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He gripped her tighter and turned his face toward her, his nose burrowing into her hair, his chin scraping against her forehead. “Do you want me to stay with you through the night?”

She swallowed. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

He let out a chuckle, his warm breath spreading over her face. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Her voice was small as she answered against all her fears, against all her hopes. “Yes. I want you to stay with me through the night.”

He smiled against her skin and pressed his lips against her forehead. She could feel that he wanted to kiss her. And she wanted him to kiss her, too. But she’d made him promise.

Instead, he inhaled deeply, as if he wanted to lodge her scent deep within his lungs. “Then, I shall,” he said on an exhale.

Chapter 14

Ian entered his house slightly after sunrise a few days later.

It was the fifth, or perhaps sixth night in a row that he’d spent with Helen. And the nights they hadn’t spent together, they’d sent each other notes, like lovesick youth.

Ian had been following other leads and attending social events, just so people didn’t think that he had dropped off the face of the earth after the demoralizing article that was written about him. Which meant that most nights he visited Helen it was already too late for salacious lessons.

He did bring her to pleasure with his fingers a couple more times, and he showed her the way the touches could arouse them both. But these lessons had been brief, and all they did was leave him frustrated and on edge.

His cock was in a constant state of arousal, and his thoughts were inconveniently preoccupied with Helen St. John.

She was like a siren, who drew in unsuspecting sailors with the melodic cadence of her voice that beckoned and seduced. Helen wasn’t the danger. But just like a siren, she lulled him into a false feeling of safety. And that’s when the real danger usually reared its ugly head and drowned the poor souls fooled by the elegant beauty. If Ian wasn’t careful, he would be the one to find himself shipwrecked and broken, his body dashed against the rocks that lurked beneath the calm waters.

“My lord.” His butler appeared out of nowhere, raising Ian’s hackles. “You have a visitor.”

Ian glanced at the large clock hidden in the corner of the corridor. It was half past five in the morning.

Who would dare call on him at such an early hour?

“Who is it?” Ian asked as he turned toward the stairs.

“Mr. Gunning, my lord,” the butler said emotionlessly. “The thief-taker.”

Ian raised his brow. What did a nosy thief-taker want from him? Was it possible his siren had led him into the shallow waters? Had Ian slipped up with his preoccupation with the widow, and was this his punishment?

Ian dismissed his fanciful thoughts. He had been careful. And the only thing that could ruin him were his feelings, not his actions.

“He insisted on waiting in your study, sir,” the butler continued.

Ian nodded. He quickly traversed his house and entered his study to greet the most prominent thief-taker in London.

Mr. Gunning was clever, he was fast, he was good at what he did… and he was currently standing over Ian’s desk, looking through one of his journals.

“Did anyone ever tell you that it is rather impolite to look through one’s personal belongings without permission?”

“Oh, there you are,” Gunning said as if greeting his close friend. “Have you been out all night?”

Ian shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Gunning slammed the journal shut and walked toward Ian with tempered steps. “And where have you been, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Ian walked past him and settled in his chair. “Playing cards all night.”

He leaned back in his chair, then stretched out his legs, getting comfortable.

“Were you?” Gunning raised a brow. He slowly settled into a seat across from Ian. “Quite strange. I don’t smell either smoke or alcohol on you. What I do smell is”—he leaned forward and took a deep breath—“jasmine.”