. And ran.

Dev was right though. Charles would go to Aunt Elizabeth’s. He would go straight there. It was imperative that she achieve her primary goal before she arrived.

And what Providence. That this man—one who, other than the beard, was perfectly acceptable for her purposes, and damn handsome to boot—should stop and pick her up?

Clearly God in heaven above was on her side.

“You do realize this is something that cannot be undone?”

She had the sense he was asking the question purely because his moral code required it. “I do.”

“You are quite young…to be making a decision that will change everything.”

“Everything?” she asked. “Do you really believe that one act changes who a person is? At their core?”

He stared at her as though stunned to hear such words from a lady’s lips. But then he said, “I certainly hope not.”

His tone was so dark, so tormented, she had to ask, “Have you done things?” Things that changed him irrevocably?

“Madam, I have just returned from France.”

“Ooh.” How fascinating. “Are you a soldier?”

“I was. An officer in the King’s Dragoons.”

Oh. A cavalry man. She loved horses. “Did you see much action?”

“Far too much.”

“I am sorry.”

He blinked and she realized how lovely his eyes were. A light blue, almost crystalline, with large pupils and a dark ring around the irises, making it hard to look away. “Why are you sorry?” he said, his voice dropping low.

“You must have suffered.”

“I was injured.”

“Yes, but I meant spiritually.”

“Spiritually?” His tone indicated he’d never even considered those wounds.

“War is hell,” she said. She knew of such things. She’d read several books on the topic.

“Yes. It is.”

“But you are home now. And safe.”

“Yes.” He looked out the window and stroked his beard as though he were remembering some of his losses.

She wished one of them had been the beard.

She really disliked beards on men.

“So do you?”

His attention jerked back to her. “What?”

“Do you really believe one act can change a person?”

“I think everything we do, everything we say, every breath we take changes us.”

She blew out an impatient breath. “That is far too deep a rumination for this conversation.”

“Is it?” Why he seemed amused was a mystery.

“Most certainly. We are talking about my giving myself to a man who is not and never shall be my husband.”

“We are talking about you giving your innocence to a man you do not know. Do you have any idea how dangerous that can be?”

“I suppose it would be dangerous.” She had to admit this. “But it is not dangerous with you.”

He reared back. An odd mixture of shock and anger and confusion crossed his face. “How can you possibly know what kind of man I am? What I could do to you when I got you alone? Damn it, Tildy, I could be a monster for all you know.”

“But you’re not.” She knew. She could see it in his eyes.

As her words soaked in, she saw it blossom there, his deep gratification for her trust. But he sighed and scrubbed his face and said “Tildy,” in a tone that made clear he was about to turn her down.

So she went on the offensive. “However, if you do not want to be the one to deflower me, I totally understand. I imagine it can be rather unsettling to be approached by a woman with such a request.”

He murmured, “You have no idea,” beneath his breath, but she heard.