Chapter 12
Lucy pulled her shawl a little tighter around her as she tramped through the dewy grass early the next morning. The sun was still low in the sky and there really was very little heat coming from it. She had misjudged the weather, assuming the sun meant it would be warm. Excited by the beautiful vista from her bedroom window, she had not bothered ringing for a maid but had instead simply donned a shift and gown, stockings and half boots and a shawl and slipped out a side door to the garden. She loved a solitary morning walk and had done this regularly on her brother’s estate.
Her great aunt had always seen to the children before breakfast, and now she had the nursemaid to do the same. She lifted her face to the golden light.
It was then she realised she was out without a bonnet or even a cap. How terribly scandalous. But no one would see her. She tripped lightly down the incline towards the lake. Perhaps she could take off her boots and stockings and walk barefoot in the dew. Near the water’s edge, she found a large boulder she could sit on. She leaned over and undid both laces, then both of her garter ribbons. Soon her toes were curling into wet grass, the coldness making her gasp.
She was about to pick up abandoned attire when something caught her attention in the lake.
She shielded her eyes against the reflection of the weak sunlight off the water.
Someone was in there. Their hands were waving. Good Lord, were they drowning?
Horror seized her. She must do something. Luckily, she was a strong swimmer. She had spent many summers in the small lake near their home and Melvin, for all his faults had taught her well. She ran to the edge of the water, undoing the bow of her underskirts and stepping out of them just before she reached the water’s edge.
“I’m coming.” She tried to shout it, but it came out more of a whimper.
Lucy did not have time. Better to save the poor soul whoever they were than waste time telling them she was going to save them.
She ran into the water up to her middle then dove in.
∞ ∞ ∞
Robert heard splashes but by the time he turned around, whoever it was, was diving into the water and heading straight for his very naked self.
This was his first time out swimming since the long cold winter and he was more than a little rattled to be disturbed. He enjoyed his early morning swims. They cleared his head, kept him trim, released his frustrations—of which he had many at present, and generally just made him feel like a normal human being.
But the water had been much colder than he had anticipated. The weak April sun had looked warmer than it was. His first swim had resulted in a cramping pain in his shoulder. So, he had stopped and started to stretch out the cramp. It was better now.
He was just about to start swimming again when a white clad being came streaming towards him through the water. It caught him around the chest and climbed his body before trying to yank his chin backwards.
“I have you,” she gasped. “You shan’t drown.”
“Indeed, I shan’t. I am standing on the bottom of the lake,” he said roughly, his prick seeming to have realised it was Lucy, long before his brain had. Damn, it was freezing, and his prick was trying to get hard.
“My Lord?”
“I thought we agreed you would call me Robert. It seems quite appropriate since I am naked.”
“Y-y-you are?”
“I am.” He slid around, and her body became plastered to his front. “And you are decidedly not.”
“No, I am not.”
“Shame. But you are not wearing stays.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.
“How can you tell?”
“Your nipples are practically cutting holes in my chest.”
“I apologise.”
He grinned. “Oh, no apology necessary. Why the hell are you rushing into the water fully clothed attempting to rescue me?”
“I thought you were drowning. Your arms were flailing.”
“Flailing? I was stretching.”
“You were flailing. And now my gown is ruined, and I must go back into the house soaking wet. This is your fault. What were you thinking, swimming on your own?”
“I always swim on my own.” he answered patiently. God, she was beautiful when her dander was up. He caught her by the thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you safe. I am on solid ground. You cannot stand.”
“I can tread water.”
“Why bother when I can stand? Come, my darling, why so shy now? You had your hand all over my erection last evening.”
“You are naked, and I am all wet.”
“Yes, you are. You definitely are.” He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck, settling her deliciously against his now hard cock.
“Robert, this is…”
“Wonderful,” he murmured as he trailed kisses down her throat, moving over to slightly shallower water and adjusting her so she rose higher.
