She wasn’t naive. She knew that if she did this, if she let Rhystan into her body without the sanctity of marriage, in the eyes of society, she would be ruined. She did not care. If they had any inkling of who she was, this society would not welcome her anyway. Not truly. What did she need their approval for? And besides, Rhystan would be gone back to the sea soon, the agreement between them fulfilled.

This was for her.

Her choice, even if the consequences would see her fall entirely from grace.

The coach stopped and she met Rhystan’s burning eyes. Goodness, he was so incredibly handsome. He made her want to leap across the carriage like a hussy and demand that he take her to the stars again. And again.

Something of her thoughts must have been evident in her eyes because a growling rumble broke from his chest. Sarani hadn’t even taken a breath before she was swept into his powerful arms and ferried up the steps into his residence. He paused, letting her down to throw off his hat and coat, left her cloak in place for modesty’s sake in light of what she wore beneath, and then she was scooped up once more.

Sarani didn’t take in a full breath until they’d bypassed another flight of stairs and she heard the soft snick of a door closing. She had no time to push to her feet before she was tumbled gently onto a soft mattress. Rhystan stepped back to speak to someone at the door, presumably his valet, and dismissed him for the evening. Sarani blushed. She was sure the man would know that his master had a woman in his chamber. Despite surely turning a closed eye to their arrival, in her experience, there was very little that servants did not know.

She turned her attention back to the chamber. Several lamps lit the space and the counterpane on the bed had been turned down. A small fire burned in the grate to ward off the evening’s slight chill. She’d met Harlowe briefly, and the man was efficient to a fault. No wonder he’d been on their heels ready to enter just before.

Her gaze took in the details of the tastefully appointed room—the huge bed she sat upon, the plush armchairs near the window, the intricately carved wardrobe and matching furniture. It was a handsome bedchamber. Rhystan’s bedchamber. She hadn’t seen it in the handful of hours she’d been at this residence when they’d first arrived in London, but she recognized the decor that matched the adjoining room.

For the lady of the house. The woman who would one day be his wife.

The one who wouldn’t be her.