He didn’t think she was extremely innocent, although he knew instinctively that she was a virgin. You don’t grow up the daughter of an earl without knowing the value of virginity on the open market. But he knew she knew what the world was about, or at least thought she did, in theory. As she’d reminded him from time to time—she read books. When she’d corrected him on a small matter of Greek mythology, he’d decided she’d read whole libraries. She knew she was beautiful, desirable. Nobody with eyes like hers, hair like hers, a slim yet luscious body like hers could be unaware of her beauty even if she’d grown up in a house without mirrors. And she’d been flirting with him. Occasionally. Possibly. Unless he was reading too much into what he saw, hoping that would assuage his conscience as he mentally pictured slowly ridding her of that damnable riding habit. They’d been on the road for three days, three nights. Apart only to sleep, getting to know each other in a way many people would never know someone if they knew that someone for a lifetime.
