A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(41)

She might not be perfect, but he liked what he saw.

At least, she supposed that was what it meant when a man whispered, “Sweet God above.”

He shook his head, still staring rapt at her naked breast. “This can’t happen.”

“Oh, yes. It’s happening.” She hoped more would be happening rather soon.

“I don’t use women. Ever.”

“You’re not using me.”

“And I don’t take advantage of innocent girls. Ever.”

For goodness’ sake. He wasn’t taking advantage of her, and she wasn’t a girl. Would it help if she begged?

The longer he delayed, the tighter her nipple puckered. It looked like a raspberry now, jutting out from a scoop of blancmange. Ready to be devoured.

“Thorne.” She wriggled, pressing her breast into his hand. “I need . . . something.”

He looked up, pinning her gaze with his. “I know precisely what you need.” The deep richness of his voice melted and spread over her skin.

“Then please.” She tugged at his coat, trying to pull him closer. “Please.”

After a long hesitation he pulled her sleeve back up over her shoulder, then covered her breast.

“You need more than a moment’s stolen pleasure,” he said. “You need care and affection. Tenderness and love.”

With jerky motions, he retied the ribbon bow, then stepped away. “You need a different man. A better man than me.”

Chapter Eleven

No sooner had Thorne stepped away, loins throbbing with unspent lust, than Lady Lark Gramercy came dashing into the churchyard.

He quickly moved behind a stone cross, which was conveniently waist high. There was no concealing his labored breathing, however. Nor Katie’s.

“Oh, there you two are,” Lark said, smiling. “For a moment, I worried you were having some sort of tryst. I should hate for anything to tempt Evan to a sixth duel.” The young woman laughed. “Five is impressive, but six . . . ? Six would just look predictable.”

Katie—Miss Taylor, he scolded himself—plucked a bit of ivy from her hair as she stepped away from the wall. Her cheeks and throat were washed with pink.

“We’ve had a time of it,” she said. “Badger dashed into the churchyard through a hole in the wall and we’ve been searching.”

Bloody hell. Thorne scanned the rows of graves. The pup was missing again.

What a blackguard he was. Not only had he been moments away from desecrating Miss Taylor’s virtue in a churchyard and ruining her future of wealth and comfort—he’d neglected the damn dog. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, furious with himself.

“Go on with Lady Lark,” he told Miss Taylor. “I’ll find him.”

He needed a few minutes to bring his lust into submission anyway.

Once the ladies had left, he whistled. The dog came running straightaway.

And then Thorne spent a quarter hour or so reading the inscription on every last monument in the churchyard, at his usual painfully slow rate. Might as well get acquainted with the people he’d given such a salacious show.

Four rows of dead Wilmingtonians later, his loins had calmed and he believed he might be able to think clearly again. As he left the churchyard, Badger at his heel, he ran both hands through his hair.

What the devil was he doing? Hadn’t he resolved there would be no more kisses? He knew how to withstand purely physical temptation, but her sweetness . . . this was a force unlike any he’d faced before.

If he hadn’t chosen that moment to stop . . . If Lady Lark had arrived just a few seconds earlier . . . Katie—Miss Taylor—would have been caught with her bosom hanging out of her dress. With him hulking and slavering over her like a randy youth getting his first flash of tit.

Thorne had meant what he’d told her. He didn’t use women. Growing up in a whorehouse had left him with contempt for any man who paid for pleasure. And an exchange of coin wasn’t the only way a woman could be used. He’d seen men wield power, privilege, circumstance, and physical violence to have their way.

Sometimes—many times—it all made him disgusted to be a man.

But he was a man. One like all the others, rank with dark cravings and base needs. So he took lovers—but only when he knew the relationship would be mutually satisfying, uncomplicated, and brief.

Nothing with Miss Taylor could be uncomplicated. As for brief . . . ? They had a connection spanning decades.

Today he’d been tempted to use her anyway. Oh, she would have argued that she was willing enough. But he knew what she truly wanted from life. And it sure as hell didn’t involve reclining against a churchyard wall and offering her breast to a crude, uneducated convict. If he’d given in to her pleadings and his own lust, he would have only been using her. To make himself feel stronger, more powerful.

More human.

You are important, she’d said. You need to let someone know you.

When it came to his emotions, no one could get past the stalwart defenses he had erected. No one, that was, until her. She’d been close to him long before all those fortifications were completed. And though she didn’t remember his face or his name, she seemed to recall her way through the network of tunnels. She was gaily skipping past all his Keep the Hell Out barricades, working her way to the center of his soul.