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“You may,” Solomon replied, rising and offering his hand to Constance.

Discussing the case had settled her nerves, and as they dined, the beguiling comfort of his presence spread over her once more.

No one else had ever brought her this strange combination of excitement and ease, where she could converse and banter and yet be so intimately aware of his physical presence.

“My compliments to the cook,” she said as Jenks cleared away their sweet course. “That was a truly delicious meal.”

Jenks bowed. “Thank you, ma’am. I shall pass your kind words to the cook. She will be gratified.”

“She probably will,” Constance said when he had departed, and they sat once more on the sofa with the remains of their wine. “You don’t notice what you eat, do you?”

“Not always,” Solomon replied. “Unless it’s bad—I notice that in the end. Usually. And I notice with you. Everything tastes better.”

She was not unmoved, but said lightly, “A compliment, Solomon? Come, come.”

He did not respond with the banter she expected. “If I don’t give them, it isn’t because I don’t feel them. I just can’t find the right words.”

On impulse, she took his hand and held it to her cheek. “That’s the best compliment of them all.” Without warning, her throat tightened and her eyes filled. “Oh Solomon,” she whispered, “how did we get to this place? How can we even be considering…”

“Love,” he said softly, gripping her fingers. “I thought we had agreed on that.”

His kiss was firm, allowing no reluctance, and yet the tenderness caused a tear to trickle out. He kissed that too.

“You don’t know,” she said brokenly. “You don’t know who I am, what I have done.”

“I know who you are now. I’m not sure I care what you have done in the past.”

“But the past made us both. And mine…affects our future. I think you have harbored illusions about me. First that I was this hardheaded, scheming siren of a whore constantly enriching myself via men. Then that I am some kind of chaste saint, bent only on charity. Neither of those are me.”

His voice remained steady. “I may be besotted, but I am not so shallow as to believe either of those portraits.”

“I am not pure. How could I be? I wasn’t taken advantage of.

I did it for money the first time, to buy something trivial I can’t even remember now.

It was horrible. It was always horrible through the few I endured at the beginning.

But I discovered men would pay dearly. Plus, I stole from them.

I let them walk into danger. I picked pockets.

I did everything imaginable to make money and get out. ”

“And you did,” he said.

He didn’t want to hear it, but he was listening. So unplanned confessions spilled out, the things she had refused to remember and the few things she had been proud of. Or, at least, some of them. When she stopped talking, he was still holding her hand in a tight grip.

There were shadows in his dark, unfathomable eyes, but she could find no disgust there, only pity and tenderness that were almost equally unbearable.

“You see the point, Solomon?” she said anxiously.

“I don’t know what you expect of me, but I am not the pure wife you deserve.

Nor am I the skilled lover men dream of.

I will lie in your bed because I love you, not because I am capable of giving or receiving the pleasures of fantasy.

I am only a shrewd businesswoman with a sordid past and a kind-ish heart. ”

“Stop, Constance,” he said gently. “There was never any only about you. We all do what we have to in order to survive.” He brought up his free hand and touched her cheek, her lips.

“I guessed most of this, you know, or something very similar, once I truly began to see you. Your strength, your will, is part of whom I love. As for the skills you speak of—they are not what I want or expect. I want only what you give freely. Love, passion, companionship.”

Now it was she who gripped too tightly. “And if there is no passion?”

“Oh, there is,” he whispered, and kissed her mouth as if he would never leave it. The only man who had ever stirred her like this…

“Do I love you because you make me feel like this?” she murmured against his lips. “Or do I feel like this because I love you?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, and claimed her lips once more, holding her head, caressing her nape.

“No,” she whispered, and surrender was sweet. God, I love this man. I would do anything to make him happy…

Though his caresses were bolder and her willingness, her eagerness, must have been all too apparent, he drew back, leaving her panting and bewildered. His own breathing was ragged.

“This is what I want,” he said, his voice harsh with suppressed lust, which was curiously thrilling. “All of you.”

“I am yours.”

He uttered a sound that was half laughter and half groan. “Sweetheart, don’t say that to me now. This is hard enough. But we will do this properly.”

It struck her, finally, that she had the power to change his mind. To seduce him beyond the point of no return. And for the first time in her life, she wanted to. He must have seen it in her eyes, for flames flared suddenly through the clouds of desire in his eyes.

He swallowed. More humbly, he said, “If that is what we both want.”

Constance, who was so befuddled that she no longer knew what she wanted, began to laugh, and he grinned back and helped her re-pin her hair and straighten her clothes.

After all, the carriage would call for her in less than half an hour.