As if sensing the same, Mercy blessedly jerked her hands from him and scrambled up. The spot she’d just occupied lay open and bare. Without her there, suddenly he felt empty and cold.

“My stars, sir,” she whispered, the mortification raw in her voice. “I don’t know what’s a-come over me. I rightly don’t.”

He could feel her sitting and gathering the cloak about her with quick, stiff movements. Although he couldn’t see her features, he could imagine her mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and wide eyes. He had no doubt she was more beautiful first thing in the morning after awakening than at any other time.

What would it be like to wake up next to her every morning? Certainly not as his mistress, but perhaps as something more permanent?

The thought was entirely unexpected. And was completely inappropriate. He shook his head. The wrestle with death during the night had addled him and made him overly sentimental.

He had no wish for a wife at present, had in fact become the expert at avoiding women during his furloughs home. Even if he’d been ready to get married, he wouldn’t dare consider a woman plucked out of London’s slums.

He’d defied convention by working as a doctor. He’d defied convention with his outspoken views on issues. But certainly he couldn’t throw away social expectations entirely by marrying a woman whose station in life was so far beneath his.

Marriage to someone like Mercy would be highly unacceptable. He would be ostracized by his peers, cast out of clubs, snubbed in social circles. He’d lose the admiration that came with his father’s good name and quite possibly forfeit any future chance at serving in the House of Lords.

It was one thing to maintain a free spirit in his youth, to roam the world and delay settling down. Most of his peers had accepted his traveling—at least for the time being. But there was coming a point in the not-so-distant future when he’d have to finally return home and take his place in society.

When that time came, he’d always believed he would find a lovely young woman who would be able to fit into his life. She’d become Lady Colville and would take over running Wiltshire and his London home. She’d mingle among the top echelons of aristocracy and bear him sons, who would inherit his title and fortune.

He couldn’t throw all of that away based on one pleasurable night spent next to Mercy. Doing so would make him a fool. Rather, he needed to clear his head and think rationally.

“I never meant anything betwixt us, sir,” Mercy whispered. “Nothing at all. I vow it.”