She opened her mouth to answer and he slashed a hand through the air, begging her to be silent. “Do not. Do not choose me. How are you not able to see the truth? I will never be for you. I could not even—I arrived in London with a single task—to protect you. And I couldn’t. I could not keep you from them. From the gossips. From Hawkins. Dear God, you were nearly run down on Rotten Row. And that’s before I took advantage of you. I should never have touched you.”

He waited for the agreement to come. For the judgment.

He waited for her to leave.

And when she moved, he braced himself to watch her go. Except she did not leave. Instead, she came to him. He stepped back, desperate to avoid her, too broken to touch her. But the room was too small and she was a superior opponent.

She did not touch him.

Worse. She reached up and removed the pins from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders like auburn silk. His mouth went dry and his gaze narrowed before she said, “I’ve something to say now, if I might.”

As though he could stop her, this warrior princess, dressed like a pickpocket about to thieve his damn heart.

“It is a great fallacy, you know. The idea that first is most meaningful. That second is. That any that follow are. That the circumstances of those early encounters somehow mean more than the one we choose forever. It is the lie the world tells us, but you have taught me to know better.”

She looked to him, the love in her eyes stealing his breath. “I have heard your tale. And now it is time for you to hear mine. When I am old, Alec, and I look back on the faded memories of my life, shall I tell you of what I will think? It will not be him. And when I think on my scandal, I shall be grateful for it, as it will have brought me you. But I will not think much on it, because I will be too busy thinking of you. Of the days we sparred and the nights I wished we might. Of the hours I spent wrapped in your plaid. Wrapped in you. Of the way you look at me, as though there has never been another woman in the world.”

And there hadn’t been. Not for him. She put her hand to his chest, where his heart threatened to beat from it. “Of the way you have held me. And the way I have loved you.

“So tell me, Alec Stuart, self-made man turned duke, strong and kind and brilliant beyond measure.” She was going to destroy him with her words and her gaze. “When you are old, of whom will you think?”

And suddenly, it was the only question that mattered.

“You,” he said, reaching for her. Or perhaps she reached for him. It did not matter, as she was in his arms.

And it was true. He would remember her.

“Always you. Forever you.”

Even if this night was all he had.

“None of it matters,” she said, the words strong against his lips, “Not the past, not the women, not the scandal. None of it matters when we are here, and we have each other.” And then she was kissing him, and he was lifting her in his arms and her legs were wrapped about him as though she belonged there.

And she did.

Without breaking the caress, he returned her to the bed, lowering her to sit on the edge of it, coming to his knees at the bedside. She released his lips and pulled away. “No,” she said. “I do not wish you on your knees.”

“You shall like it when I show you all the things I intend to do to you from this particular position,” he said, his lips finding purchase at the soft, warm skin of her neck before opening and giving him access to the line of her jaw and the lobe of her ear. “Leave me here to worship you, love. And I shall make it worth your while.”

He took her lips again, loving the little sigh she released, the way she went limp at the touch, as though he she could not resist him.

As though he was as irresistible as she was.

The caress lingered until her hands fell to his shoulders and she pushed him back, again, putting space between them. “I don’t want you on your knees, Alec,” she repeated. “I want you.”

His hands threaded into her hair, “I am with you, love. I couldn’t be anywhere else.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” She leaned back. “I don’t want you with me. I want us with each other.”

When he finally understood the words, they were like a blow to the side of the head. He sat back on his heels there, on the floor of her tiny room under the stairs, and watched her for a long moment, as color rose in her cheeks and she said, “Do you see, love? I want us together.”

She wanted them equal.

Not a guardian and his ward.

Not a duke and a miss.

And not the other.

He swallowed, unable to find any other words but “I see.”

She had once more ruined him.

She saw the truth in him and smiled, wide and gleeful, before she went to her knees on the bed, shucking the coat and shirt she’d worn as a disguise that evening—as though she’d removed men’s clothing from her person a dozen times—revealing her high, lovely breasts, soft and perfect as peaches and fresh cream.

