Page 73 of Juliet's Touch

“Blasted imbecile,” she murmured, unsure of who she was referencing. Once again, he’d used her desire to befuddleher. And just like every other time he’d touched her, she’d succumbed to his machinations.

He frowned. “Still upset, I suppose.”

She waggled her finger in his face, much like Mother did when she was being impatient. “Of course, I’m angry. I find you in a brothel, and you haven’t been honest with me about anything. To the devil with—”

Covering her mouth with his, he swallowed the rest of her retort. She should pull away, but his arms tightened around her waist, smashing her torso to his. Weak-willed woman that she was, she allowed him to absorb the weight of her trembling body.

She was breathless by the time he halted the kisses to whisper in her ear, “Please let me explain, for if you shun me, all the light you’ve gifted me with will be snuffed.”

What good were poetic words from an untruthful scoundrel?

A part of her prayed his reasons for lying to her were justified. However, if she listened to his inducements, she needed to keep her wits about her. Alas, if only he were drowning in the same sea of sentiment as her, then they could work this out.

Attempting to focus, Juliet shook herself. Resolve was necessary because no matter her feelings, she would never allow another man to fool her like Charles had.

And yet, Eric wasn’t Charles. He had saved her after Charles had offered her up as a sacrifice. Maybe she was overreacting and being too hard on Eric.

“Very well,” she capitulated. “I’m listening. Make your point.”

“Thank you.” His hands in a prayer position, Eric lowered his head in a reverent bow. “I will do my best to explain my actions. As I am sure you are aware, ’tis quite difficult for me to express myself. I’ve talked more in your presence than I have in the past year.”

Juliet suspected this was true. She and Emily had even commented on how much more loquacious he’d become as he’d grown comfortable in their presence.

Taking her hand, he escorted her to the only chair in the room. Her nerves and heart aflutter, she took off her cloak and draped it over the chair back.

For the first time since she’d barged into the spacious chamber, she took in the details of her surroundings. The corners were dark, but the draperies were open, allowing moonlight to illuminate the center of the room. An oil lamp cast a glow over a nightstand and up one cream-colored wall.

An empty tub dominated the space in front of one of the bay windows. The chair she sat in faced a matching window. The edge of the black bag she had seen Knight Roamer carry stuck out from beneath a bed covered in a lush counterpane. While imagining Eric’s bare skin blanketed in that red velvet, her belly flipped, then flopped.

Resigning herself to being alone in a bedchamber with the man she desired, she firmed her resolve and sat.

He dropped onto his knees as if supplicating himself before her. “I suppose you are wondering why I live in a brothel attic?”

“You live here?” She had assumed he was visiting one of the ladies.

“I do.”

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning.” Meanwhile she would try to remain calm and open-minded. She did not favor angry Juliet, who stomped about like a petulant debutante and indignantly waggled her finger. Casting him from her life would hurt. Her heart wanted what it wanted, and it wanted Eric Stone. The only logical solution was to hear him out so she could understand his motivation. From there, she would decide whether he was being truthful and whether she should forgive him.

“You see, I’ve lived at The Pink Petal my entire life,” he said. “I was born here.”

Did that mean his mother was a courtesan?

While trying to peer into Eric’s soul, she realized that his eye was healing, and by God, his irises were a beautiful warm shade—just like Mister Brown Eyes. What a fool she’d been about so many things.

“My mother was a prostitute, and as I am sure you can guess, Chesterhill was one of her lovers.”

Every one of her instincts told her he was being sincere. “Was?” she asked, fearing his answer.

“She was murdered when I was a child.”

That was precisely what Juliet was afraid he would say. She’d been whining nonstop about her mother while in his presence—utterly insensitive since Eric no longer had a mother. Shame was fast becoming her middle name.

“Auntie, she is the madam of the house, not my blood aunt, continued to raise and protect me after my mother died. All the ladies here are like family to me, as is the staff who takes care of us. Ladies come and go over the years, but every one of them has had a place in my heart. They are not evil or immoral, Juliet. They are trying to survive in a cruel world. I need you to know that I have never bedded any of them.”

Juliet wholeheartedly, without a doubt, believed him. “I made such horrible assumptions when I discovered you here.” She swallowed her tears. “I’m so very sorry about your mother.”

“As am I. I became so obsessed with finding the devil who took her from me that I donned a disguise and went in search of him.” Eric’s eyes clouded over as if he were staring into the past. “My only clue is that he was missing fingers. I remember his hands and voice as if it all happened yesterday.”