Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(33)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

A girl had once kissed him when he’d been young—before he’d reached seventeen. Before he’d realized what his true purpose in St. Giles and this life was. He’d met her on a trip to Oxford and could no longer remember her name—perhaps he’d never known it. Their kiss had been awkward and fumbling, and he’d not seen her again.

Isabel was as the sun to a candle compared to that girl so long ago. He wanted to touch her more than he wanted his next breath. More than he’d wanted food when he’d been his hungriest. More than he’d wanted water when he’d been his thirstiest. She was a craving under his skin so great that even now he felt his body actually canting toward her. He wanted to take her, to consummate this hunger within himself. Bury his flesh inside hers and conquer her as primitively as any Viking savage.

And he could not.

The children of the home—the children like Pilar—depended on him. He’d made a mistake, let himself have too much free rein, pretended that he was something other than what he truly was. Winter stared into Isabel’s beautiful, stormy blue eyes and was aware that a part of him was utterly seduced by this woman and this moment. She made him forget his duty. Made him forget all that depended upon him. She was temptation personified.

He made himself turn away.

She caught his arm, her grip surprisingly strong—but then she’d been taking him by surprise with her feminine power ever since she’d found him dressed as the Ghost and insensible in St. Giles.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

He looked away from her face. “We need to return to the ball.”

“Why?”

He grimaced. “I’m supposed to be meeting dignitaries, remember?”

“I remember that you appear to be about to dismiss me as nothing.”

He finally faced her again—it seemed he must find a way to fight this gut-deep pull, and now was as good a time as any.

Her plush lips were pressed together, her eyebrows knit, and her fine eyes looked… hurt. Dear Lord. Something inside of him began to bleed.

“What would you have me do?” he murmured, conscious that the ball—and all the people attending it—was only feet away. “I’ve apologized and you are insulted.”

“You are avoiding the subject.” She dropped her hand and he felt the warmth seep from his arm where she’d touched him. “You are avoiding me. You were about to kiss me a minute ago. I felt it and—”

“But I didn’t.” He wanted to tear at his hair, punch the wall, grab her again, and give in to temptation. Kiss her until that awful look left her face.

He did none of those things, of course.

“No, you didn’t,” she said slowly. “Obviously I am easily resisted.”

“Easily.” He scoffed at the word, folding his arms across his chest to keep his hands contained. How could she think this was easy for him? “I’ve no doubt that you are used to men kissing you and more when you look at them the way you just looked at me.”

Her lips parted. “Are you calling me a whore?”

His head jerked back. “No. I don’t—”

She stepped up to him, toe-to-toe, and jabbed a finger rather painfully into his ridiculously embroidered waistcoat. “I may not meet your monkish standards of conduct, but that in no way makes me a loose woman. Do you understand that, Winter Makepeace? I enjoy the company of men and I enjoy bedsport. If you are made uncomfortable by that fact, then perhaps it is your standards that you should look to.”

Isabel turned in fine fettle, obviously about to sweep out of the little alcove and leave him flat.

Winter snaked out an arm. It was his turn to arrest her. “I don’t think any of those things about you,” he said, attempting to get her to face him.

“Then why not take the next step?” she asked, her face averted.

“I can’t.”

She turned and he nearly closed his eyes, so blinded was he by her blazing look. “Why not? Are you physically incapable?”

His mouth twisted. “No. At least not to my knowledge.”

Her eyes softened. “If this is the fear of inexperience, I assure you that I won’t expect an expert lover—at least not at first.”

Winter’s lips twitched. “No, it isn’t that. You don’t understand—”

“Then explain.”

He exhaled and tipped back his head to stare at the plump cupids cavorting on the Duchess of Arlington’s ceiling. “I am dedicated to the home and St. Giles. I have pledged to help those who need my help—need it desperately—in that wretched area of London.”

“You sound as if you’ve made a priestly vow,” she said wonderingly.

He glanced away from her, marshaling his thoughts. He’d never put this into words, never told another living soul his mission.

Then he inhaled and faced her. “It is very similar, in intent if not philosophy, to a priestly vow. I’m not like your society rogues, Isabel. I regard physical lovemaking as something sacrosanct to love. And if I loved a woman enough to take her to my bed, then I would love her enough to marry her. I don’t intend ever to marry, ergo, I do not intend to ever get close enough to a woman—physically or emotionally—to make love to her.”

“But you’re not a priest,” she said. “Surely you can have both a wife and family and help those in St. Giles.”

He glanced down at her, so beautiful, so full of that life. “No, I don’t believe so. A husband and father’s first duty is to his wife and family. Everything else is secondary. How can the people of St. Giles ever come first if I am married?”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “I don’t believe this. You’re attempting to become a saint.”

His mouth tightened. “No, I’ve merely dedicated my life to helping others.”

“But why?”

“I’ve told you why,” he said, trying to still his impatience. This discussion was like cutting open his chest, putting a hand in, and stirring his organs about. He did not like it at all. “The children, the poor of St. Giles, the terrible lives they lead. Did you not hear me when I spoke?”

“I heard you well enough,” she snapped. “I’m asking why you. Why must you be the one to make this sacrifice of your entire life?”

He shook his head helplessly. She was of the privileged class. She’d never known want, never counted coins to calculate whether they should go to pay for coal to warm the body or bread to feed it, for they would pay for only one, not both. She simply could not understand.