Page 55 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

“There’s that stream not far from here,” Des said in her silence. “We can bathe, and eat.”

“And talk,” Gideon added.

Her heart couldn’t help but sink. She’d been living in the fantasy of her fairy tales and erotic novels. Yet the pages of those books were closing. The real world had returned, and the cost of her desires was coming to bear.

17

Bathed, dressed, they returned to the clearing to avail themselves of the food Gideon had brought. Des had also foraged some berries and cress, and while the meal was simple, Clara devoured it with enthusiasm.

Astonishing, how Gideon and Des looked at her. There was no condemnation in their gazes, or disapproval. Even after all that they’d done, the way she’d been so brazen with them, they regarded her with approval. More than approval.

Admiration. Perhaps even affection.

Yet it would end. Perhaps sooner rather than later.

“You make that a regular practice?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Sharing…?”

“Not every time.” Des leaned back on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him.

“When we find the right woman,” Gideon added.

“How did you know?” she asked. “That I was the right woman? Was there something about me that proclaimed me a shameless wanton?”

“Those words carry judgment,” Gideon answered, “when we’ve no judgment to bring.”

“It’s only…” She fought the urge to let her hair curtain her face. “I was told…”

“By your arse of a husband, no doubt,” Des said acerbically.

“He didn’t feel it was right for a wife to be so…” she searched for the right word “…carnal.”

“Hopefully, Arthur choked on worms during his premature burial,” Des growled.

She clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling a shocked laugh. When she felt she could speak with some degree of solemnity, she said, “Before our marriage, I was a great reader of books that were…scandalous. Lewd, you might call them.”

“I like your reading habits,” Des said with a wide smile.

She started to smile, but it faded. “Arthur didn’t. After we wed, I showed him some of my books. I’d thought we could share them. Perhaps even act them out. The expression on his face…” She shook her head. “I’d never seen anyone look so disgusted. As though I’d suggested we commit murder.”

“That ass,” Gideon growled.

“Arthur made me burn them.” They’d blazed quite high in the hearth, and the ashes had lain like condemnation in the fireplace. “He never knew that I’d hid other books from him. Even now, I keep them concealed in the walls of my house. I was ashamed, but I had to believe that such a world of desire and pleasure was possible.” Her face flamed. “We never spoke of it again, but he made certain to keep our time in bed together as brief as possible, to prevent me from sinking into depravity, as he said.”

“I amend my earlier description of him,” Gideon said tightly. “He’s a fucking moronic ass.”

“Once I failed to conceive, Arthur stopped coming to my bed. He took paramours, though,” she added bitterly. “He’d died in his mistress’s bed. His heart gave out. It was…humiliating.”

She looked at the ground, tracing each blade of grass with her finger.

“It became evident to me,” she went on, “that he’d found my desires appalling, but he was perfectly willing to fuck someone else.”

The crude word felt strange on her tongue, and yet it was a relief to speak it.

“It was me he didn’t want,” she continued, hot anger rising up. “Had I been anyone else, he would’ve never left my bed. But still…the way he made me feel…”

“That man was a thrice-born fool,” Gideon said vehemently.

“You’re well rid of him,” Des added. “Whatever you want for yourself, you can and should have.”