“What…” She gasped, grasping him by the shoulders, but he gave her no time, he licked the large dark areola of her nipple though muslin and cotton and gently nipped the nub of it. Lucy gasped, as much in surprise as in desire. His tongue circled languidly, causing his cock to harden even more. When he used his lips to suck on the bud, she moaned and rocked against him. He used one hand to knead the ample flesh and the other to hold her hard against him. He could do this for hours. The fabric did not hinder him, and her moans of pleasure told him that her gown and shift were not impeding her experience. As he moved from one breast to the other she lowered her head and kissed his crown, whispering, “Oh that is so much better than…”
He had found his quarry and to some extent, he cared not what the end of her sentence was. But something niggled at him that he should. Lucy was keeping something from him. Had she been this intimate with a man before? Not that he cared. He did not believe all that poppycock about a woman having to be pure on her wedding night. Reid, his best friend seemed more than happy with his widow. And he had a suspicion that Beattie had deflowered his sister long before they had made it to Gretna Green, despite their protests to the contrary. It was one of the reasons Robert had only put on a show of indignation at their behaviour. The man had been willing to do the right thing and that was fine with Robert.
Besides, he didn’t care. Her breasts were amazing. He suckled and licked at them and Lucy wrapped her arms around his head and ran the nails of one hand through his hair as she rocked her hips against his stomach. He would savour these breasts for years. He had to get her to marry him now.
He lowered her back to his hips, brushing his lips up her chest and throat before plunging his tongue into her mouth. He gave her no quarter, no chance to think twice. He needed her. And he knew she wanted him.
She angled her head, deepening the kiss, plunging her own tongue into the fray, mimicking what she wanted his cock to do. Good God, she was an amazing kisser. He had been with courtesans who were amateurs compared to this. Her natural ability and passion were just crashing over them. He needed to get out of the water—to be on top of her and rut against her. He needed more friction, more of her. Just more.
He moved his hand down to her bottom to steady her and started to move towards shore. His fingers grazed her opening. Even still in the water, he could tell she was aroused. He could feel her moisture, different to that of the water.
“Robert?” She pulled away and at last he could see where he was going.
“Yes, my love?”
“Your hand. It’s…”
“Stopping you from falling. I have no intention of moving my fingers in farther.”
“Oh. Right. Um…. Good.”
“I think I should say that it is only honour that is stopping me at this moment.”
“It is? Why?”
“Good God, must you ask so many questions?”
“Yes.”
“You’re so wet.”
“I have been in the lake. So, have you.”
“Not that sort of wet. Here.” He tapped his fingers against her opening and chuckled when her lips made a delightful little ‘o’ shape. They were at shore. He started to move towards his own clothes and the linens he had brought down to dry himself.
“What does that mean. That I am so wet?”
Robert considered throwing himself back in the lake. Perhaps he would drown this time. He had no time for innocent ladies and their questions. He just wanted to sink into this one and make love to her until they both came off hard and satisfyingly.
But he could not. He would not.
“It means that your body is ready for me.”
“Oh! I…”
“Shh!” He nuzzled her neck, holding her closer to him as he neared the tree under which his clothes lay. Slumping to his knees, he laid her on a large linen then removed his hand from under her. “Your body may be ready for me, Lucy, but you are not. I am not a brute. I would never force you.”
She lifted a shaking hand to him. “I know.”
“Then why do you look so terrified.”
“It is not terror. I am j-j-j-ust a little chilled.”
Dammit. He was used to swimming in the cold.
“Let us get you out of those wet things and into my dry shirt.”
She clutched her wet gown around her.
“No. You cannot see me naked.”
He chucked and pressed a kiss to her lips, wrapping her in his embrace. “Firstly, I am naked, and you are seeing me, and secondly, your clothing is so wet, so see-through, you may as well be naked, my darling. It was not just my mouth feasting on your breasts. My eyes had quite a banquet.”
“Robert!” She gasped before he captured her lips in a kiss, burrowing his hands under her and loosening the laces of her gown. When she parted her thighs and allowed him to insinuate his hips between them and rub against her sex, he could not decide if he was in heaven or hell. He would not take her. Not here. Not like this.
He helped her remove her arms from the unyielding wet fabric, but as he covered her nipple with his lips her body wracked with a shiver. She was as cold as she was aroused. He lifted his head.
“I apologise. I must get you dry and back to the house. He sat back on his heels and pulled her into a seated position, wrapping the linen around her and rubbing vigorously. He dried her hair as best he could then grabbed his shirt and pulled it over her head.
“What will you wear?”
“My breeches and boots. Where are your stockings and shoes?”
“Over by that rock. My petticoats are beside the water’s edge. I pulled them off so they would not pull me under.”
