“Callum?”
He blinked, realizing that he’d become lost in the past, and he turned toward her voice. She had come up on one elbow, the side of her head resting against the palm of her hand. Her dark locks cascaded over her shoulder, several strands curling against her neck and falling across her right breast, all the way to her rosy nipple. Desire gripped him, but he swallowed back the emotion, the need. If he took her again, he might just confess everything, and he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he’d dealt with Ross. There could be no future for them until that occurred.
“Both,” he admitted, willing her not to ask more.
When she bent her head to his wrist and kissed her way along the scar, he exhaled with relief, even as his chest clenched with the show of caring, but when she did the same to the other wrist and then crawled between his thighs and made her way down one leg to kiss the scars around his left ankle and then to the right ankle, he knew. He knew that whether he vanquished his enemy or not, whether he and Constantine got another chance at a future together or not, he would love her completely forever. She was the beat of his heart, the first image of his morning, the last of his night, the driving force behind everything he did.
She looked up from her ministrations, her thick tresses hanging against her beautiful face and her eyes wide with concern. It was that concern that worried him. Constantine was not the sort of woman to sit idly by and let life dictate to her. She would try to help him if he gave her even the slightest indication that he would welcome it, and he could not, would not, allow her to endanger herself. After this, he would need to be very detached.
She made her way up to him once more and lay beside him, her warm, soft flesh pressed against the length of his, and he could not stop himself from reaching for her and cradling her. He had dreamed of falling asleep with her so many nights, and those fantasies of his time with her had helped him survive, but each morning, the harsh, bitter reality of where he was had always slammed back into him. This moment was real, however, and he would take it. He was selfish to do it, even when he knew it was undoubtedly best to send her to her own bedchamber, but he couldn’t do it.
“Callum,” she said, her voice thick with hesitation as her fingertips brushed back and forth through his chest hair. She was nervous. He could tell by both her voice and the fact that she was staring at his chest and had not tilted her head up to look at him. “Callum, I want you to know… Well, I want you to know that I wed you for love,” she said, the words soft, but the statement ringing loudly through him. He had hoped that had been the case. Of course, he damn well had. But he couldn’t hear it now when her loving him might hurt her more.
He knew what he needed to do, but his lips were suddenly numb and his tongue was in full-fledged rebellion.
“Callum.” Her pleading eyes nearly killed his resolve, except his resolve was born out of the desperate desire to protect her. “Callum, say something.”
He swallowed, and then did so again and again until he felt able to speak. Finally, he said, “That’s very unfortunate for you.”
She sat up quite suddenly, displaying her entire body in all its naked glory. “I will be the judge of that,” she said, full of lovely, troubling indignation.
His fingertips bloody throbbed to touch her. Instead, he rolled away from her and scooped up her flimsy night rail. “I think you should go to your own bedchamber.”
Her gaze moved between his outstretched hand and his eyes, and a mutinous look settled on her face. “And if I refuse?”
God save him from this woman. All he wanted to do was love her, and it was the one thing he could not show her. “Then I’ll throw you over my shoulder, without bothering to clothe you, and I’ll take you there forcibly.”
She inhaled a sharp breath. “You wouldn’t dare.” But he noted that she scooted back toward the edge of the bed, presumably where she believed she was safe from his reach.
“Don’t mistake me, Constantine. I will do it.”
She bit her lip, and then she rose to stand in front of him. She set one hand on her hip and held the other out for her night rail. “You make loving you very hard. You know, I wasn’t even certain that I wanted to love you when you returned, and then I decided to open my heart again. But now—” She snatched the fabric from his hands and began to put it on. “Well, now I don’t feel I have a choice.” She glared at him and thrust her finger in his face, so close it nearly brushed his nose. “But love has its limits, Callum. You can kill it, you know,” she flung out.
Her face was a mask of ire, but her eyes shone with threatening tears. If there was a God, he would not allow Constantine to cry. Callum would not be able to handle her tears again. He feared he’d do something foolish.
“You need to think on that, and we can speak again later today,” she said.
“I will not be home later today,” he said, his voice calm but his blood rushing. He was going to see Ross, but he’d not reveal that. “And there is no need to speak again. I think matters between us are settled.”
“Settled?” Disbelief swept her face. “Settled?” she repeated, her voice growing in volume. “How can they be settled? You say you are doing but a duty with me, but then you say you’re sorry for the words and show such passion. What shall I expect tonight—the dutiful Callum or the passionate one?”
His nostrils flared, his own ire climbing, but not at her. She was hurt. She was striking out. He understood it. “You should expect neither Callum.”
Her brows dipped together. “What do you mean?” Worry flashed across her face that made him want to hug her to him, but he stood still. “What of… What of our agreement?”
“You may very well be with child now,” he said, forcing frost into his tone. “My duty is done until our agreed-upon once-a-month conjugal visit, unless it’s proved before then that you are not with child.”
Her hand fluttered to her belly, and the look on her face, one of total love and happiness, sealed off his air. He couldn’t bloody well breathe. His hand went to his neck to tug on his cravat, and only then did he remember that he had none on. In fact, he had nothing on. Relieved for the reprieve, he bent down, grasped his trousers, and stood, focusing all his concentration on donning them.
When he finished, he looked at her, and her eyes were narrowed upon him. “You deceived me,” she said, her tone accusing.
“Yes,” he agreed, almost relieved at the disgust in her tone. Maybe she would remain vexed with him and finally go to the country. When she just stood there glaring at him, he cleared his throat. “I did make clear that I am a rogue. Rogues deceive. It is what we are best at. If you wish to go to the country immediately, you can alert me if you need my services—”
“No,” she snapped. “You’ll not rid yourself of me that easily, Callum. I’ll go to my bedchamber, but I’ll not leave this house.”
This was exactly why he could not tell her anything of how he really felt for her until he knew if his nightmares would stop once he had justice and made his confession to her. She was so stubborn; if she was going to forgive him, she would demand to stay with him, to be with him, even if it wasn’t safe for her. She shivered then, wrapping her arms around her midsection, and it reminded him of how frigid his cell had been, how the cold had gnawed at him, how he had wanted to die from it.
“If you don’t mind departing now,” he said, making his tone annoyed.
