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Euphoria filled Caleb. He was certain Celeste was the woman he wanted forever. She would most likely need time, but someday they would wed. He kissed her head, and she stiffened before leaving the bed. She slid a robe over her body.

“Come back,” he requested.

She took a deep breath before turning back to him. “I think it is better if you don’t stay all night.”

He stood and walked to her, brushing a kiss across her lips, but instead of giving in to their connection, she stepped back. “I’m tired, Caleb.”

Alarmed filled him; he was being dismissed. He dressed, silently watching her. Celeste wrapped her arms around her waist while she looked back at him nervously. When he was clothed again, he said, “We need to talk.”

She shook her head. “I said it would only be one night.”

He lifted a brow, skeptical. “Celeste, you can’t deny that there is something between us. Something special.”

“I told you I don’t involve myself with lords. I have no interest in being your mistress.”

“I’m not looking for a mistress,” he snapped back.

He wanted her as his bride. Caleb had hinted at it at Derry’s house party as well, but she’d ignored his words. Shock flitted across her face. “You can’t think we will enter into some type of courtship. I’m not someone society will accept you marrying.”

“I don’t really care what London thinks. What I care about is you.”

Caleb meant the words he spoke. He’d never been one to do something based on the opinions of others. He went with his gut, heart, and mind—nothing else. Right now, his heart was telling him this independent woman was his match in every way.

“No. My world is so drastically different than yours. You haven’t even spent time in London to understand what that means. You can’t marry the owner of a gentlemen’s club.”

His heart pounded because he realized that Celeste wasn’t his and didn’t seem inclined to be. “I don’t care what others think.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I have other responsibilities.”

Did she think she would have to give up her club for him? He wouldn’t do that to her. Celeste’s gaze darted around the room, frantic. Softly, he said, “Nothing will convince me that you and I aren’t meant to be.”

She swallowed and said, “I’m not unattached. I have a permanent partner.”

Confusion coursed through him. He looked at her in shock. She met his gaze, not looking away. Caleb harshly said, “You lie.”

“No. I’m telling you the truth.”

He walked to her, staring down at her and looking for any hint of deception. “And this man who has your heart let’s you fuck other men?”

She flinched at his harsh tone, swallowing. “We have a very open relationship, but he is the only man I’m committed to.”

Caleb stalked to where the brandy was and poured himself a glass before downing it in one gulp. He allowed it to burn his being, hoping it would take away from the pain he was feeling right now.

Was he truly wrong about what he sensed was between him and this woman? He smirked. “I’m assuming he isn’t a lord.”

“Certainly not,” she said, her voice revealing her disgust at such a thought.

He moved back to her and stroked her cheek. She sucked in a breath. Celeste may not want Caleb as much as this other man, but she wasn’t immune to him. “What is his name?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He grasped her chin. “I’m not leaving, sweetheart, until I know.”

“Will you go if I tell you?” she asked softly.

Pain pierced his heart. “Yes, and never come back.”

She seemed at a loss for words for a moment, but finally said, “Heathcliff Fitzsimmons, the Second. He is a businessman who travels a good deal.”

The revelation of the man’s name was a punch to Caleb’s gut. He hated him even though he didn’t know Fitzsimmons.

“You are committed to him?” he asked, wishing and hoping he would see uncertainty in her face.

She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

Fury filled Caleb, and he pulled her to him before slamming his mouth down on hers.

He kissed her, wanting to sear himself to her being.

It was a kiss meant to be controlling and dominant.

Fitzsimmons may be her partner, but Celeste desired Caleb, too.

The thought briefly filled him with satisfaction before it settled in his stomach, wrapped in disgust. He released her, and she stumbled back.

Caleb stalked to her apartment door and yanked it open. He turned back and looked at her, knowing it would be for the last time. Softly and angrily, he said, “Your partner is a fool. If you were mine, I would never give you a reason to seek out another lover, not even a temporary one.”

Sadness filled her face, but he didn’t bother waiting for a response. He walked out of the building into the night. What a damn fool he’d been? Losing his head over a woman whom he barely knew?

He allowed the fury in him to grow because deep down, he knew it would destroy him if he focused on the pain he was feeling. Caleb didn’t have time for that. He was done with emotions of the heart.

***

The next day, Celeste did her best to force the feeling of loss away. She’d lied and hurt Caleb so she wouldn’t break her rule. The thought of them marrying was preposterous. She’d revealed some of her past to Caleb, but not the details on what had driven her to beg for work at the Den.

