Anger darkened Prescott's handsome features. "Is that how you see me? As reliable?"

"As much more than that . . . I feel like with you, I'm not so very much . . . " Edwina swallowed. "On my own."

"On your own? You've a family, money, friends, hell, you have a whole bloody Society!"

"Yes, but this blackmail business, it's all up to me. I feel like a dam holding back an onslaught of water. I'm not strong enough and need your support." She pressed her hands together in entreaty. "I need you, Prescott. And yes, you are perfect for the job because you are the only man I can imagine even pretending to be engaged to."

"I suppose I should feel flattered," he scoffed.

"As far as your touch . . . Well," She looked away. "I wasn't lying, I'm not like the other ladies of your acquaintance. I'm not built for . . . passion. I'm not good at it and don't know how to handle it."

His brow furrowed. "Not built for passion? I've never heard of such a thing."

"Well, it's true. And frankly, I'm a bit embarrassed by it." She wanted to close her eyes to ward off the mortifying confession, but it was too late now, the truth was out there, bared for Prescott to see.

His mouth opened and closed as if he was going to say something. Then instead, he reached for her, gripping her waist and pulling her up against his hard, virile form.

Her heart leapt. "Ah . . . what are you doing?"

"Consider it an experiment."Then his head lowered and his lips pressed down to hers.