“I shall get them.” He stood and turned, walking away from her. He was aware of her gaze on him, or rather, on his arse, as he walked to the water’s edge. Other lovers had said he had a fine arse. He hoped so. He hoped she liked it. It was an arse she would see for the rest of their lives if he had his way.
He scooped up her petticoats, glancing behind him surreptitiously. Her gaze had never left his naked form. God, she made it hard to be a gentleman. Hard in more ways than one. He could not resist giving himself a quick stroke to ease some of the ache. As he returned, his cock slapping against his stomach, her boots and stockings in hand, she pulled her gaze away from his and began to dry her legs and intimate area under his shirt. Damn, how he wanted to help her with that.
He was back beside her in seconds and he picked up another linen, giving himself a quick once over to get the worst of the water off.
“We can go back by the underground tunnel.”
“What is the tunnel for?”
“Well in the past, the earls of Whitsnow owned a castle on the site of the manor house. In the early eighteenth century, it was raised to the ground by fire—accidentally, I understand. My great-grandfather built the manor house on the site. The underground tunnel is almost all that remains of the castle. It was used for smuggling.”
“Smuggling?”
“Yes. In much earlier times. When the castle was naught more than a fortress. We are but 12 miles from the sea here. The lake is large, then there is a wide river out to sea at the other side. Perfect for smuggling large hauls.”
“Your family are pirates?” she asked, breathlessly as she paused in the middle of raising her petticoats to her waist.
He chuckled. “I doubt they were the pirates but probably some of our wealth came from the proceeds of the trade. But that goes back to the time of Henry Eighth and Queen Elizabeth. There has been nothing to smuggle from this part of these islands for a long time. Smuggling all comes from France—brandy, French lace etcetera. I would be surprised if your brother does not imbibe in a few smuggled products himself.”
“Do you?” Her voice was almost a whisper. The illicitness seemed to excite her. She was an interesting mixture of coy lady-like perfection and naughtiness.
He closed the gap and caught her around the waist. “Why would you tell the Bow Street Runners next time you are in London?”
She giggled. Actually giggled. And his cock jerked. He took it in hand and gave it a squeeze. The damned thing seemed to have a mind of its own. He had to get it under control. It wasn’t getting what it wanted today—what he wanted.
“I doubt the Bow Street Runners would care about French Brandy, My Lord.”
“Perhaps not. Though the exciseman may. That said, everyone thinks me such a dull dog that no one would ever think that I would be partial to a sip of brandy now and then.”
“I do not think you a dull dog. Anything but.”
“My sister says I am terribly dull. Even my best friend thinks I am far too buttoned up.”
“I see no buttons at present, My Lord.”
“I think you may be the only person who sees the real me. And I do not mean just because I am nude. Now, move away from me before I remove what few clothes you have on and do something we shall both regret.”
She did as he asked but once seated on the ground and pulling one of her stockings over her knee, she spoke.
“I doubt I would regret it, Robert, whatever happens between us.” He had just been buttoning the fall of his breeches across his throbbing erection. He gave it another squeeze and groaned.
“You really are not helping matters, Lucy. I am trying to be a gentleman and you rush into the lake turning your gown translucent, while wrapping yourself around me, making it impossible for me not to kiss you. You make outrageous statements, you’re so beautiful it hurts, and you kiss like a cross between an angel and a courtesan.”
She pursed her lips as she shoved her foot into her half-boots. He tied the garter of his stocking.
“I do not think I like being compared to a courtesan.”
“I compared you to an angel too.” She cocked her head to the side as she considered this.
“As an earl, ladies must just fall at your feet, therefore you must seldom have to concern yourself with social niceties.”
“Not with young ladies who are wearing my shirt over their bare breasts, no.” He was struggling not to see the humour in this and he knew he was poking her as one would poke an injured animal with a stick, but she was such easy prey.
She harrumphed and crossed her arms over said breasts. He finished dressing then picked up their things and offered her his arm. She gave him a mutinous look. “You do look adorable in my shirt and not at all like a courtesan. Like a celestial body sent to tempt me.”
She narrowed her eyes. He was not convincing her.
He knelt in front of her.
“What are you doing?”
