Freddie knew it wasn't common for men to bring their paramours to their homes. It was too intimate for most of them, which is why most of them went to brothels to have their needs met. He could say that, of course, because it was true: no unrelated woman apart from the maids had ever stepped across his home's threshold. But he didn't think that's what she was asking—in fact, he knew it wasn't.

She confirmed it a second later, but instead of feeling relief he felt... confused. No, maybe that wasn't the right word. It wasn't so much confusion as it was the suddenly realization that she was viewing their attachment from an entirely different perspective. She'd always been a little hesitant, a little bashful, and all that being so unexperienced would entail, but he'd never thought to consider that she might think he was far more experienced than her.

(And it wasn't like he could say he wasn't. He could already feel his cheeks heating up!)

"The one and only," he said with a grin meant to conceal his own nerves. "So I hope you won't judge my décor. I promise the rest of the house is not nearly as..." He made a vague motion to the furnishings—the floral, the embroidered pillow cushions, the framed artwork that looked like it was meant for the female gaze rather than his own.

"Would you like to see?" he asked, a hint of nervousness breaking through.

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