Page 7 of This Haunted Heart

I brushed my lips over the adorable furrow between his brows until it smoothed. When I pulled back, he regarded me with such intensity, such raw smoldering emotion, I simply didn’t have a word to describe it adequately. It was too complex to be discernible. Muscles low in my belly quivered.

“I only have to wear the sling one more day,” I told him, still close enough to smell the starch on his collar and his spicy scent. “Doctor’s orders. This is a small thing not worth worrying over. It hardly warrants a mention compared to my other adventures.”

He took my right hand in his and brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ll be in the city a while longer. It would please me greatly to see more of you.”

Uncertain what to say, I nibbled at my lip. “I think I’d enjoy that too, only it’s like I said. I’ve retired. I don’t take on clients anymore.”

“That suits me fine,” he said firmly. “In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t see me as a client at all.”

I blinked at him. “Are you saying . . . but you can’t mean you wish to call upon a retired harlot?”

“If you’d be so kind as to invite me. That’s exactlywhat I’d like to do.”

“But you don’t even know my name. I don’t even know yours . . . Being untidy and sticking stockings where they don’t belong might not be the worst thing about me. I could be the sort of person who rambles on about dull things like”—I looked to my top shelf of books for inspiration—“French verb conjugations and bad poetry.”

“I signed in here as Dante Malacoda. You could call me that,” he said, unaffected.

“That’s a very ominous name, Mr. Malacoda.”

“Perfect for a pirate.” His grin was infectious and triggered my own. “As for your other concerns, I believe that’s the point of getting acquainted. So one can become more familiar with all the delightful habits of the other.”

He truly was dangerous with a grin like that. His showing of teeth might as well have been a loaded pistol ready to fire straight through a lovesick heart, destroying it once and for all.

“I’m called Vieve here.”

“Like Vieve Avondrood?” He peeked over at my books.

“Just like that.” I unlaced my fingers from his, toying with the strap of my sling, unsure of myself. It had been an age since anyone had the power to make me feel all fluttery inside, like I’d swallowed a bunch of butterflies whole. He hoped I’d invite him to call at a bordello that clearly made him uncomfortable. How strange. “Did you want me to invite youhere?”

“Is there someplace else you’ll be?”

“Well, no. Not yet.”

“Then, yes. Here.” When I didn’t immediately answer, he recaptured my hand and pulled me in closer until my legs brushed against his knees. “Go on. I can see that you want to.”

My stomach swooped. The sensation lingered in my bellylike I’d just dived headfirst off a cliff into treacherous seawater and I was still falling and falling.

“Yes,” I panted, coming up for air. “Oh, but wait! What ifyou’rethe type who likes to ramble on about boring poetry and botany?”

He lifted his hand in a mock vow. “I promise you I won’t recite one single poem in your presence. Not a rhyme, not even a haiku.”

“Actually, I like the occasional haiku.”

“Then you’re a difficult woman,” he quipped.

“Better you know that now.”

“As for botany, the closest I’ll get to it is bringing you flowers.”

“Flowers? But I adore flowers. How could I say no to that?” Because it was too difficult to resist, I swiped my thumb once more across the rugged beard that shadowed his jaw. “Please, Mr. Dante Malacoda, will you call on me here? Tomorrow evening, 7 sharp.”

Grief cleared from his eyes like storm clouds rolling away to reveal the sun. The pleasure that remained knocked my breath away.

“I certainly will,” he said, lips quirking. “Good evening, Miss Vieve.”

He unfolded himself from my sofa and ate up the distance to the exit with his long strides. He left, closing the door softly. In his wake, the scent of sweet, grassy country tobacco wafted to my nose. It was possible my rattled brain had conjured the smell. I’d been so haunted by it all day long.

Either that or I’d just made a dreadful mistake inviting that sad, handsome pirate back to my rooms. Worry churned just behind my navel, and I pressed a palm over it.

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