“I apologise for the courtesan remark. I thought it was funny, Clearly it was not. You tempt me more than any woman has before. Your kiss sets me afire. I cannot imagine what you shall do to me in bed. I was a dull dog before I met you. Of course, I like a little brandy, but I never wanted to drink a glass of it from a lady’s décolletage until I met you. I cared so much about being caught in compromising positions. Now I only care that you are not caught in them until you agree to be my wife. After that, I care little because you shall be under my protection. Once you are mine, we can be compromised together. I have never sat at dinner and watched a lady eat just so I can wish I was the food in her mouth. Now please stop being vexed with me and let me take you back into the warmth. You shall catch a fever out here.”
She caught his face between her hands and kissed him gently. “I cannot stay vexed with you for long, My Lord.”
“Come, before I have your ill-health on my conscience.”
He led her to the trap door a hundred or so yards away and pulled it up bidding her to wait until he had lit a candle. He then helped her down the steps and they walked through the long corridor. It was damp and musty smelling, but having her small hand in his, with her fingers tightly laced through his own sent a thrill of awareness through him. He had given her the candle to hold so that she could see better. He had their clothes and he knew this passageway like the back of his hand.
“Do you think that many love affairs have started in this passage?” she asked.
He stifled a chuckle. Oh, her sweet romantic heart. More likely many men had lost their lives fighting over stolen good and women had been forced to perform lewd acts against their will.
“Mayhap,” he replied without conviction.
“Mayhap a feudal King and his love escaped from the castle and pledged their undying love to one another, finding a kindly priest who would marry them.”
“From what I understand, in the time of feudal kings, there was no real need for marriage ceremonies. One just did the deed and had the woman agree to be one’s wife.”
“Oh. Well that does not make for a particularly satisfying story.”
“No, but the truth seldom does. Imagine if our story was told in a book. It would be rather uninteresting. Sick children, irritating siblings and toe curling kisses.”
She stopped, and he bumped into her.
“You find my kisses toe-curling?”
He half-rolled his eyes but managed to glance up at the ceiling before she noticed. Honestly, did she not understand why he continued to kiss her?
“Obviously. They’re rather… prick-hardening too.”
“Hmm!” And she turned and walked on. That was it? That was the sum total of her reaction to that confession? Damn, she was driving him to Bedlam as surely as if she had tied him in the carriage and was steering a team of horses along the road to the asylum herself.
“Well?” he asked, aware that his male pride had just taken a bit of a pounding.
“Well, what?”
“How do you find my kisses?”
She sighed and stopped, and he almost fell over her again. “You are an earl and I am sure you have had many lovers. Please tell me you have some understanding of your prowess in that department.”
That did not answer his question.
“You seem to be under the impression I am a rakehell,” he protested weakly.
“I suggested no such thing. I suggested you were fishing for compliments.”
“Would it kill you?” he answered churlishly.
Her smile in the dim tunnel lit up the narrow space and warmed him from the inside. “I believe it would, Robert. The confidence with which you kiss me tells me you have no concerns about your talents in that area. So, no more of this.” She turned and marched on. When she arrived at a fork in the tunnel he shouted the word left at her.
Realising he was being an arse, he sighed.
“Even strong, confident gentlemen like to know they please their women in the art of courting and in bed sports.”
“You please me greatly, but I am not and never shall be your woman.”
“That is a shame. I have made enquiries into a special tutor for Eleanor. There is a governess in Derbyshire who is currently looking for a position. She knows the sign language they use at the deaf school in Edinburgh, she knows how to teach Eleanor how to read lips and understand every time, including understanding dialects, and she can teach the child reading, writing, music etc. Everything she needs to be a member of the ton or the demi-monde.”
“My Lord, I am not a member of the ton, a bastard child can hardly expect to move in those circles.”
“Do not call any of those children that.”
“Why? Some of them are exactly that and it is how society views them. Just because you played cricket with them, do not begin to think society will start to think of them as anything more than foundlings and the bye-blows of men who abandoned the women they got with child, whether they meant to abandon them or not.”
Bitterness was palpable in the air. But Lucy Butterworth had the right to some bitterness. She did clean up the mess of arrogant men and society at large.
“Watch your step. There are stairs ahead,” was all he could manage. He had no arguments. She was correct. These children always would be classed as bastards and orphans. But he could at least ensure they were prepared for life, could he not? It was better than many in their situation.
Lucy started to climb the stairs. Despite the low light, Robert had a good view of her pert backside. He felt his body responding to the sensual sight.
