Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

E than angled himself to face her.

"You said you were a widow," he stated.

"I know." She tried to control the tremor in her voice. "I needed the job and thought that being a widow would be an advantage. That it would make me seem older and more respectable."

"To be clear." He pinned her with his gaze. "There is no Mr. Wood."

She gave a small nod.

"Are you twenty-seven?"

She shook her head. "I am twenty-three."

His brows formed an ominous line. "You lied. About everything."

"Not about everything?—"

"You've never been a housekeeper before, have you?" He surged to his feet, glowering at her. "I knew those bloody references were too good to be true."

"I'm sorry. I just needed the work so badly?—"

"That gave you the right to lie to me?"

His rage chilled her to the bone.

"No, what I did was wrong." Her throat tight, she tried to explain. "I didn't know you then. At least, not the way I know you now. After our first meeting, when you left me in the rain, I thought you were an arrogant blueblood. When I ended up interviewing for the job, I didn't feel I owed you anything?—"

"Least of all the truth." Icy flames leapt in his eyes. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because…because things have changed. For me, at least."

Her heart hammering, she rose and reached for him. He stepped away. Looked at her as if she were something he'd found stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

"I have no tolerance for liars," he said.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I've made a hash of things, but the primary purpose of my disguise wasn't to spite or deceive you. It was to protect myself."

"Right. You had no choice but to pull the wool over my eyes."

His bitterness made her shrink inside.

"I had a choice," she admitted. "And I made the wrong one. I told you before: I have a habit of making bad decisions."

"I suppose you'll blame me for that. For giving you no option but to deceive me."

"No." She frowned because the notion hadn't occurred to her. "The decision was mine alone, and I regret deceiving you. In the past, you see, I've worked in places where being myself put me at risk, and I thought?—"

"What happened?"

She blinked at the ferocity of his question. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did some bastard make advances on you?" he bit out.

Which bastard are you referring to?

When one worked in seedy establishments, unwanted attention was a way of life. She flashed to Wallace's Bookshop, her last place of employ in London. She saw the sneering, aristocratic face of her assailant, felt his smothering weight, tasted the blood in her mouth as she'd tried to fight him off. She felt the overwhelming, paralyzing terror.

"Recently?" Ethan asked, as if he'd read her mind.

"A few months ago." She exhaled, shaking off the past. "Luckily, another patron came to my aid before the assault could progress."

"Did you report the bastard?" he demanded.

"The assailant was a gentleman. I was a shopgirl," she said tonelessly. "Who would listen to me?"

Seeing the revulsion in his eyes, she knew it was over. He saw her for who she was: a nobody. A woman who was beneath him in every way. The fact that she'd made a living as a shopgirl wasn't the worst of it, not by far. He didn't know about her work as Sirena. Or about her mama and the people who'd been hurt because of her…she hadn't scratched the surface of her ugly past.

You don't deserve him. You don't deserve happiness, and you never did.

It wasn't the first time she'd watched her dreams go up in flames, yet she couldn't recall it hurting this much. Like a razor blade slicing across her heart, hope bleeding out cut by cut. She needed to get out of here before she fell apart.

"Again, I am very sorry for deceiving you." She willed back the heat surging behind her eyes. "I wish I had done things differently. I'll pack my things and be gone on the morrow."

She'd almost made it to the servants' door when his voice stopped her.

"Is your name really Jane?"

She didn't trust herself to turn around.

"No," she said. "It's Xenia…Xenia Loveday."

His quiet footsteps fell like thunder in her ears. She sensed him standing behind her. He was close enough for her to feel his heat, to smell his virile scent. She clasped her hands together, fearful that she might reach for him and make a fool of herself.

"Xenia." His breath caressed her ear. "Was all of it a lie?"

Too scared to hope and too scared not to, she squeezed her eyes shut and surrendered what she could no longer keep inside.

