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ever met.” He sighed.
    Impulsively, she leaned forward and planted both of her hands on his knees. His legs were long, splayed so they fit in the carriage without bumping her legs. “But don’t you see it would be the perfect solution? You get what you want. I get what I want.”
    â€œMiss Ashley—”
    But she jumped in. “You can’t save me. I can’t be saved. And I won’t be, not at the expense of my family. It’s my fault we are in such trouble—” She sank her teeth into her lip. Her words had run away with themselves.
    Of course, he caught it at once. “Why is it your fault? What happened that you feel you have to ruin yourself?” His tone was filled with tenderness. He looked truly concerned.
    He really did care about her.
    And she cared terribly about him. Already.
    But she could not tell him of what she’d done and that she had a child—and what she’d been forced to do when they’d needed money. “It’s just that I’m the only one who can become a courtesan. And I have my book, so I know what to do and what to expect.”
    â€œYou have a book?”
    â€œA memoir written by a famous London courtesan.” She couldn’t help but speak with pride about her mother. She didn’t know her mother’s name, but from the journal, she knew her mother had been pursued by dukes, earls, and even royal princes. Mrs. Tucker had called her mother sinful. The woman admitted she had only agreed to take in Sophie because Dr. Tucker wanted to do it. Her mother had given them a lot of money to support her upbringing. But to the doctor, Sophie had been an experiment—the doctor believed a good upbringing in a decent household would result in a decent girl.
    He had been proven wrong, Mrs. Tucker had declared with venom.
    The duke’s voice brought her back to the present. “A book is what spurred you to come to London to become a courtesan? My God, Miss Ashley, you are so sweetly unsophisticated, it is a wonder you haven’t plunged into trouble before.”
    She swallowed hard. She had, but she couldn’t let him know that now.
    If she wanted to land him, she must get him lusting after her, desiring her, wanting her.
    She had to try to seduce him. In some way.
    She quickly stood and moved across to sit on his lap. But he caught her by her bottom before she could land on him. “No, Sophie.” He leaned toward the window. “We’ve arrived.”
    â€œWhere are we?”
    â€œA brothel.”
    Panic hit. For a moment, her faith in him wobbled. “Why are we here? Are you going to sell me to them?”
    He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Now you understand that you have to be wary. You are far too impulsive. But no, I am not going to sell you to a brothel. I want you to see what can happen to young women in London.”
    â€œI’m going to become a Cyprian. I’m not going to work in a brothel.”
    â€œWhat if you do not become a highflyer, one of the elite courtesans? What then?” he asked.
    â€œI will become one. I am highly determined to do it—and that means I shall succeed! And I would be perfectly fine, if you would be my protector.”
    He did not answer. The door to the carriage opened, and without another word, the duke jumped out, ignoring the steps. He held out his hand and clasped hers to help her down.
    Awareness rushed through Sophie in a big whoosh. She tingled all over.
    Surely, it was plain to him—the magic that happened when their hands touched.
    She saw the glow in his eyes as he looked at her. The fire in them. But he quickly shook his head as if to wave out the fire of desire the way you would wave out a match.
    He did feel the same intensity!
    Yet he was refusing to acknowledge it.
    What she would do in that brothel was seduce the reluctant duke. He said he couldn’t kiss her because he was haunted by terrible memories. But surely, kissing