“As a matter of fact, it is.”
She laughed at that. “Then you have forgotten what it is Society does to young women in my particular situation.”
“You could have survived it,” he said.
“No. I couldn’t have.” The words were so matter-of-fact, it was almost as though she weren’t the victim of fate at all.
“You could have done this ages ago. Married.”
She raised a brow. “I could have, but I would have hated it.” She paused. “What would you say if I told you that this was my choice? That I wanted this life?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. No one chooses exclusion. No one chooses ruination. You have fallen victim to a powerful man who has kept you in his pocket for too long, and now refuses to release you fully.”
“You’re wrong. I chose this life,” she said, and he almost believed her. “Chase saved me.”
Hatred flared at the words, the words of a woman in too deep. A woman who cared too much to see the truth. A woman who —
Christ. Was it possible that she loved him?
On the heels of that thought came another.
Was it possible that Chase was Caroline’s father?
Anger flared, hot and devastating. He could ask her, but she’d never confess it if it were true. And it would explain a great deal – why she chose this life, why she lived at the Angel, why she protected Chase with all she had.
He didn’t deserve it, her protection.
He deserved to stand in the sun and be judged like all the rest of them.
He swore, harsh and wicked in the darkness. “I want —” He stopped himself from completing the sentence.
She wasn’t having that. “What do you want?”
It might have been the dark that made him finish the thought. Or it might have been the moment, earlier in the evening, when another man, who wielded his unwelcome power all too similarly to the one they discussed, had managed him. Whatever it was, he did finish the thought. “I want to tear him apart for the way he treats you.”
She stilled. “Chase?”
“The very same.”
“But you are… friends.”
Everything inside him resisted the words. “We are nothing of the sort. We simply use each other to get what we want.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “And what do you want?”
I want you.
He did not say it. While it was the most pressing answer to her question, it was not the one she sought. “I want to sell newspapers. What does Chase want?”
She hesitated. Then, “Why would I know that?”
“Because you know him better than anyone. You speak for him. You carry messages to him. You…” You love him. “Christ, you live with him.”
“Anna lives with him,” she repeated his words from minutes earlier.
He hated them. “She’s not real.”
“She’s as real as any of us,” she said, and he wished he could blame the alcohol for the statement. But he couldn’t.
“How can you say that? You created her. When you live her, you do not live the rest of your life.”
She met his gaze, all seriousness. “When I live her, I live all of my life. Without hesitation and with pleasure.”
“It is not your pleasure,” he retorted, her words infuriating him. It was Chase’s pleasure. It was the pleasure of any number of men she’d been with since she began this charade.
She was a lady. The daughter of a duke. The sister of one. She was so much more than he was. So much more than he could ever have. And yet she sold herself short, accepting life under the thumb of a powerful coward.
“It is entirely my pleasure,” she said, and the air changed between them, thickening with her words, nearly liquid with promise.
He let her lean in, enjoying the feel of her as she came closer. The heat of her, even as he resisted her lure. Even as his anger at her words threatened to overflow.
“I don’t think you know pleasure,” he said, knowing the words would rankle. Wishing them to.
Her eyes went wide, and she turned Anna, all seductress. “You think I do not understand it?”
He resisted the urge to pull her closer. “I think you are used to giving it. And I think it is time you see that when it comes time… when I am in control, I intend for you to do very little but receive it.”
He watched the words run over her, the way her gaze widened and her lips parted on a breath she hadn’t expected to require. He reacted to that expression with every fiber of his being. The honesty in it made him want to roar his desire. His power.
He did not give her time to reply, instead lifting a hand and running his fingers over the silken skin of her cheek. “Would you like that?” he whispered, “Would you like it if I took control of your pleasure? If I wrapped you in it? If I gave it to you over and over, until you could not bear it? Until you ached for my touch above all others?”
Her breath caught in her throat as he stroked the column of her neck, and he leaned in, slowly, pressing his lips once, twice to the soft, pale skin at the underside of her chin. “Tell me,” he whispered there, and the sound of her exhalation nearly shattered his control.
“Tell you…” She hesitated, the wine and the sensation making it difficult for her to think. He cursed the wine, even as he waited for her to finish. She swallowed, and he felt the swell of it beneath his fingertips. She cleared her throat. Tried again. “Tell you what?”