That was pure horseshit. He’d always acted the gentleman with women. Grouchy, perhaps, cold and impersonal, yes, but still a gentleman. He’d never abandoned good sense and caution for a woman before, never flirted with her virtue. Until Isabella. With her, words like gentleman and lady seemed to hold no power, no meaning. She and Rowan were only ever themselves, and together, that was enough. That was everything.
The more important question, the one that had chased him away from sleep all night was one he did not like the answer to. How was a man like him supposed to be with a woman like her?
Not that he had a choice. According to the admiral, she was stuck with him.
He fell forward at his desk, his head thumping hard. He groaned. What an absolute mess. A sailor’s son and a duke’s daughter. Yes, quite the fairy tale.
“Rowan?” Isabella’s voice, floating in from the sitting room. “Are you in here?”
He had given her free roam of his hotel, including his personal chambers, and he hadn’t thought anything odd about it. Though of course it was odd. Wrong. Scandalous. But he’d needed her, and she’d been willing and entirely capable, entirely in control of her own life choices. How was she not a widow? Her willingness in the bedroom… He groaned again, his body leaping to attention at the mere thought of that one night they’d spent together.
“Rowan?” Her voice closer now as she wandered into his study. “Oh, there you are. Are you ill?”
He pushed upright. “Perfectly fine.” He managed a smile, and she managed one, too, but it didn’t quite hit her eyes, and that brought him to his feet. Yesterday he’d wanted everything from her and lady or not—damn everything—he still wanted it, wanted her.
He cupped her face and pulled her up for a kiss, short and soft.
“You’re not… upset?” she asked when he pulled away. “About me?”
“I was shocked.” He’d thought himself in control, thought he’d found a woman who’d fit perfectly into his life. Realized he’d been wrong. And it was too late to retreat.
“Do you… dislike me?”
“No.” The mere suggestion made him want to sling her over his shoulder and show her how much he adored her. “But had I known… I would not have allowed myself to go so far with you.” He’d have stranded himself on an island floating in shark-infested waters.
“Ah.” The tiniest word, but she lifted her face and smiled brightly. “You’re a mess. Come along. Let’s fix you up. I saw a carriage being readied. For the Barlows?”
“Yes.” When she circled her hand around his wrist, he let her pull him through the sitting room and into his bedroom. He sat on the bed at her slight push.
She glanced around, found his boots, and dropped them at his feet,then rummaged in his wardrobe for a pressed cravat, waistcoat, and jacket. “Your valet keeps you well stocked. Do you have a valet?”
“I have a man who prepares my clothes—Coxley. But I dress myself, shave myself.” He reached for the boot pull and yanked on first one Hessian and then the other.
“Naturally.” She chuckled and held up the waistcoat. “In you go.”
Hell. Why’d she have to be so damn adorable? And why did he have to… like her so damn much? And why couldn’t he control the corners of his lips, keep them from drifting upward? “Cravat first,a chuisle.”
“Really? There’s an order?”
He took the cravat from her hands, tried to. She brushed him away. “Let me.”
“You do not know how.”
“Tell me.”
She hooked the cravat around the back of his neck, and with her fingers brushing against his skin, how could he say no? “Wrong way. Middle against the front, cross around the back, and hold the ends at the front.”
She pulled her arm toward her chest, and the cool linen slid across his neck, the rasping somehow erotic. Leaning closer, she repositioned the linen, wrapped it, tugged it tighter. “Like this?”
“Yes.” His voice raspy, too. “Not too tight.”
“Now what?”
Now he pulled her down atop him and kissed her hard. He shook his head, cleared his throat, kept his hands to himself. “Tie it. A simple knot first.”
She tugged her gloves off and stuffed them in her pocket, then tied the cravat ends together. “Like this?”
“Mm.” She smelled of chocolate. “What did you eat this morning?”
