She shook her head, the gesture dislodging a tear. It fell from her eye and clung to her cheek. “I—I am not a fool, you know. I can see what you’re doing. You are trying to seduce me.”

He pursed his lips. “Yes, I am. That is what happens when there is an attraction, such as the one we have.”

“I know. I am no innocent.”

He chuckled. “I would beg to differ.”

“Devon, I am no innocent.” This time she said the words firmly.

“Ah,” he said, realizing what she meant.

A grimace of anguish passed over her face. “I have made mistakes.”

“We all have, sweet,” Devon said. He wanted this woman. Wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever known.

The problem was that if he succeeded in seducing her, he might damage the part of her he admired the most—her spirit.

Devon was not selfish. Not intentionally, anyway. And he knew from the conversations they’d had that Kat was not a woman given to sadness or histrionics. That fact made the tear in her eye mean all the more.

He sighed, rubbing his neck. His desire was subsiding, but only slightly. He wanted Kat in his bed, but not at the cost of her pride. “In no way do I wish to harm you.”

A bitter smile touched her lips. “I’ve heard that before.”

“But not from me. When I tell you something, I mean it. And I expect you to do the same for me.”

Kat swallowed the lump of emotion that threatened to close her throat. Devon’s black hair fell over his brow, his blue eyes never left her face. He’d discarded his jacket, and his black breeches hugged his narrow hips and outlined his muscular thighs. Her gaze traveled over him to where his throat was exposed. His cravat was undone and hung loosely about his neck, his shirt untied. A faint edge of chest hair showed in the opening, and she was assailed with the desire to touch it, to thread her fingers through it and feel the crispness of the tight black curls. God, but he was beautiful. Beautiful and…listening to her. Asking her what she thought, what she needed.

In that instant, she knew why he was different from Stephen. Stephen had swept her off her feet with smooth words and urgent hands. And she, feeling gauche and ugly after being paraded through cold receiving room after cold receiving room, had lapped it up like a starved cat.

Devon had the same passion as Stephen, but Devon had something more. Perhaps it was patience. Perhaps it was caring. Whatever it was, it had him sitting beside her, his arm offering warmth and nothing more, his head bent attentively, his eyes on hers.