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now.
    She could only answer with a breathless “Thank you.” The tingle building in her belly spread out to her fingers and toes in a wave of light, airy sensation. She dipped her chin to her chest, trying but failing to hide the smile she could not keep from her lips.
    “I quite like your gown as well.”
    A little giggle bubbled up from her chest. “Thank you.”
    “You’re very welcome. The color is nice, too.”
    “Mauve. Is it a favorite of yours, then?” she teased.
    “Not in general. I usually prefer blue.”
    “I have a blue gown. Well, more navy than a true blue. If you’d like, I can change . . . and you can assist me.”
    His smile transformed his face, erasing the years. With his imposing build and rugged features, she had taken him for a man at least a decade her senior. But she now doubted he was more than a handful of years older than her two and twenty.
    “No, that’s not necessary,” he said with a chuckle that warmed the room.
    She read the desire, the need, clear as day, in his eyes. Yet the realization hit her that her body was not the primary commodity he sought. He wanted her time. Regardless of his compliments, she had the distinct impression she could be passably pretty, and he would be equally content with her.
    The weight of expectation, of duty, of obligation, lifted from her shoulders. The last lingering bit of tension eased out of her and she shifted, moving closer to him. Drawn to him. With her shoulder pressed against his biceps and her arm draped lightly over his, their hands still entwined, she rested against him. His coat held the cool, crisp scent of the night air and a light, spicy hint of a man. Of James.
    “Since you are not a guest, I take it you reside in London. Do you also work in the city?”
    “Yes. My office is near the docks.”
    Not the most pleasant part of town. Surely he could afford to situate himself in a more prosperous area. “By choice?”
    “By convenience. My interests are in shipping.”
    She could well imagine him on the deck of a ship, effortlessly working the rigging. His skin coated in a light sheen of sweat, his muscles bunching and flexing under the hot sun. Though merchants were apt to spend their days behind a desk, his work-roughened hands indicated he was not averse to a bit of hard labor. “You must be experiencing quite the boom since the trade restrictions were lifted and Bonaparte’s ships no longer troll the seas.”
    “I’ve seen the benefits, yes.”
    She paused, waiting for him to elaborate, but he remained silent. Modesty. Not a trait often seen in men. Most grabbed any opportunity to try to impress her with their successes, however large or small.
    She tried to discover more about him, but all of her questions led to the same answer. He worked. He did not belong to a club, had a decided preference against the theatre, and judging by the frown at the mention of social functions, he did not care for those, either. “Do you spend every waking moment at your office?”
    “That is my intention, yes.”
    “Why?”
    “I prefer it there over being at home.”
    What an odd response. “Do you at least enjoy your time at work?”
    He shrugged, the wool sleeve of his coat a soft rub against her bare arm. “Do you enjoy your time here?”
    Was that a thinly veiled “no” to her question, or was he merely indifferent? Viewing his work as a nonnegotiable facet of life. Regardless of how luxurious the surroundings, surely he could not believe she would ever go so far as to classify her nights spent on her back as enjoyable. That was the last word she associated with this house.
    Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely correct. Her gaze traced his strong profile, from the straight line of his nose to his jaw darkened with a shadow of a day’s beard. It wasn’t that she had never had a handsome client. A rarity for certain, but not unheard of. It was more . . . him. James. She sensed a quiet kindness in his soul, along with a distinct echo