“Put… put a shirt on, Your Grace.” She said, her words coming out in unflattering croaks.
She cleared her throat subtly, cheeks scorching now.
He didn’t move, but the amusement in his eyes had only increased in intensity, and that ghost of a smile now curved his lips fully.
“Did you come to ask me to dress… or to help me undress?”
Her lips parted in disbelief. “You?—!”
She went to slam the door in his face, heat rising all the way to her ears now, but his palm pressed against the wood with unhurried confidence.
“Wait.” His voice had dropped, softened, threaded with apology. “I was simply trying to make a joke, my tigress. I apologize.”
She hesitated, her pulse thundering in her ears. She could still feel the phantom heat of him across the threshold, and he’d gone and fanned the flames by using that ridiculous pet name.Whydid it affect her so?
No, she thought to herself, steeling her spine,focus, Samantha.
She cleared her throat once, and said, “I only came to thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, stepping back at last, allowing her to enter.
Where she would have hesitated, as she probably should have, Samantha pushed aside her apprehension at walking willingly into a wolf’s den, and stepped over, into the glow of the hearth, into his space.
The air in the room felt warmer somehow.
He tugged a shirt from the chair and pulled it on rather halfheartedly. It remained unbuttoned, revealing the deep planes of his chest, the dip of muscle down his abdomen. He moved toward the mantel, one hand braced there, his gaze never leaving her.
“For tonight,” she said softly, clasping her hands in front of her like a shield. “For defending me. At the soirée. With… with Comerford.”
Something darkened in his eyes. “I merely said what any husband ought to say.”
Ah. Yes. Of course he had. She knew what this marriage was, to him. But she still couldn’t deny that he’d stood up for her nonetheless.
“Yet not many husbands truly do say those things.” She swallowed. “So, I thank you.”
Even if he did it for his ego.
He continued to hold her gaze, his focus unwavering. It was quite unnerving. The fire flickered between them, shadows dancing up the wall.
“I think,” he said, “I should teach you never to take as a privilege what is yours by right.”
Samantha’s breath caught at the fire in his eyes… at the velvet seduction of his tone. And at exactly what he meant by those words.
He took a single step toward her. Then another. Slowly, deliberately. He lifted his hand and touched her cheek, brushing back a stray curl that had fallen loose. The barest graze of his knuckles along her skin made her entire body hum with awareness.
“Comerford is a fool,” he said, voice low and rich with meaning. “No sane man would ever let a woman like you go.”
Her heart sputtered in her chest, as though struggling to function. She swayed where she stood.
“Oh.” It was more a sound than a word, her breath flowing out of her of its own volition.
She could feel her pulse in her throat, her wrists, the very tips of her fingers. Still, she held her ground.
“How did you know?” she asked. Her voice was quiet, but steady.
Ewan’s expression didn’t change, but something hardened around his eyes. “I saw the way you looked at him.”
She stiffened.
