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Her own words should have shocked her, but Georgie was past thinking calmly.

She only knew she loved the feel of him, of his mouth pulling at her breast. Of his hands as they skimmed up her legs, taking her petticoats with them.

She wanted his hands on her bare skin, she wanted to lie naked in his arms, she wanted to do everything she only half understood.

When Bertha had explained to her what happened between men and women, she’d been horrified.

Now she was melting, wanting everything.

It was cold in the darkness and she was shivering, and she had to hope he wouldn’t notice. She couldn’t bear it if he stopped what he was doing, if he broke this magic world he’d wrapped her in.

“You’re freezing,” he said, and he stripped off his proper butler’s coat to wrap it around her.

It held his body warmth, it smelled like him, and she breathed it in.

He looked very different in his shirt sleeves, wilder, uncivilized, the way she wanted him, but he seemed to have regained some kind of control, for he tugged the front of her dress back up, covering her once more, and took a step away.

“Why did you stop?” she whispered.

“Because...because you’re an innocent, and a child, and I don’t want you.”

“You don’t?” she said in a small voice.

“I don’t,” he said firmly.

There was nothing she could say. The coat still held his body warmth, his scent, and she wanted to bury her face in its folds.

He had his back to her, thank God, so he wouldn’t see her weakness, and it was almost pitch-black in the room he’d brought her to. He would never know that he’d just smashed all her hopes and dreams.

To her horror, a tiny sob escaped her, and she clasped her hand over her mouth to try to stop it. She could only see his silhouette in the darkness, but his back stiffened, and he slowly turned back to her.

“Christ almighty,” he said, but he didn’t sound angry. “Don’t cry, Georgie.”

“I’m...not,” she said, her voice wobbly.

He came back to her then, his arms sliding around her, and she was warmed by the heat of his skin through the thin white shirt.

For a moment, she simply rested against him, content to absorb his heat and strength into her own body. And then shame covered her, and she tried to push him away, but he held her fast.

“Let me be,” she cried. “You don’t want me, I’m just an annoying little girl?—”

“Who says I don’t want you?” His voice was low and deliciously dark.

“You did. Just now.”

“Well, I lied. I’d have to be a fool not to want you, and I’ve never been a fool.”

“Then take me!” she wailed.

“That’s one thing I’m not going to do,” he said, tucking her against his chest, the bone and muscle of him.

Closing her eyes, she gave up then, too weary to fight him anymore.

He was holding her close, his arms strong and possessive, and she knew this was all she’d ever have of him.

It was then that she realized his heart was pounding, as fast as hers, and she took what small comfort she could in that fact.

“I love you,” she whispered against his skin.

“No, you don’t, lass,” he said, his hold on her reassuring as his words speared her heart. “But you’ll realize it soon enough.”

She wasn’t going to argue with him anymore. For the moment, she had him, all around her, and that would have to do.

Getting back into the house on Corinth Street proved surprisingly easy.

It was still dark when Rafferty woke her, but the rain had stopped, and the streets were deserted.

It was clearly too late for the people who roamed in the night, and too early for the vendors and servants who woke up the great households.

She was shocked to see how close they were to Corinth Place, and even Bertha was sound asleep when they crept in.

Georgie stood in the kitchen, looking about her with surprise.

“Aren’t they worried about me?” she said. “As far as they know, I disappeared into the night and never came home.”

“I imagine Martina said something to cover you. She’s good at thinking on her feet.”

“But how would she know you were with me?”

“She knows I wouldn’t let you fall into any danger.”

“But...”

“Enough questions. Go on up to bed as quietly as you can and say nothing. I doubt anyone will ask.”

It should have been reassuring, if she didn’t know that her family simply didn’t care, and her shoulders slumped as she turned.

“I should have taken my time with him,” he said grimly. “He won’t be hurting you again.”

She turned to look at him. He was beautiful in the shadowy kitchen, with his blazing eyes and high cheekbones and that glorious mouth that had kissed her. She had never realized a man could be beautiful.

“Did you really kill him?”

He didn’t answer her, which was answer enough. “Go up to bed, Georgie, and forget about tonight. Forget everything.”

But that was thing she wasn’t going to do. His touch on her skin, his mouth on her breast, his strong arms, had started a fire blazing within her, and despite what he said, she was going to cherish the memory.

“Goodnight …,” she said, then paused. “What’s your full name?”

“It’s Rafferty, Miss Georgie,” he said, sounding annoyed.

But she didn’t bother arguing with him. She trudged up the servants’ staircase, making as little noise as possible, trying to understand her troubled soul.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to go back down and throw herself into his arms. She wanted to throw herself on the floor in a temper tantrum like Norah tended to indulge in.

All she could do was climb into bed and wrap her arms around herself, remembering the feel of his arms, his body, his mouth. And she fell into a troubled sleep.