Page 82 of The Secret of Flirting

Could it be love? She hoped not. Because love was dangerous and wretched and made one hurt the way Maman had been hurt by Papa. Love cut one off from one’s family the way Grand-maman had lost hers.

She simply couldn’t go through such pain.

Gregory couldn’t seem to let go of Monique. He should have pulled out before spilling himself inside her. At the very least, he should have hunted up the French letters he kept somewhere in his bedchamber.

But he’d been afraid to ruin the moment, to lose his chance. And some part of him was sure that if he’d lost his chance, he would have regretted it all his days.

He drew back to stare at her. “That was... miraculous. I shall not forget it for years to come.”

A tentative smile curved her lips. Her luscious, tempting lips. “Nor will I.”

His softening cock slipped from her as he pulled out of her embrace, reminded that the duke and Lady Ursula were still in the house somewhere. As he bent to pick up his drawers, he noticed the blood staining not only her thighs but his cock. He stared at it, hardly able to believe his eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

She glanced away with a veiled expression. “No, of course not.”

Suddenly he remembered what she’d said that first night in London—I must be chaste when I marry. He’d assumed it was part of her role, but what if...

Oh, God. The evidence was hard to ignore—the tightness of her quim, the way she’d embraced every pleasure as if it were entirely new... the blood smearing her thighs.

Half in a trance, he took out his handkerchief and wiped the blood from his cock before pulling on his drawers. Surely he hadn’t... Surely she wasn’t... “Were you chaste before I took you?”

Avoiding his gaze, she murmured, “Why does it matter?”

He caught her head between his hands. “Because itdoes.” He stared her down. “Answer me. Were you a virgin?”

She shrugged. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

He’d deflowered her. He’d taken the innocence of the future Princess de Chanay without a thought for the political consequences, all because he couldn’t stand the idea of not having her.

Damn it all to hell. How could he have done that? “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?”

“Would you have bedded me if I had?”

“Of course not!”

A rueful smile crossed her lips. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

He couldn’t comprehend it. If she’d told him, he would never have dishonored her. But he’d assumed... “I don’t understand. You’re an actress.”

Her temper flared as she slipped off the desk to move away from him. “That doesn’t mean I’m a whore.”

“I wasn’t implying—”

“Of course you were,” she said irritably. “Everyone assumes that actresses are whores.” Her voice lowered to a murmur. “But it isn’t necessarily true.”

The enormity of what he’d done hit him. He’d taken the innocence of aprincess, who might one day rule in Chanay, even if she didn’t end up doing so in Belgium. It was unconscionable.

“We must marry,” he said baldly.

That seemed to catch her by surprise. Ever practical, she picked up her petticoat, though her expression remained shuttered as she returned to where he stood by the desk. “Why must we? Nothing has changed from before.”

“Everything has changed. I took your innocence.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Igaveit to you of my own volition.”

“In hopes of keeping me silent about the masquerade, or convincing me to let you stay, or—”

“Merde,” she spat, his first clue that he’d stepped far awry with that remark. “Idesiredyou. That is all.” She used her petticoat to wipe the blood from her thighs and his desk with furious motions. “Though I don’t knowwhy, given that you are the most arrogant, infuriating...”