Chapter Twenty-Three

Henry James Charles Brooke, the twelfth Earl of Cobham, known to a select few friends as Harry, gazed down at the sleeping woman in his arms and sighed.

This had not been part of the plan.

But how could he possibly have foreseen the havoc that one shy, stubborn wallflower could wreak?

It was his own fault. He was more than accustomed to assessing the risks in any situation, and from the moment he'd set eyes on Ellie Law, he'd been drawn to her as to a priceless painting or an irreplaceable gem.

He should have known the danger he was in. Her cleverness and tenacity matched his own, and unlocking the passionate nature that lurked beneath her bluestocking exterior tonight had been both a pleasure and a privilege.

Her small, soft body curled trustingly into his and he tightened his arms around her as a strange protectiveness swept over him. He wanted to make love to her again. Once hadn't been enough, but he'd been very conscious of the fact that she was a virgin. It had taken every ounce of his restraint to go slowly, not to scare her, to make her first time enjoyable.

The pleased sounds she'd made as he'd kissed her, the silky feel of her skin, the way her eyes had widened in amazement when he'd buried himself inside her, were all burned into his brain.

His cock hardened just thinking about it. He'd fantasized about bedding her, but reality had surpassed even his fervent imaginings. He felt honored that she'd trusted him to introduce her to the world of pleasure, but there was still so much he had to show her. If she'd let him.

He didn't deserve her trust, of course. He was a liar and a thief. A charlatan and a scoundrel. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, but it was almost inevitable, given the current situation.

He'd have to tell her the truth soon, of course, but the selfish part of him wanted to delay that moment for as long as possible.

He didn't want morning to come.