Her last year with her mother had been spent not just in squalor in Devil’s Acre but living in one of the most notorious brothels in London.

The place had been filthy, and the owner viewed women as commodities, instead of people.

The government eventually shut it down due to the horrific conditions.

While there, the owner often tried to get Celeste to work for him, but her mother wouldn’t allow it. After her mother died, Celeste had been steps away from giving in to the lecher’s suggestion that she take her place. The Den had saved her from that awful fate.

Celeste didn’t judge any woman for making money by using their body.

Still, no lady should be treated the way the women in the Devil’s Acre brothel were.

It was still shocking to remember her mother there.

She didn’t belong working in such awful conditions.

Hell, no woman did. Before they ended up in Devil’s Acre, her mother had been the mistress of multiple men.

But as her mother aged, the protectors stopped coming.

The brothel owner had seemed helpful and maybe even nice at first, but it was all a trick.

Anger coursed through her, remembering the tiny, filthy room they shared and the nights she had to disappear while her mother worked.

They’d only lasted a year there before her mother died.

While logically, Celeste knew her mother had died of a fever, her heart suspected her body could not take any more.

She brushed at the tears flowing down her cheeks.

Celeste didn’t often reflect on that horrific time period of her life.

It was too difficult. In her desperation, she’d sent more than one message to her father, hoping he would at least provide even the tiniest bit of money.

Her missives went unanswered. It ate at her that in her mother’s delirious state, she talked about the boy she loved all those years ago—her father, a lord, who wouldn’t acknowledge their existence.

She walked to the balcony that overlooked the great room of the Den.

Her eyes landed on the blonde-haired man who looked so much like her.

No, he’d never acknowledged her, not even after she sent another missive after her mother’s death.

Lord Burrows won the card game he was playing, and those around him applauded.

Celeste scowled. Now he visited her club, and she didn’t acknowledge him. There were times she’d been tempted to. He knew where she went after her mother’s death. She told him in her letter. Why did he come here now?

Her tears had finally dried, and she would join the guest momentarily.

No good would come from dwelling on her past or what-ifs related to the Marquess of Haven.

Men like him didn’t marry women who were the by-blows of lords and, out of sheer desperation, had lived in the worst of what London had to offer.

Still, that was only one reason she couldn’t consider his interest. The other was that Celeste would never allow herself to be controlled by a lord, whether as a mistress or a wife. She made that promise to herself long ago, knowing that falling for a peer would only lead to heartbreak.

“What are you pondering over there? You look far too serious, even for you,” Devons questioned, standing in the doorway of his office.

She forced herself to smile. “Nothing.”

He frowned at her. “Did you enjoy the ball?”

“I did actually. I’m glad you forced me to go.”

Devons smiled. “I lost sight of you halfway through the night. Did you meet anyone?”

She scowled at him. “I don’t think that is your concern. I told you I don’t want you playing matchmaker.”

He nodded and stared out at the crowd—his gaze focused intently on one man. Quietly, Devons said, “We could ban him from the club if you wanted?”

Her eyes widened in surprise because Celeste had never mentioned her father to Devons or Derry. “I don’t know what you mean?”

Devons pressed his lips together. “You succeeded without him. You have nothing to prove.”

Celeste did her best to hold back her tears. “How long have you and Derry known?”

“Since the first time you had one of our messengers deliver a letter to him.”

She nodded. “He matters not to me. If I wanted him banished, I would have asked before now.”

“Not all lords are like him. Someday, you will meet a man who will prove that to you.”

Celeste wanted to tell Devons she’d already pushed one away with a ridiculous lie, but she didn’t. “My only goal is to continue to make this club successful, and perhaps when not in London, have a cottage in the country I can spend time in.”

Her business partner grinned. “I suspected you would like being out in the country. It is more freeing than London.”

“It is the air. It is fresher.”

He nodded in agreement and sighed. “I won’t push you about love or finding a match. You will do what you want but know that you deserve it.”

She nodded, and he wandered off. Celeste swallowed, fearing that she had made a mistake with Caleb.

She pushed the thought away and sternly told herself that she had made the right choice for all involved.

Her cat, Heathcliff Fitzsimmons, the Second, decided to join her on the balcony at that moment.

He brushed her skirts, completely content to play the made-up role of her partner.