“It is not about what happened to me,” she clarified softly, her countenance growing more concerned. “It is about what happened to Lord Gregson. Apparently, he was able to discover I am now in the employ of your brother’s household. He went to The Sinner’s Palace quite irate over what had befallen him in my name.”
The whipping he had received.
“Fuck,” Rafe muttered.
He could have kicked himself in the arse for invoking Persephone’s name. The only reason he had done so was because he had wanted Viscount Gregson to be bloody sure the reason he had received such a basting was because of what he had done to her. What he had tried to do to her. And to make certain he would think twice before ever attempting to force himself upon another innocent sharing his roof, a woman without the power to refuse him.
Belatedly, he realized Persephone’s cheeks were pink. He reckoned gentlemen didn’t use oaths in the presence of ladies where she came from. And then he wondered just where it was that she came from.
“Forgive me,” he said, with great feeling. “For the crudeness of my language and for any trouble I invited. If the bastard dares to return to The Sinner’s Palace making demands, I’ll whip ’im again.”
He meant those words. Lord how he meant them.
“Thank you, but I do not think it shall be necessary.” Persephone frowned. “At least I hope it shall not be.”
“Gregson ain’t going to cause any more problems for you, Persephone,” he vowed. “I won’t allow it.”
The fierce protectiveness he felt toward her was troubling, but like the sky above him and the sun rising every morning on a new day, it was simply there. Beyond his control.
“I have no wish to cause you any problems, either with your brother or at your gaming hell,” she said softly. “Mr. Sutton asked me about the morning Anne and Elizabeth came to my room and you told them I was sleeping. He told me he made some inquiries concerning what happened to Lord Gregson. I…I believe he may suspect you were involved.”
It was possible. Jasper knew Sophie too. Their circles hadn’t always been so damned lofty as they had now become, what with Jasper marrying into the quality.
“You won’t cause me problems, lovely,” he reassured Persephone, hating how fretful and tense she appeared, hating that Gregson could still affect her. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
The urge to take her in his arms and kiss away that frown was stronger than the need to take another breath. He banished it by sheer force of will.
“I thought you should know, should Mr. Sutton wish to speak with you about the matter.” Her brown gaze, flecked with hints of gold, seared his. “He has requested I stay away from you while you are a guest here.”
“He did, did he?” That rather nettled. What did Jasper think he was going to do? Tup Miss Wren?
Well, then he supposed his brother would not have been far from the mark. Hell.
“Yes.” Her lips compressed. “I am concerned he thinks there is more to our friendship than I admitted. You need not fear I told him about…about…what happened in the library. That is best forgotten, of course.”
Something inside Rafe, already stretched dangerously thin—some thread that was the last shred of honor he possessed—snapped. Severed beneath the weight of the moment, his desire for Persephone, Jasper interfering in his life, this business with Lord Gregson, everything.
One moment, he was determined to keep his distance, and the next, he was reaching for her waist, drawing her body slowly into his. He was careful to give her every chance to deny him, to withdraw. But she settled against him as if it were where she was meant to be.
And it felt as if she was. How perfectly they fit together, hip to hip, breast to chest. Her mouth was only a bit below his. Lowering his head enough to seize her lips with his required scarcely any effort at all.
Her hands were on his shoulders, not pushing him away but holding on to him, her eyes wide, fringed by cinnamon-colored lashes. A trail of freckles bedecked the bridge of her dainty nose.
“You can’t say it, can you?” he asked, devouring her with his gaze the way he longed to do with his lips.
“Can’t say what?” Her head tipped back, and the hideous cap slid, revealing some of her glorious hair.
He caught the thing between his thumb and forefinger and plucked it from her head, tossing it to the floor. “It’s a sin to cover your hair with that bleeding thing,” he told her before answering her query. “You can’t bring yourself to say what happened between us. That you kissed me.”
A flush stole over her cheekbones, painting them pink. “I was dreadfully forward. I must beg your forgiveness for my actions.”
He shook his head. “I’ll not forgive you. Nor will I forget it.”
“No?” Her countenance turned stricken.
“No.” He gave in to temptation and kissed the tip of her nose, where those mesmerizing little flecks dotted her creamy skin like pigment shaken from an artist’s brush. Her skin was smooth and warm and vital beneath his lips. He raised his head, holding her gaze. “Because I wanted you to kiss me, Persephone. And I bloody well loved it.”
Her lips parted, the coal-black discs at the center of her eyes going wide. “You did?”