She waved a hand, still trying to swallow the food.
He leaned back on one elbow, savoring his wine, his chest burnished in the lamplight. “Are you feeling better?” he asked, taking one of the few remaining slices of bread.
She nodded. “Yes. I feel better. Now that I’m here with you.”
The hand at his lips froze, and he lowered the bread slowly.
“Lucia, we need to settle something.”
ALEX HAD TO ALMOST restrain himself physically from reaching for her. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, comfort her, but he knew where that would lead. Making love to her had been a mistake. She had said so herself. And it was a mistake he was not about to repeat, especially when she was hurt and tired and likely to say things she didn’t mean.
He glanced at her and could have killed himself for any of the innocence he had stolen from her wide blue eyes. He was not going to fall in love with her.
“What do we need to talk about?” she asked. “If it’s about John, I warn you—”
He waved a hand. They’d discuss that later. “It’s not about John. It’s us.”
“Oh.” She smiled ruefully. “There’s an us?”
“I’m going to sleep on the chaise tonight,” he said. “I think that’s best.”
“Let me.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. “You’re bigger and—”
“No. You need your sleep.” He eyed the red welts on the exposed skin of her chest and had to push the rage away. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, you will be, won’t you?” she murmured. He didn’t respond. He hated the way things between them were ending, hated keeping her at a distance— tonight and forever. But at least there was no misunderstanding between them. No ambiguity.
She picked up another piece of cheese, but she seemed to have no appetite now. He frowned, remembering the childlike relish with which she’d devoured the first few bites of food. A few words and he could have her laughing again. But it was best to keep his distance. He’d made the decision, and it had nothing to do with his own fears and raw feelings. It had nothing to do with the pangs of conscience that assaulted him whenever he forced himself to remember that he had taken her virginity. She’d been willing—more than willing. A night of passion didn’t always end in happily-ever-after, and now she knew that. He’d given her the lesson.
But his desire for detachment was more than guilt. Involving himself with her was dangerous. Look what had happened to her tonight.
A rush of rage coursed through him as he remembered the way De´charne´’s men groped her, defiling her by their mere presence. If there hadn’t been the need for urgency, he would have made certain both men suffered slow, agonizing deaths.
He studied her wounds again, feeling the pain of each, though he knew they were minor and would heal in a matter of days. In fact, he noted as she lifted her wineglass, her hands looked worse than the claw marks. Pink and swollen from struggling with the ropes that had bound his hands, he imagined her fingers were tender and painful. He caught one hand as she reached for another piece of bread, and she looked up at him, blue eyes affecting him more than he wanted, dragging him down into their unfathomable depths, threatening to drown him. Quickly he released her.
She pulled the makeshift robe around her shoulders, but not before he caught a glimpse of her shapely calves and the nip of her waist under the thin chemise. His eyes moved slowly upward, and through the thin material he could make out the pink of her nipples. The swell of her breasts. Bloody hell.
Lucia finished the last bite of cheese and stood.
“What are you doing?” he growled. She glanced at him briefly, then pointed to the pitcher of water Madame Loinger’s footman had left on the bedside table.
“I’m going to wash some of this grime away,” she said, pouring water into the washbowl. She dipped a towel in it and wiped her face, then, allowing her covering to slip, ran the cloth over her neck and shoulders.
She couldn’t possibly know what this was doing to him. Couldn’t possibly know the torture she inflicted. Her back was to him, and she couldn’t see his stare as the towel traced a damp line over her shoulders. Couldn’t see his gaze follow the tiny droplets of water that ran down her back to disappear under her chemise. He could imagine the path those droplets followed, and he itched to trace it himself.
She bent to wash her legs, and Alex forced himself to look away, hands running through his hair in frustration. She was his punishment, he decided. Yes, that was it. His trial by fire for all his reckless, insensitive deeds of the past. And now God was testing him. A trial of desire.
“Alex, is something wrong?”
He looked up, and she was frowning at him curiously.
“No,” he said gruffly. “It’s late. Go to bed.” Yes, that was it. Once she was under the covers and he couldn’t see her, he’d be fine.
For once she didn’t argue, just rearranged the bedclothes and climbed in. Bloody hell. He couldn’t help but notice there was plenty of room for him. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to take the chaise. It was damned small, but he couldn’t trust himself in the bed with her.
She raised a brow, a last invitation to trade places—or share. The sleeve of her chemise slipped, exposing a pale shoulder. With a groan, he blew out the candle. “Good night,” he said and closed his eyes.
He’d just managed to purge his brain of the image of her bare shoulder when she said, “Do you think we’ll be safe here?”