Where does this door lead?” she asked.
“Open it and see.”
She opened it and stopped. “It is a bedchamber.”
He climbed up the last couple of stairs behind her. “Correction. It is my bedchamber.”
“Good lord, Robert. You are going to cause a scandal.”
“No more than you allowing me to kiss you on your bed.”
She turned and backed into the room.
“Yes well, that was a lapse in propriety.”
“You liked it. Then you kissed me in the lake and let my suck your nipples through your wet gown and chemise.”
“You make me sound...”
“Like a sensual woman who is aroused by a man?”
“As though I am fast.”
He chuckled. “Not fast enough for my liking, my love.”
“What if someone sees me leaving your bedchamber?”
“They won’t.”
“The door is locked.”
“Easily unlocked.”
“I thought you said you did not have a key.”
“I do not. But as I said, I am not such a dull dog as everyone thinks. I used to explore this house, including the locked rooms when I was a boy. I could hardly ask the house keeper for her keys, now could I?
“I suppose not.”
He crossed to his dressing table, opened a drawer and ferreted around for a few moment before extracting a couple of bent hairpins.
He motioned for her to follow through his dressing room.
Robert watched her eyes widen as she took in the large number of coats, breeches shirts, boots, and shoes. He supposed a young lady who had barely ever been out of Cumberland would find so many clothes to be ridiculous. He reached the locked door and tested the handle. Definitely locked. Giving the door a couple of bangs to dislodge the key, he then stuck the hair pin into the lock. He had to move it a few times to fully dislodge the key but eventually he heard it fall with a clunk to the floor.
He started to wiggle the hairpins in the lock.
“My Lord, if you are capable of this, I am not safe in my chamber at night.”
He turned and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Miss Butterworth, I may be capable of opening a door with a couple of hairpins along with a couple of thuds to dislodge the key, which you would surely hear, but you are quite safe. I do not ravish innocent or indeed any lady against her will. I do not ravish anyone of the female sex against their will whether they be lady, servant or courtesan. I am a gentleman, not a wild monster incapable of keeping his baser instincts at bay. However, if you should like me to arrange another bedchamber for you, one where you feel safe from my dangerous male presence, I shall arrange it immediately and you are welcome to use the other door to go back to your bedchamber, once you have changed out of my shirt.”
Her face had turned from pink to red to white and now she looked down at her feet, then away from him.
“I apologise, My Lord. That was not kind of me to suggest that you were dishonourable when you have been nothing but honourable. And I have been the harlot.”
“You have been no such thing. You have enjoyed my attentions. There is nothing wrong with that.” He continued to attack the lock with the hairpin and felt it click.
Opening the door, he gestured her through before going back, unravelling her gown and chemise from his cravat and the linens with which they had dried themselves.
“We shall dry this by the fire in this morning room and then you can hand it to your maid and she shall be none the wiser,” he said. “Now go and change. If you need me to tighten your stays and lace up your gown, I am happy to do so. Then bring me back my shirt so it is not found in your rooms.”
“You seem to have done this before, My Lord.”
He liked her little streak of jealousy. It meant he was making progress.
“I have not. However, I am good at problem-solving and I can see problems before they arise. It is one of the main talents one needs to run four profitable estates.”
“I see. I shall be back presently.”
Robert sat on a seat near the hearth and waited. He listened as she muttered to herself and hurried about her dressing room. He smiled to himself. She was such an interesting woman who had secrets. He was sure of it. He just had not yet worked out what they were. And they were the reason she refused to marry him. He would get to the bottom of it and he would put her mind at rest, whatever the problem was.
She walked out of her dressing room, gown clutched to her breasts, checks flushed a dark red, eyes downcast. She looked utterly adorable.
“Would you be so kind as to tighten my stays?”
“Of course.” He stood and met her in the middle of the room. Sunlight draped itself across them and warmth enveloped him. Out of the shadows and wind, it really was rather pleasant. He untangled a couple of sections of ribbon then tugged each section to tighten it before taking the ends and cinching them tight. She gasped,
“Too tight?”
“No, just a bit rougher than my maid.”
“Have I hurt you?” Blood seemed to drain from his internal organs at the very thought.
“No, not at all.” She gave a slight laugh. “You just startled me.”
“I apologise.”
