He thought of her waiting in her bedchamber, waiting for him, waiting for his decision. He remembered the way she had watched the sunset, the estate stretched out before them. She’d gazed upon it with appreciation—not the greed that had been mirrored in his eyes. She wanted none of this for herself. She needed it in order to ensure those she loved had the best that life had to offer.

He was not one of the people she loved or she wouldn’t ask of him what she had. She should have taken his rejection and moved on to another. The fact that she hadn’t hinted that perhaps she did have a small care for him or perhaps he had succeeded in his original plan and caused her to at least desire him, to want him in her bed.

She was brave, courageous, kind, unselfish. She placed the needs of others before her own. She moved him in ways no one else ever had.

He’d never planned to marry, to have children, to fall in love. He wasn’t in love now. He was fairly certain of it. But damn her for stirring something within him that made it impossible not to at least try to give her what she wanted. Damn her for managing to worm her way into his very being so when it came time to walk away, it would be like tearing a hole in his very soul. And he knew eventually he would have to walk away in order to protect the child, to protect Lena.

His common sense and pride insisted that he end things now.

But his heart, that part of him that had never served any other purpose than to pump blood through his veins, his heart had him turning on his heel, heading back down the hallway, opening the door to her bedchamber, and striding over the threshold.

He came to her.

He looked like a man suffering the torments of hell, but he’d come to her.

She was standing at the window in her nightdress, counting the minutes until midnight because she had decided that if he didn’t come to her by the witching hour, she would go to him, not to pressure, not to ask of him what he had no desire to give, but simply because she wanted another night within his arms.

He stopped in the middle of the room, on the lush Aubusson carpet. His jacket, waistcoat, and neck cloth were gone, and she imagined he’d been wandering the halls in only his shirt, trousers, and boots.