Apparently, the tales she shared on stage were only part of her depressing history. The more she talked, the more he realized she was a damsel in distress. What gallant swain wouldn’t be anxious to rescue her?
It occurred to him that he needed to tread cautiously. If he wasn’t wary, he might wind up offering boons he should never extend.
“Where is Harry?” he asked. “Is he the uncle who passed on? Is he the one you were privately scolding on the dock for dying in a stupid way?”
“Yes, that’s him. It’s why I’m in London. He always booked my appearances, but Simon has started to manage it. We’ve had to restructure how we carry on.”
“You support Simon and Fish?”
“Yes, I always have. I supported Uncle Harry too.”
“Since you were a little girl?”
“Yes.”
She admitted it as if it was customary for a child to support her family, and he wondered what it would be like to sing for your supper, to never know what sort of income would be generated from night to night. The weight of it had to have been enormous.
You could support her . . .
The dangerous prospect whispered through his head, and suddenly, it was on the tip of his tongue to propose an indecent arrangement. His brother, Bertie, had been a gambler and spendthrift who’d bankrupted the estate, but Luke had his own funds due to an inheritance from his maternal grandfather.
He would wed shortly. Now that he was the earl he had to, and his bride would be an appropriate aristocrat’s daughter with a fine dowry. He would use her fortune to rebuild the property, but his money was his own. He was completely entitled to fritter it away on nefarious amusements such as a mistress.
Why not engage in a torrid fling before he wed? For the moment, he was a bachelor. He’d settle into matrimony and monogamy soon enough. In the meantime, why shouldn’t he enjoy a salacious adventure?
Libby Carstairs would deliver months—perhaps years—of delicious entertainment, and the notion was too thrilling to ignore. But would he really toss his money away in such an illicit manner? Despite how he pretended otherwise, was he that corrupt deep down? He was growing terribly afraid he might be.
The carriage rattled to a stop, and she slid off his lap and glanced out the window.
“Where are we?” she asked. “I thought you were taking me on a picnic, but I could swear we’re still in the middle of the city.”
“This is my town house. We’ll eat in the rear garden.”
She scowled ferociously. “You brought me to your home? If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you have devious intentions.”
“I might, and I’m interested to learn how many of them will be realized.”
She opened her reticule so he could peek in it. To his great surprise, she truly was concealing a pistol. It was tiny and silver, but probably very lethal when shot at close range.
“I wasn’t joking about being armed,” she said, “and as you are about to discover, I am very modest and reserved, so whatever plot you’re hatching, you will be sorely disappointed. I never misbehave.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” He drew her in for another kiss. “It’s just a picnic.”
“So you say.”
“I’ll have a gaggle of footmen standing guard to protect your virtue.” He snorted with a bit of derision. “Does it need protecting? Have you any virtue left?”
“I’m chaste as the day is long,” she insisted, “and don’t be so rude.”
“That was rude, wasn’t it? I apologize.”
“Apology accepted, and could you promise we won’t quarrel? Once you recognize that I’m not the woman you’re hoping, please don’t shout and throw objects at me.”
“I’ve never shouted at a woman in my life. And there’s no female alive who could make me angry enough to throw something. I find displays of temper to be incredibly exhausting.”
“Well, yes, but then, I have driven many men to new heights of fury and outrage.”
“Of that fact, Miss Carstairs, I have no doubt at all.”
A footman yanked on the door, and Luke climbed out. Libby hesitated, staring at him, staring at the house.
“You’re pressuring me horridly,” she complained.
“Yes. Is it working?”
“I have no idea why I put up with you.”
“You’re mad for me. Admit it.”
“I’m mad for some reason, but I’m not sure it’s your fault.”
“Come.” He extended his hand to her. “Let’s get you inside, so I can attempt to have my wicked way with you. I’m anxious to see if I’ll have any luck.”
“You are so obnoxiously arrogant.”
“I might be, but I’m predicting I’m also exactly the man you need.”
Ultimately, she grabbed hold and climbed out too.
“You better not make me regret this,” she said.
“You never will.”
“I think I regret it already.”
“I’ll change your mind. I guarantee it.”
“It’s pretty here. You’re lucky.”
“I am lucky. I can’t deny it.”
Libby smiled at Luke, studying his handsome face and broad shoulders. They were seated under a tree at a small table in the garden behind his house. It was a warm afternoon, so he’d shed his coat and rolled back his sleeves.
She was particularly mesmerized by his hands. They were a man’s hands, the palms wide and calloused from his years in the navy. Obviously, he hadn’t spent his time loafing at a desk.
She couldn’t stop assessing how the fabric of his shirt shifted across his chest whenever he moved. The sight had a strange effect on her feminine sensibilities, and she didn’t understand why.
He simply generated the most exciting impulses, and they had a stirring effect on her moral inhibitions. She’d spent her life watching Harry and his friends misbehave, and she knew right from wrong, having witnessed too many accounts of wrong.
But for once, she was seriously considering the benefits of committing a few sins. What could it hurt? Who would care?
It wasn’t as if she was saving herself for marriage. Nor did she have a doting parent who would
