Page 39 of To Hunt the Hunter

He smiled at that, his silver eyes as warm as she had ever seen them, yet she knew he thought it impossible. He believed she was the one who needed protecting.

“You won’t even protect yourself, my love, which means I must do it for you. You cannot stay here. I can only imagine what is being said about me, but I do know it will not be flattering. If you are discovered here—”

“I’ll be ruined. Yes. Yes, I know that.”

“Then, for the love of God, pack your things and go, before it is too late.”

Matilda stared up at him, wondering how she could ever do that. It had been hard enough before, when she’d not known the truth and believed only that he was wealthy, powerful, and titled, and needed to get his heirs with a woman equal in rank. Now, though…. How could she leave him alone, this man who had always been alone, and wanted so badly for her to stay, though he would no longer tell her so?

“Is that what you want?” she asked, blinking back tears, wondering if he would lie to make her leave.

“What I want?” he demanded incredulously. “When in the name of God did it ever matter what I wanted?”

She jumped at the fury in his voice and he cursed, holding her closer to him, burying his face against her hair.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“It’s all right,” she said, trying not to cry, clinging to him.

He groaned, such misery and frustration in the sound that not crying was nigh on impossible. She didn’t want him to feel that way, not when she was with him. If she could do nothing else for him, surely she could make him happy. Not knowing what to do, she turned her face towards him and nuzzled against his neck, pressing kisses to his skin.

He stilled utterly, his breath hitching. Encouraged, Matilda carried on, kissing the tender spot beneath his ear, rubbing her lips over his jaw, intrigued by the feel of his beard under her mouth. Her hand, which had settled on his arm, avoiding his injured shoulder, moved of its own volition, or so it seemed. Much to Matilda’s chagrin, in the past two days—now he was well enough to sit up and move about a little—his valet had been dressing him in a nightshirt The desire to touch him, though, to touch that beautiful body she’d seen so exposed when he was unconscious and out of his mind with pain, was a temptation beyond bearing. She hadn’t dared before. It had seemed a violation of trust when he was so vulnerable, but now….

She tugged at the tie holding the shirt together, and slid her hand beneath the fabric. Wondering how she dared, she moved back a little so she could look up and see his face.

He was staring down at her, his eyes dark.

“Dangerous,” he said, his voice husky.

“I don’t care.”

His mouth found hers a moment later, urgent and hot, demanding, and Matilda sighed with relief. Yes. Yes. This, oh, please…. Her body seemed to sing the words out loud. Could he hear it as clearly as she could? She undid another tie, giving herself better access, and he made a low sound of contentment as her questing fingers discovered the flat disc of a nipple, which tightened into a tiny nub under her touch.

“Take it off,” she demanded, tugging at the material.

“Oh, God, Matilda,” he groaned. “Why did you work so hard to save me if you’re only going to kill me now?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

She laughed at him, but the look in his eyes suggested he wasn’t joking.

“You don’t want to be my mistress,” he reminded her, a little tersely. “Remember? You said you deserved better than that, and you were right, but I’m not a saint, love. You’re alone with me, in my bed. Don’t ask me to be the arbiter of good behaviour here. I’m not cut out for the job.”

Matilda looked up at him, considering his words.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you are. I trust you.”

She did. He would not take advantage. She suspected he wouldn’t, even if she begged him to, which was becoming increasingly likely with every moment longer in his company.

He closed his eyes with a mutter of exasperation, throwing himself back against the pillows. “That’s so bloody unfair.”

“That’s what you get for being so honourable,” she teased him, sitting up and kneeling beside him. She tugged at his shirt again. “Take it off. I’ve been dying to touch you for days, and I will not miss my chance now.”

Her only chance. She didn’t say it, though when she was thinking of leaving, she couldn’t imagine. She wasn’t thinking of it at all. She refused to. Good sense had been suspended, thrown out of the window along with caution, self-preservation, and any notion of propriety. She didn’t miss any of them.

“Lucian!” she protested when he didn’t move.

“Matilda,” he said, pleading in his eyes.