“Fortunate for me, then, that I’m a widow.” Not so fortunate really. If she wasn’t a widow, she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have sought him out. She hadn’t meant to confess the truth of her marital status, but even if he’d read Lushing’s obituary in the newspaper, it was unlikely he would associate the duke with her, for surely he would not expect a woman only three days a widow to come so soon to a house of sin. Still, the less he knew or suspected about her, the better. She didn’t know why she found herself telling him things she shouldn’t. She’d learned early on, from the cradle, to hold her thoughts to herself and never reveal her true opinions or feelings, and yet here she was blathering on like a fishmonger’s wife who wouldn’t soon find herself facing consequences.

On the other hand, where was the harm in what she’d revealed? Even if he managed to discern exactly who she was, he didn’t have the power to interfere with her plans. Besides, she was accustomed to having her way in most things. It was a privilege of her rank, and she’d discerned she wanted him. Why was he playing so hard to get? It was her experience that men were ruled by their baser instincts and nothing was baser than the need to see to their cocks. Why was he being so blasted difficult? Why hadn’t he immediately escorted her to a darkened room and lifted her skirts? More irritating than his apparent lack of interest was the sympathy that plunged into the depths of his brown eyes.

“How long?” he asked.

“It’s of no consequence.”

“Do you miss him?”

At that particular moment, she missed the silence of him, the fact that he’d never bombarded her with questions in an attempt to discern every facet of her. “Have you no interest in bedding me?” Her voice held her impatience. She’d come here for a purpose, and he was delaying it.

His long fingers splayed against her back, dug in, and claimed as he brought her scandalously nearer, until his thigh was practically nestled between both of hers and she feared his feet might become entangled in the hem of her skirts. But apparently he was too light-footed for that disaster to occur, knew precisely what he was about, had calculated exactly how closely he could hold her without causing any mishap. Or perhaps it was simply at that moment they seemed to be one and the same. Strange how she felt as though she was sharing a familiarity far more intimate than anything she’d experienced in a bed.

“You deserve better than to be bedded.” His low voice thrummed through every nerve ending she possessed. “You warrant a scandalous and thorough seduction.”