For her.
There were two times in Lash’s life that he felt the breathtaking jolt of pure terror. The first time was when he’d learned his sister had run off after him. The terror of that moment, well, he hadn’t thought that feeling could ever be surpassed. That was, until today, when he learned Danior had taken Honoria.
He hadn’t said a word on their way back to the castle. There were no words to be formed, only emotions to be felt. And even those were perilous—threatening to consume every inch of his soul. So instead he had pulled Honoria tighter against him, closed his eyes, and inhaled her sweet scent.
Lash had always prided himself on being a strong man. And not just in physical strength but also in character. From a young age, he’d learned to steel himself for both external and internal pains. He would never have a loving father. He would never taste the kinship that came with the bond of having a brother. He would never be raised by a doting mother.
That was his life. No sense in complaining, no sense in suffering. So he’d made himself strong.
But now, facing Honoria’s kin after learning he’d been deprived not only of his mother, but his birth father as well, and that he was a half-breed, not a full-blooded Roma, it was as though all that strength had spilled out from him. He felt gutted.
He may have gained a family today, assuming he could find them, but he had lost the only person who had ever felt like home.
He wasposhram—a half-breed.
If he hadn’t been worthy of Honoria before, he was even less so now. What defense could he rally to her brothers, who only wanted a man good enough for her?
The duke motioned to the set of stairs. “Perhaps we should let my sisters get some rest while we discuss recent events.”
Honoria instantly protested.
“It’s all right,” he murmured to her, resisting the urge to draw her into his arms one last time. “You have been through a lot, get some rest.”
Her amber eyes lifted to his, searching. “It’s only that . . .” she trailed off, seemingly wanting to say something but at a loss for words. For some reason, his pulse leaped.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“It’s only that . . . I’d like to talk later. Join me for a stroll in the gardens after you’re done speaking to my brothers?”
A thousand words sprang in his mind, but nothing of them made it past his lips. He was hers. He would always be hers. But he couldn’t ask her to be his, could never claim her.
“Yes,” he lied. He swore then it would be the last lie he ever told her.
