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of loneliness that matched her own.
    “I enjoy being with you.” The truth fell from her lips before she could stop it.
    A little smile tugged on his mouth. “Thank you.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. A gentle, almost absent motion that spoke of companionship and nothing more. “Have you tired of the subject of me?”
    “Not necessarily.”
    “Alas, I have. I find you much more interesting. Will you tell me about yourself? Do you have a family?”
    “Doesn’t everyone? None of us are simply placed on this earth.”
    He cast her a glance, one eyebrow lifted, at her glib retort. But she found no shade of censure in his expression. Rather, a touch of humor lurked in the depths of his eyes.
    And he continued. One question after another. He never pressed too hard, but nor would he be diverted. She parried to the best of her abilities, fortifying each response with just enough truth to keep it from ringing with the hollow note of a lie. For the sum her clients paid Rubicon, they received the use of her body, her expertise in the art of pleasure, and her conversation skills, if so desired. But she never gave them herself. And no matter how enjoyable her time with James, she knew it would not and could not last beyond the dawn. A fact etched in stone.
    So she pushed aside the temptation to open even a tiny bit of herself to him, and instead cherished the evening for what it was. The reprieve she had desperately needed when she had entered her sitting room but a handful of hours ago.
    Even reprieves, however, must come to an end. She could not say who had allowed their conversation to lull. Perhaps it had been by mutual design. The silence was only broken by the occasional pop and crack of the logs shifting. The fire in the white marble hearth was in sore need of a prodding, yet she made not one move toward the iron poker. She had passed the point of merely resting against him some time ago, and now leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her legs folded beside her on the settee. The solid weight of his body a comfort she did not want to give up.
    He glanced about the room and then over his shoulder. “Do you not have a clock?”
    “Not in here, no.” As clients rarely lingered in the sitting room, she had never bothered to acquire a clock for the room. And more importantly, with only one client an evening, time was of little importance. The only requirement a departure by dawn.
    Shifting, he pulled a plain silver pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at the face. “It’s quite late,” he said, tucking the watch back in his pocket. “I don’t want to keep you from your rest, so I will be on my way.”
    She took the cue for what it was and reluctantly swung her feet to the floor. He stood and, with her hand still in his, helped her to stand. Her skirt was a wrinkled mess, but it was the least of her concerns as she led him the short distance to the door.
    He stopped and turned to face her. “Thank you.”
    “You are most welcome.” Please, ask for me tomorrow night. She tamped down the words, kept the request hidden within. James would never return. She felt it in her bones. He was not a man who made a habit of spending his evenings with a woman like her.
    His gaze dropped down to his shoes and then back up to meet hers. “You must think me quite odd.”
    He could not be further from the truth. She thought him wonderful, and she would ever be grateful for whatever had prompted him to enter this house.
    “Why must I think you odd?”
    “Because I spent an evening with a beautiful woman and didn’t once attempt to steal so much as a kiss.”
    She took a half step toward him. “That can be remedied,” she whispered.
    His grip on her hand tightened, and she swore she felt the tremor race through his body. His eyes darkened. No longer a soft, olive green but banked with an undeniable need. He slowly, ever so slowly, lowered his head. Her free hand coasted up his sleeve