"Not the part about you. About us," she said hoarsely. "When I met you, I thought you were handsome…in a grumpy, unfeeling sort of way. But then you turned out to be gallant and kind. When you rescued me from the bats, I was attracted to you, but I resisted the feeling because I knew nothing could come of it. Then you risked your life to save me from that cutthroat and shared about your past, and my feelings became undeniable. I want to have an affair with you more than I've ever wanted anything. Even though I know that you're better than me."

She lowered her head. It didn't happen often, but she was out of words. He turned her toward him, tipping her chin up, and she gazed into his storm-filled eyes.

"I am not better than anyone, least of all you," he said. "I am brooding and grumpy, and I'm sorry I left you in the rain."

Her breath lodged in her throat.

"But I won't countenance being lied to, Xenia. For any reason."

"I understand," she said tremulously. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I swear I didn't intend for my deception to go on for as long as it did."

"If we are to continue on the path we're on, you must be honest henceforth," he said sternly.

"Continue?" She stared at him, her heart pounding. "You mean you…you still want me?"

"Give me your word that you won't lie to me."

It would be so easy to agree, and her past self might have done so.

But Ethan deserved better.

"I can promise that I won't deceive you from now on," she said. "But there are things about my past that I will not share. I am not a good or respectable woman, Ethan, and I won't let my past affect you. I won't. I will leave before I let that happen." Her voice shook with the force of her emotions. "I have little to offer you. I am nothing special. I don't have wealth or looks?—"

"Stop, Xenia."

She couldn't, though. She had to get through this, or she would regret it for the rest of her life.

"I am reckless and prone to bad decisions. I knew I shouldn't fall for you, but I let myself do it anyway. Even though you deserve more. Now I've made a hash of things?—"

"Be quiet," he growled.

Before she could speak again, he gathered her against him and covered her mouth with his.

Ethan didn't care if he was making a mistake. He'd made plenty in the past, and at least this time he was going in with open eyes. His initial anger at Xenia's deception had subsided when he realized that she wasn't like his former fiancée.

Yes, she'd lied about who she was. But she'd done so for reasons he could understand. Well, not entirely—he'd never been in her situation. He'd never needed to work to survive, never been a vulnerable young woman who'd had to protect herself against the predators of the world. The thought of what she might have gone through seized his gut, and he wanted to tear every bastard who'd mistreated her limb from limb.

How could he hold her deception against her? She'd worked hard to improve his manor and the quality of his life. Her presence had upended his existence but in a good way. She made him look beyond his misery and self-pity. Hell, because of her, he was even thinking about trying his hand at composing. A long time ago, before his injury, he'd given writing music a go; he'd started a sonata but gave up on it…had forgotten about it, in truth, until Xenia had played it on the B?sendorfer. Now he couldn't stop thinking about the piece and had even made another copy, with what he thought were improvements.

Xenia reminded him that life was worth living. And despite her ruses, she hadn't lied about her feelings for him. She took responsibility for what she'd done. Of her own volition, she had told him the truth before they'd started their affair—unlike Constance, who'd betrayed him with his friend and jilted him right before the wedding.

Xenia had to have known the risk she was taking, yet she'd done it anyway. Her behavior was nothing if not consistent. She was impulsive, troublesome, and brave. She called into question her own morality, yet she clearly had her own sense of honor. From the start, he'd been intrigued by her contradictions…her resilience and vulnerability. He couldn't deny his desire to defend her, his housekeeper who thought far too little of herself.

Then and there, he decided to discover Xenia's secrets. She might tease him for being rational, but as an artist, he'd learned to trust his instincts. He knew that she wasn't capable of malice. Mischief, yes, but her heart was too tender for any true wrongdoing. Whatever she was running from—for clearly, she was running—he would help her with it. He would keep her safe.

Once he made the decision, everything else became clear. He'd experienced this before when learning to play a new and complex piece. As daunting as the score might be, once he'd decided to tackle it, he would. No matter how much patience and effort was required. The same held true where Xenia was concerned. He was going to discover the intricacies of who she was, including her past, and he was going to protect her.

