Page 47

After hanging the gown back in her wardrobe, she cleaned herself and sat by the window to watch the sunrise.

She couldn’t sleep. Not now. Perhaps not ever again.

She was too winded, her mind racing like a stampede of horses, excitement coursing through her veins. All she could think about was Caldwell—his hands on her breasts, the press of his lips against her skin, the weight of his body on hers. She touched her fingertips to her mouth, recalling the sensation of his kiss—hungry, desperate, intoxicating. Her body warmed at the memory, a flush spreading across her skin.

Everything had changed last night.

She had made a bold choice by returning home rather than leaving with Lydia.

Now that she was here, the question was: what were her next steps?

She needed to tell the children her circumstances had changed, and she would not be leaving—that much was certain. But she also needed to tell Caldwell how she felt about him. Otherwise, her decision to stay would be meaningless. The very thought made her stomach twist with both apprehension and anticipation.

She picked up a pencil and began writing out all the ways she could start the conversation with Caldwell.

In one version, she simply confessed her feelings for him, telling him she’d harbored a deep infatuation for him for years.

She wrinkled her nose.

No. Not infatuation. Love. All-consuming, logic-defining love. She scratched out the words.

In the next, she revealed she was the lady behind the mask at the masquerade.

In the third, she divulged the entire truth. Her real identity. Why she’d sought out the sanctuary of his home and thought leaving them was the best recourse.

The sounds outside her door alerted her to the awakening household. She closed her journal and stepped out of her room, trying to go about the day as if nothing had gone amiss, while in her mind, she continued rehearsing her speech, uncertain which version she’d go with.

Her hands busied themselves with routine tasks, but her thoughts remained firmly fixed on the earl.

Then finally, she glimpses Lord Caldwell descending the stairs and walking into his study.

Her heart stopped for a long moment, her palms perspiring, her heart hammering against her chest.

Would she be able to tell what she’d rehearsed?

It was time. She smoothed her damp palms down her dress, walked up to the study, and knocked on the door.

* * *

Jacob stared unseeing at the papers on his desk, the words and figures blurring before his eyes. He had retreated to his study early, hoping that work would take his mind off the only thing that was occupying his thoughts.

Miss Hart.

He didn’t know why. The intensity of his fixation troubled him, left him restless and agitated.

It wasn’t her he had held in his arms last night. It wasn’t her he had kissed so passionately. It wasn’t her cries that had made him a ravenous beast. It was a professional courtesan.

Yet her face—her soulful brown eyes—was what he saw behind his eyelids every time he closed them. It was her he imagined beneath him.

His body responded instantly to the thought, heat flooding through him, his cock hardening and straining against his breeches.

He palmed himself, thinking of Honoria straddling him, right here in his chair—her skirts bunched around her waist, her face flushed, hair tumbling loose over her shoulders, her eyes dark with need.

“This is madness,” he muttered, pushing back from his desk so hard the chair scraped across the floor. He could not sit here and pretend to work while thinking about his housekeeper—fondling himself in the darkness of his study, consumed by want.

He needed air, distance, and perspective. Something, anything to clear his mind of these inappropriate thoughts.

He moved to ring for his valet when a knock sounded at the door.