He was like a star in the night sky above and she but a sparrow. No matter how high she might try to fly, she’d never reach him.
He doesn’t deserve to die,” she said. Tears pricked at her eyes. “Does anyone? Whether he deserves it or not is neither here nor there; it’s simply his fate. You can no more change that than you can change the course of the stars.
You’re not to go wading in my pond again,” he said. She shrugged and picked up her shoes and stockings where they lay on the path. “Very well, Your Grace, but it’s a great pity. I should’ve liked to go swimming.
I need you.” He licked her bruised lip to soothe it. “I can’t think straight without you. My world is all turned around, and I go through it in pain, wanting to hurt someone.
Would it make a difference if I were bothered? I have some other skills not usually seen in ladies: swimming, as I told you, and how to shoot a gun. I can bargain down a butcher to within an inch of his life. I know how to make soap and how to put a bill collector off. I can do mending but not embroidery, can drive a cart but not ride a horse, know how to grow cabbages and carrots and even make them into a nice soup, but I haven’t the least idea how to trellis roses.
This was not a man to be swayed by gentleness, beauty, or sweet words. He would bend – assuming he was even capable of bending – only for reasons of his own.
Then I wish I had it in my power to make him live without the sun for the rest of his pitiful life.” She stopped and glanced at him. “That’s a romantic thing to say.” He shook his head. “I’m not a romantic man, Miss Greaves. I don’t say things that I don’t mean. I find it a waste of time.
If she’d been quizzed as to His Grace’s eye color, she would’ve had to reply simply that they were dark. Which they were. Very dark, nearly black, but not quite. The Duke of Wakefield’s eyes were a deep, rich brown, like coffee newly brewed, like walnut wood oiled and polished, like seal fur shining in the light, and even though they were rather lovely to look at, they were as cold as iron in winter. One touch and her very soul might freeze.
He looked down the table again and felt an irrational urge to push poor Mr. Watts out of his chair when Miss Greaves tilted her head toward him to hear something he’d said. He caught her eye briefly and she stared back in defiance, her mouth twisting tragically before looking away again. Something was wrong. She was leaking emotion.
ARTEMIS WOKE TO the feel of strong arms grasping her tight and lifting her from her bed. She should’ve been alarmed, but all she felt was a strange rightness. She looked up as Maximus carried her into the corridor outside her room. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes drawn and old, his mouth flat. He wore his banyan, its silk smooth beneath her cheek. She could hear his heart beating, strong and steady.
I’ve never violated any woman.” “Have you killed?” He paused at that, before reaching into the wardrobe to move aside her spare day gown. “Once or twice. The men deserved it, I assure you.
Your Grace seems out of breath. I do hope you’re not being chased by an overly enthusiastic heiress?” “Pack a light bag, Craven,” Maximus snapped. “We’re going to London to help a murderous lunatic escape from Bedlam.
He rolled onto her, his body caging hers as if he could cage her heart as well. This woman. His woman. He’d make it all up to her, give her anything she’d wish for, if only she’d never leave him. Behind them, the door to his bedroom opened. “Get out,” he growled to whichever servant had dared disturb him. There was a squeak and the door was hastily shut. Below him, Artemis cocked an eyebrow. “That was ill done.” He scowled. “Would you like her to witness our coupling?
Besides, they’ll all know soon enough, won’t they? That I’m your mistress?” He snorted, hitting the bed with one arm as he sprawled. She raised a delicate eyebrow. “That is what you want, isn’t it?” “I can’t have what I want.” “Can’t you?” Her voice was light, nearly careless. “But you’re the Duke of Wakefield, one of the most powerful men in England.
The sight of her was like a swift, cool wind through his frame, quickening his body, alerting all his senses, making him completely aware he was a male and she a female.
Of course I put a chain on him – he’s recovering fast and he’s quite muscular.” He frowned on a thought. “You shouldn’t be visiting him now that he can move about – he might grab you.” She gave him an incredulous look. He grimaced. “I can find a suitable place for him, perhaps a room with a barred door – ” “You mean a cage.” “We’ve already discussed this: I’ll not let a madman near you.
You were the one who left for London. You were the one who decided to-to tup another woman. You were the one who turned away from me. From us. Who is the greater sinner? I will no longer – urp!
He was a being of action and vitality, and when he moved, when he smiled, he became almost impossible to resist.
Lily stopped dead in the doorway to her room and then took a step back. Apollo cocked his head. It’d been a very long day full of trepidation mixed with tediousness and he’d used up all his patience. “If you leave, I’ll follow you out and we’ll have this discussion in the hallway where everyone can hear.” She scowled ferociously at him, but came all the way in the room and shut the door. “What do you want to talk about?” “Us.” “There’s nothing to discuss.” “Yes,” he said patiently, “there is.
He thought he saw her smile waver when she read it, then she was hugging him tightly. “You’re the one who needs to take care of yourself. Your escape is still all the news. They’ll be searching for you.” She drew back to look at him, and to his consternation he saw that she had tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t bear to lose you again.” He bent and kissed her forehead. Even if he could speak there was nothing he could say to comfort her.