He pulled on his shirt.
“Who is he? Will he see us this late?” She hadn’t moved, hadn’t touched her dress.
Alex glanced at the clock and immediately wished he hadn’t. It read nearly four. “You’re not going.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, yes I am. This is my brother.”
“Dammit, Lucia.” He sat down to tug on his boots.
“Don’t argue. I’m taking you home.”
“Well, at least tell me who this Wentworth is and why John is in France. I need to know that much.” He lifted his other boot. “No. You don’t.” He pushed her chemise toward her. “Get dressed.”
“Very well.” She snatched up the garment. “But we’re not done discussing this. I—” Her voice frayed and broke off.
Alex stared at the stain on the bed that had been covered by Lucia’s chemise. The small patch of scarlet stood out starkly on the white bedsheets. Guilt smacked him in the face. Damn, he didn’t want to think about her lost virginity right now. That he had taken it.
“Alex, I—” she began, holding a hand out to him.
He evaded her grasp, rose, and walked into his dressing room. There he poured water from a pitcher into a bowl and retrieved a towel. “Use this to wash away the blood,” he said. Thank God she had the chemise on. He set the bowl on the nightstand beside her and handed her the towel. She took it without looking at him.
“You needn’t feel bad about . . . what happened.” Her fingers clenched around the towel as if it might give her courage. She looked him in the eye. “I take full responsibility for my part.”
He stared at her. She never failed to astonish him. The little fool actually thought she’d ever had a choice once she entered his bedroom. He’d known he’d have her the first time he’d seen her.
“The responsibility is mine,” he said. “No one would blame you, least of all me.”
“Blame?” Her voice was weak, and her eyes downcast again. “Is blame to be assigned then? As if—as if what we shared was a crime.”
He reached out to her, tipped her chin up with his hand. Tears pooled in her eyes. “No,” he said. “You’re right. Blame is the wrong word. It implies regret, and I find myself in a position without regret.” He smiled wolfishly. “How can I regret something that gave me so much pleasure?”
“I suppose that’s the rake in you talking.”
He grinned. “That’s the man in me talking.” He nodded to the bowl of water. “Get dressed. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He withdrew to his dressing room, more to give her privacy than anything else. But the moment he was away from her, the guilt gripped him again. He leaned against a wall to steady himself from the onslaught of feeling. No, he didn’t regret her—regret their lovemaking. But he knew she would. In time she would view tonight differently, and she would resent him. Resent him for taking her virginity and leaving her to fend for herself with her bumbling fiancé and his dictatorial mother.
“I may have to sail for France this morning,” Alex said when he entered the room again.
Lucia almost dropped her gown she was holding in front of her. “You’re going after John?”
“Yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to her. “He may need assistance.”
Lucia clutched the bedpost. “Do you think he’s in prison? Is that what they do to Englishmen found in France?”
They did that and a lot worse to spies in France, Alex thought. “I’m sure he’s fine, but I’d like to see for myself. Freddie’s information is several weeks old, but Madame Loinger is an old friend. She can probably help.”
Lucia scowled and gripped the post until her fingers were white. “I’m sure she’ll be more than eager to help.”
“She’s a friend,” he said vaguely.
“And is that what I am now, Alex? A friend?”
He ran a hand through his hair. It was starting already. Bloody hell. Maybe it was better to end this with her angry. It would be easier for both of them to walk away.
“I noticed Lord Dewhurst wasn’t very surprised at finding you with a woman tonight.” Her voice was acid.
“I imagine he wasn’t.”