His mouth watered, and he raised his attention to her auburn hair, cascading around her shoulders. And then she reached for the fall of her trousers.

He watched her for a long moment his eyelids growing heavy with desire before he could not help himself. “Stop,” he growled, his gaze riveted to those long, lovely fingers where they lingered at the fastening of her trousers.

She stopped.

He rubbed the back of one hand across his mouth, aching for her. Afraid of her.

“Are you going to do it?” she whispered.

With effort, he rose his gaze to her. “Do what?”

She smiled at him—not the coquettish smile he’d seen on women before in this particular situation, but something far more dangerous—she looked happy. Gleeful. Eager.

You could make her happy if you decide to do so.

He pushed the thought away. He didn’t want Stanhope here. And then she replied, and the earl was the farthest thing from his mind. “Are you going to tell me what you want me to do?”

He was assaulted with images—with hundreds of ideas of what he’d like her to do for him. To him. To herself. He returned his attention to the trousers, a half-dozen buttons in the way of what he wanted. And he did as he was asked.

“Take them off.”

Her smile turned utterly satisfied. “With pleasure.”

The trousers were gone before he had time to appreciate her skill with the fastenings, shucked across the room, revealing bare legs that promised sin and salvation all at once. She lay back on the tiny bed, one long arm covering her breasts, and the other cutting a swath across her beautiful, rounded stomach, the hand covering the place he wanted more than anything in the world.

“Go on, Your Grace,” she teased, knowing that with every breath, with every movement, with every stunning smile, she made him mad with desire. “What can I give you next?”

“Open for me.” The command shocked him even as her lips fell open in a stunning, surprised inhale. For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far. And then she did, spreading her beautiful thighs wide on the narrow bed. She did not, however, move her hand.

He raised a brow. “Minx.”

She smiled. “You will have to be more specific about your desires, Your Grace.”

She was magnificent.

“I desire you,” he said.

The smile widened, but the hand did not move. “Much more specific.”

He unclasped the pin on his shoulder, holding his plaid in place, and her eyes widened, her fingers tightening so barely that one might not even notice. One might not notice, that was, if one were not fully riveted to the woman in question, hard and hot and desperate for her.

He was naked in seconds, his cock hard and aching for her.

Her eyes widened, and she—dammit—she licked her lips, her gaze trained on him. “More specific, even, than that.”

“I desire that you move your hand, lass,” he said, approaching the bed and staring down at her, reveling in her glorious nudity. “So that I might have a closer look at you.”

She raised a brow. “Only a look? Is that some kind of Scottish half measure?”

His lips twitched at her teasing and he let his burr take over. “Once I’ve seen ye, lass, if yer lucky, I might touch ye, and once I’ve touched ye, ye can wager I’ll be tastin’.”

She laughed then, wild and free, like the Highlands. “I think, Mr. Stuart,” she whispered, moving her hand, revealing a thatch of secret, stunning auburn hair, “that if ye’ll be touchin’ me, it’ll be you who is lucky.”

And she was right. He was the luckiest man alive. For the night.

To honor that good fortune, he laid himself down next to her, and proceeded to do all he’d promised, whispering to her the whole time, revealing her secrets in the little room as he made love to her. “So soft,” he said at her ear, his lips lingering over the soft skin of her neck. “So wet.” He licked, worrying the lobe between his teeth as he slipped a finger through her folds, drenched with her desire. “So warm,” he said, that finger sliding deep and returning again and again, swirling and petting and stroking until she was writhing beneath him and he moved to her breast.

He licked, long and slow, before taking the straining tip between his lips and sucking, soft and rhythmic, in time to the movements of his hand, and she came off the bed like she was pulled on a string, one hand threading into his hair, the other finding his, strong and sure below, slowing it as she rode her climax to its glorious end.