Thorncroft stopped by Clara’s room to wish her good morning before he set out to meet with his solicitor, a sweet little ritual he’d begun the day after she wandered uninvited into his study. Although she knew it was wicked and sinful, Clara would have preferred Thorncroft never stop by her room… because she would rather be in his room instead. Yet despite his passionate kisses and sensual embraces he always stopped himself just shy of taking her womanhood. She did not know why he stopped. She did not want him to stop, but Thorncroft’s resolve to leave her a virgin seemed absolute. He was rather curious, this man she’d fallen in love with. Curious and stubborn and impossibly sweet, like last night when he’d read her a book of sonnets while they’d been curled up together in the drawing room, her head tucked on his chest and her knees resting on his lap. During moments like those it was easy to imagine they really were living in a fairytale.
