Valentine dropped his palm to his lap, viciously willing his erection to subside. He hadn’t even taken proper leave, only giving word to a hovering footman to let the Duke of Ashvale know that his sister hadn’t felt well and was being escorted back to her residence. No doubt the marchioness would be livid that her fatted goose had slipped away from beneath her nose, but by all accounts, Lord Herbert was already besotted by his future bride. An offer would be imminent.

The coach turned down her street, and he steeled himself. He would see her home like the gentleman he was somewhere deep down inside. “We’re nearly there.”

“I meant your residence, Your Grace,” she said softly.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I wish for you to take me to your home.”

Hell, if arousal didn’t explode inside of him like gasoline poured onto a banked fire. He shifted in his seat, his cock nearly punching through his trousers. “Bronwyn.”

More color bled into her cheeks. “I am not ill. I simply wanted to leave with you.” She eased out a breath. “If I am to be forced to marry some brainless young fop, then I will take the choices open to me while I can, and this is one of them. I want you. Now.”

“We cannot.” By God, why was he protesting?

“We can,” she insisted. “Don’t you want me?”

Devil take it, what kind of question was that? He craved her with every bone in his body, with every spark of desire in his depraved soul. He wanted to ruin her, over and over again, until no part of her body would ever forget him and she was wrecked for any other. Until he was etched all over her just as she was inscribed all over him. No other woman would ever compare to the tempest that was Bronwyn Chase. His perfect storm.

“You know I do,” he ground out.

“Then I’m yours. Give me this tonight. That’s all I ask, please.”

She was begging him.

Valentine stilled, indecision and obligation riding him hard—the knight and the villain warring for dominance—and then he flew into action, tapping the roof of the conveyance twice so that the coach rolled to a smart stop. “Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked her in a low growl, the lust in his blood garbling his words.

“Yes.”