“There is no need.” She reached a hand behind her, obviously planning to give him a placating pat on the leg but she must have missed her mark. He may have been slightly further away from her than she thought. Instead her hand touched the straining buckskin-clad erection he’d hoped she had not noticed. But instead of primly pulling her hand away and pretending it had not happened, she turned to look at what she had mistakenly patted.
He groaned, half with pleasure, half with embarrassment.
“I... I should do something about this for you,” she said, little lines appearing between her brows as she frowned down at the bulge in his breeches.
“Do something for me.”
“I should hate to be responsible if you were unable to have children.”
What the devil was she talking about?
“While I have not produced any bastards to my knowledge, there is no reason to assume I cannot have children.”
“But this cannot be healthy.”
“I can assure you, Miss Butterworth, that my cock is perfectly healthy, functioning well and I have never had the French Pox. Now, would you like me to do up your gown?”
She nodded. Considering she had never shrunk from his anger or irritation before, he wondered why she did it now.
He quickly fastened her gown, she handed him his shirt and he gave her a curt bow before leaving the room. He was annoyed at himself for snapping at her, but he did not understand what she’d meant. He’d had a cockstand for damn near an hour that he could hammer nails into stone with and she’d been trying to offer him something, but he knew not what?
He needed relief from the ache in his prick and ballocks. Not even bothering going into his bedroom, he leaned against the wall of the dressing room and dropped the falls of his breeches, releasing his heavy length into his hand. It felt so good. He massages his ballocks for a few moments and groaned loudly.
The sound of the lock covering moving against the door in the morning room made him look over. There was no covering on the lock on this side. It had probably broken off at some point and never been replaced. Whatever the case, until now, Robert had never given it any thought. Had never been so grateful that it was not there. Had it been there, Miss Butterworth would not be getting her very own erotic show.
He moved the colonel and privates, as he’d heard some of the servants call it one day when they had not realised he was in earshot, up and down his hard shaft, slowly and meticulously, moving his hips with each stroke. If Lucy wanted to see this, she would get the entire performance. He smeared the moisture at the tip of the bulbous head over the crown and moaned deep in his throat. He imagined her on the other side of the door, bent over, her pert bottom in the air, clenching her thighs together as she licked her lips and tried not to moan too.
Damn he was far too close to orgasm to enjoy this fully. The little minx had teased and tempted him to the point of madness.
“You see what you do to me, Lucy,” he whispered,” knowing she would think him speaking to himself. Knowing she would feel powerful and aroused by his words as he increased the speed of his strokes. “God, I wish my hand was your breasts.” And he did. He thought she would like that. He had a feeling Lucy would make a very creative lover.
He gripped himself harder and pumped into his fist, wishing like hell it was her—imagining her on his bed, her red hair splayed out on his dark blue satin pillows, her pink lips reddened from his kisses, her breasts heaving from their exertions and her eyes glinting with her new-found knowledge of what happened between a man and a woman.
He felt the orgasm tickle its way up his spine and then nestle in the very depth of his being before he lost his rhythm completely and his seed spilled all over his stomach, his hand and his red and still unsatisfied prick.
He leaned forward, gasping for breath and then remembered his voyeur.
“Lucy! Please come through here.”
There was a moment’s hesitation then the door opened.
“My Lord? Oh!” Her attempt at surprise was terrible.
“The next time you wish to watch, I would appreciate the common courtesy of you entering the room to do it.”
“I… I…” a blush climbed from her chest, up her neck to her cheeks until her whole face made her look like she had caught the measles too.
“I am not angry, Lucy. It was quite arousing. I just would like to watch you as you watch me.” He was cleaning himself off with the shirt he had brought from the morning room and her eyes were transfixed. A frowned marred her brow. “What is wrong? Is it shrinking?”
He chuckled.
“Yes, my darling. Soldiers do not stand to attention all day. They would get tired. And after a battle they need a little rest. Fear not. If you should wish to change your mind about marrying me, this particular soldier will perk up and be ready for action almost immediately. Give or take ten minutes if I have just done that.”
“I see. Thank you for explaining. And I am sorry for watching you.”
He buttoned up his breeches and discarded the shirt onto the floor before moving towards her. “Please do not apologise for being curious. But please be honest next time. I like honesty.”
She bit her lip and nodded before turning to leave.
Robert ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips. Damn, how could he get her to open up to him?