Page 102 of Not a Fine Gentleman

She watched him with such a gentle expression he had to look away. “Is your father’s treatment of your mother why you pulled away from me and talked of being used? You think I’m the same kind of person he was?”

He put together his thoughts enough to form words. “People of your class often view people of mine as commodities designed to be discarded when no longer useful—not all of you, obviously, but it’s all too common. And yes, on more a personal level, it happened with my mother. And I’m ashamed to admit that I was unwise enough to let it happen with me a few times.”

Gently, she asked, “What happened with you?”

“At first, I thought it all great fun—they used me, I used them. But Vivian was different. I fell in love with her. And I truly thought she loved me too. She even arranged for a lover’s bower, where we met often.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “When I said I wanted to be alone with you, you thought that I was proposing an uncommitted physical relationship, like a male version of a mistress?”

It sounded so sordid when she put it like that. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

“I can see why you did. You don’t truly believe I’d do that, do you?”

Her soft earnestness scattered the rest of his doubt. “No, you wouldn’t, and I should have known better.”

“I understand how words can reopen past pains. Please know, I don’t seek a cheap dalliance.” Her eyes searched his, displaying her sincerity, begging him to believe her.

“I don’t, either.” But would she, a lady, marry him, a working man?

Gently, she asked, “What happened with Vivian?”

He let out a caustic huff of sad laughter. “I was foolish enough to ask her to marry me, but she refused to wed someone so lowly. In fact, she’d already become engaged to be married to a rich old man. She’d hoped to keep me on the side as a plaything.”

She touched his hand. “That must have wounded you deeply.”

He nodded. “More than I would have expected.”

She touched his arm, and her lips pressed together in sympathy. Then, as if seeking to diffuse the tension, she glanced at the letters. “If your father has been writing to you, he must want to be there for you in some fashion.”

“I can’t imagine what I’d say to him.” He sat back.

“You might not have to say much. He probably has something he wants to tell you. Or perhaps he wishes to do what he can to make things right, as much as possible.”

Connor digested that. What would that man want to tell him, an illegitimate son? Lord Arlington was married and had both an heir and a spare. What would he want with the son he had rejected?

She squeezed his arm. “It might be healing for you to at least hear what he has to say. Then you can either soften your hard feelings for him or punch him in the nose.”

He chuckled. “Either might be gratifying.”

Her soft smile turned his insides upside down. Her lips parted, and her pupils dilated. She tugged on his hand, pulling him to her.

They shouldn’t.

It was wrong.

A barrier inside him disintegrated. Hunger and instinct ruled him, and he blithely indulged in the sweetness of her mouth that so eagerly welcomed him.

She kissed him with passion and heat, and yet with supreme gentleness and something more tangible, more lasting. Tenderness. She kissed him as if he were important. As if he mattered. In her kisses, she offered a promise. He gave himself over to her, learning her texture—soft and supple, her scent—mountain wildflowers, her taste—cinnamon and sweet wine. His senses swam as if he’d drunk too much rum, yet sharpened until every inch of him drew a new awareness. He was more alive than he’d ever been.

Lost in a madness that swept away all thought, leaving only reflex and need, he stretched out on the divan next to her and wrapped his arms around her. With the length of her body against him, so soft and warm, she arched into him. He nearly lost all control at that instant. A pounding on the door cut through his bliss.

He broke the kiss long enough to demand of the person who’d interrupted, “What?”

“I’m St. Ives. I understand there is someone here who is injured?” came a call through the door.

Connor bit back a curse. “A moment.”

He pushed himself away from the warm, delectable woman who smiled at him from underneath her lashes. It was all he could do not to tell the interrupter to be gone. Instead, Connor pulled open the door and admitted the physician.