The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(79)

He loved every enchanting iota of who she was.

He knew his feelings but hadn’t shared them with her. The time wasn’t right. There was mayhem and murder to deal with and, besides, she’d been clear that she wanted an affair with no strings attached. Especially now, when her efforts to gain social approval were bearing fruit.

In bed last night, she’d told him about her success with Lady Charlotte. He wasn’t surprised; Primrose could charm birds from their leafy perches if she wished. In this instance, she’d convinced the respected dowager and her charges to put in a good word for her in the right circles. Her new relations had done more than that: they’d sung her praises. Now tongues were wagging about Primrose’s kindness to her new family and her grace in the face of tragedy.

“I’m on the path to respectability once more!” Primrose had said happily.

He was glad for her—glad that she was finally getting what she wanted. But it made him even more reticent to declare his love. The last thing he wanted was to pressure or burden her with the feelings he had no right to have.

Thus, he forced himself to take their affair day by day, to enjoy every moment that she was his—and it wasn’t difficult. His nights had become an orgy of pleasure. She, a novice, was teaching him about desire. Her natural sensuality astounded and entranced him, and she was growing bolder by the minute.

Last night, when she’d thanked him prettily for the diamond necklace, her hands had wandered farther and farther south. When her fingers had circled his cock, his breath had hissed through his teeth. It had been her first attempt at frigging him, and the way she’d explored his erection with feather-light caresses had nearly driven him out of his mind…

With a touch—hell, a smile—she brought him more pleasure than any of his previous lovers had. She was showing him that sex could be more than a physical exchange. His gut knotted as he thought of Kitty, of the years he’d spent tangled in her web. It shamed him more than ever that he’d once mistaken his feelings toward her for love.

Love didn’t take without giving. Love didn’t leave you feeling dirty and used.

Love didn’t make a whore of you.

It had taken him a long time—too long—to understand this. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Primrose about his stupidity. His weakness. He’d broken things off with Kitty too many times to count, and yet she would turn up like a bad penny after months or even years and somehow worm her way back into his bed. She’d never stayed long, only until she’d gotten whatever it was that she’d wanted. Money, usually.

It sickened him to think of how he’d allowed himself to be used. He almost wished that it had just been about the sex, which had been depraved yet never satisfying. But his addiction to Kitty had been more insidious: she’d treated him like a whore, and he’d believed that he deserved it.

He’d finally come to his senses two years ago—and Primrose had played a part in that, too. Around that time, her plight had come to his attention, and he’d begun to keep a watch on her from afar. He couldn’t explain it exactly, but witnessing her spirited struggle to overcome her origins had triggered a shift in him. Primrose’s bright determination had made him long to step out of the darkness. He’d ended his relationship with Kitty for good.

Was it any wonder that he didn’t want to expose this ugliness to Primrose? Guilt churning, he told himself that it was for the best to protect her from the darkness that Kitty had brought into both their lives. His gut clenched as he recalled Primrose’s revelations about Coyner—he hadn’t known the truth of her history until she’d told him.

He’d been aware that Primrose was reunited with her mama at age eight, but the circumstances surrounding that reunion had been shadowed in secrecy. When Kitty had re-entered his life sometime after that, she’d said that she’d dealt with a solicitor, had never known the identity of the man she’d sold Primrose to—only that he was some upstanding gent who’d promised to treat the girl like his own.

I did right by Primrose, Kitty had claimed.

Andrew hadn’t pressed her for details; a part of him hadn’t wanted to know. All that had mattered was that Primrose was back in the loving bosom of her family, and, by all accounts, a happy, carefree child.

Hearing from Primrose about this bastard Coyner and his vile plans… it had made Andrew want to punch something. Himself, for starters. As relieved as he was that nothing had happened to her, he hated that he’d failed her. Hated that he’d allowed her to be exposed to such risk.

“We’re almost there.”

Kent’s words refocused him. Looking out the window, he saw they were deep in the heart of the rookery, on a street crammed with flash houses, taverns, and pawnshops. Gangs of ruffians eyed their passing carriage, spitting on the ground.

“I cannot wait to get my hands on the bastard who shot at Rosie,” Harry said grimly.

The words echoed Andrew’s own thoughts. He was surprised to see a bloodthirsty gleam behind the other’s spectacles. Apparently a vein of ferocity ran beneath that scholarly mien.

Maybe he and Harry had more in common than he realized.

“You’ll have to get in queue,” Andrew said.

Harry looked at him—and grinned.

“Let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum, shall we?” Kent muttered as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Although, from the looks of it, there may be plenty to go around.”