“Would you like some tea?” he smiled.

Looking down at him where he knelt by the sofa, she was struck as before by his sheer beauty and presence. He was unlike any man she’d ever known before, and she was totally at a loss to explain why she wanted so badly to be close to him. She reached out to touch the soft, silken wave of his dark hair, realized what she was about to do, and pulled back with a gasp that bore distinct resemblance to a sob of despair.

Devane rose from his position next to the sofa and sat beside her.

“Mrs. Bradshaw,” he murmured softly, gently insistent. “You’re quite safe here,” he said in reassurance.

She looked around at the pleasant flat. It was not large, but comfortable, and furnished for efficiency and ease. She knew instantly that it was Devane’s home; his unique and dynamic presence was imprinted on the very air. She was distinctly conscious that she should definitely not be in his flat, late at night, alone with him. It was highly improper. And, she realized immediately that she really didn’t care about that fact.

“What happened?” she asked, genuinely puzzled, and vaguely frightened.

“You fainted,” he replied.

She stared at him and he smiled, the gentle smile that did exceedingly unsettling things to her nerves.

“I’ve never fainted in my life, sir,” she said, mildly affronted.

“Until now, darling,” he said without thinking, and she blushed again at the endearment.

Devane winced inwardly. He’d used the term without thought, casually, as he often did. Instead of a slap across the face for his insolence, she looked flattered and flustered. He felt similar emotions himself as he stared at her rose-tinted face, and the soft curve of her mouth. Without warning, his mind was suddenly filled with a shifting kaleidoscope of images; pale, lush limbs wrapped around his waist, a slender body arched beneath his, and Bethany Bradshaw’s soft voice crying out his name as they writhed in exquisite ecstasy. For a moment, Michael could actually taste her skin against his tongue. The illusory rapture shattered as quickly as it had coalesced in his mind, and he bit back a gasp of unwelcome longing.

“Your carriage is waiting outside,” he told her quietly, suddenly desperate to have her leave his home. If she continued to look at him with such trusting innocence, he’d do something neither of them could forgive, let alone overlook. His conscience was already prickling him; he shouldn’t have brought her into his flat, but ordered her driver to take them directly to Bradshaw Manor. “I think it would be best if we arranged to speak at another time, Mrs. Bradshaw. I’ll tell Mr. Vaughan that you’re feeling better and he can take you home.”

“You were calling me Bethany earlier this evening, Inspector,” she noted with a hint of ice in her tone. “I thought we were becoming friends.”

“A lady doesn’t count a police inspector among her friends,” he replied with a rueful tilt of his head.

“You do me a disservice, sir,” she said, and this time the chill in her voice was unmistakable. “As I would be honored to count you among my friends, should you permit such a thing.” She rose, her knees shaking just a little, and glanced around to locate the door. “Good-night, Inspector Devane,” she concluded, and left him before her tears could tell him how deeply he’d wounded her heart. For a brief few minutes, she’d felt safe and sheltered in his home and his presence. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but one she would cherish as few others in her experience.