Ergo, it made perfect sense to kiss her as if she belonged to him.

She melted against his chest, soft and eager. That was another thing about her: when it came to passion, she was charmingly candid. Her mouth parted hungrily beneath his own, and she clutched the lapels of his smoking jacket with such exuberance that he would have to think of an excuse to tell Valentine in the morning. He loved her enthusiasm, her taste, the soft sounds she made while he licked inside her.

Despite her delightful alacrity, her confession had triggered a question he needed answered. Reluctantly, he broke from her sweetness.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Again? Haven't we talked enough? Can't we move on to other things?"

At her dismay, he had to stifle a smile. He enjoyed her artlessness. Despite Xenia's disguises, she was far more honest than most ladies of his acquaintance.

"This is important," he said. "I need an honest answer from you."

"All right," she said warily.

"Are you a virgin?"

Her cheeks turned pink. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

"If we are speaking in technicalities, then…yes."

Her reply gave him a jolt of primal satisfaction. It was stupid, he knew, because her innocence was going to make things more complicated. If she'd been a widow, he could give full rein to his desires, knowing that they were on equal footing in terms of experience. With a virgin…well, he'd never been with a virgin before, but his honor told him the rules were different.

"But I am not without experience," she said hastily. "I've had a follower and, um, done some things. Just not the thing. I know what goes on between a man and woman…I am three and twenty, after all, and practically on the shelf. You needn't be concerned on my behalf. I know what we're about to do, and I want to do it with you."

As usual, she had a unique way of tying him up in knots. Her lack of the usual female modesty about sexual matters amused and beguiled him. At the same time, he tensed at her blasé reference to her "follower."

Who was this bloody cove with whom she'd done "some things"?

The bite of possessiveness stunned him. Constance had complained that he hadn't seemed to care when men flirted with her—that he was more likely to get jealous if someone touched his piano. She hadn't been wrong.

But with Xenia, things were different.

"Unless you don't want to have an affair with me because I lack experience?" As was her wont, Xenia struck upon a notion that was both fanciful and ridiculous. "Rest assured that I have not led a sheltered existence. I consider myself a woman of the world. Moreover, I have an active imagination. While I have not engaged in relations per se, I have thought about it. Excessively. I am a quick study and?—"

"You needn't list your qualifications for an affair," he said wryly. "You are not interviewing for a position, you know."

"Aren't I?" Her eyes sparkled, and she raised her brows. "Perhaps even for several positions?"

It took him a moment to realize that she had made a warm jest. Bemused, he had to acknowledge she wasn't maidenly in the least. His tension eased. She was a rare jewel: a woman whose body was untouched but whose mind was delightfully wanton. Wicked yet sweet, she was the lover he'd been searching for all along…and she wanted him back.

By Jove, when did he get to be such a lucky bastard?

"Getting rather ahead of yourself, aren't you, minx?" he murmured. "Talking about variations when you haven't done it the usual way."

"I don't want you to think that I'm innocent. I know what I want," she said with endearing conviction. "I fantasize about you constantly."

"Do you, now?" He tried not to let his smugness show, but damn, it felt good to be desired. "What do you fantasize about?"

"One time, when I was making your bed, I imagined being in it with you," she said dreamily. "We were naked, and you were on top of me, your weight pressing me into the mattress. You were kissing me, touching me everywhere…"

The notion that she'd entertained such wicked thoughts while doing her chores heated his blood. Christ, she was naughty—a perfect little vixen. He took her hand, leading her to his bed.

Her eyes shone. "Are you going to make love to me?"

"To a point," he replied. "Until we make decisions about the future, I will not do anything irrevocable."

"But there is no future for us." She gnawed on her lip. "Our affair can only be temporary?—"

"For the moment, let us agree to disagree." He lifted his brows. "Now, do you want to argue or make love?"

A pause.

"Make love."

He hid a smile at how torn she looked.

He took her hand. "I was hoping that would be your answer, pet."