Petunia stood on the back porch of Providence, braced against the chill of the wind and Ace’s lingering impact on her senses. She could still feel the heat of his body, the pressure of his fingers, the soft caress of his breath. Lord, that man was as addictive as laudanum. He made her want and crave. And run. Lord, he made her run. Leaning against the door, she shook her head. She’d bolted, plain and simple when Ace said he was claiming her. And he’d let her. Why he’d let her go, she didn’t know. Why she’d run, that was easier to discern. She felt raw and vulnerable, stripped of her defenses. Open for him to see. To judge. She didn’t like being judged. The scandal of her abduction would never go away completely, but it could get pushed to the back of the gossip stove. As long as nothing new occurred. Ace thought he could accomplish it with glowers and threats, but she knew better. Shredding reputations was a woman’s weapon. And women played by their own rules.
