“What will you not abide, Inès?” Halsey had put two fingers to her chin to persuade her to regard him. His words were mellow invitations to share parts of herself.
As if he reached inside her, he touched those regions of her that ached for her lost loved ones, all her family. She could not stop herself from saying, “Anyone who seeks to take from me that which I adore.”
His purple gaze darkened to a compassionate desire. The allure of him was too much, too strong, too intimate to refuse—and she stiffened, refusing to sway toward him. “Does someone do that now?” he whispered, while his thumb did that old caress to outline her lower lip.
Oh, to crawl into this man’s embrace and let him chase away Vaillancourt and all like him who made her life a living hell.
She tried to cover her delight in him and plastered on a look of whimsy. “Is there not always someone who robs you of peace?”
“Who robs you, my darling? Tell me. I will banish him to hell.”
“Oh, that you could,” she said in a broken voice.
Of a sudden, that which she had wished for was hers. He had her in his arms, flush to his magnificent heat, one hand at her nape, his fingers delving into her coiffure.
“Let me,” he whispered, and she knew not if he meant to allow him a kiss or to permit him to banish all her villains to the ends of the earth.
She opened her mouth, eager for his lips.
Someone cleared his throat.
Halsey stilled, his hands where they were, keeping her close. His eyes searched hers and mourned, with rueful regret, the interruption.
“Mademoiselle? My lord?” Hawkins sounded as if he did not know what to do.
Inès sank backward to her place on the carriage seat.
Hawkins cast his eyes anywhere but on either of them, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
With her body aching for the kiss she did not receive, Inès dared not look at Halsey. “We’re coming, Hawkins.”
Halsey gave her a nod, his lips firm as if he fought anger. But he released his hold of her wrist and proceeded to leave the carriage.
Outside, he turned and extended his hand to her to lead her down.
She clasped his fingers, knowing the strength and warmth through their numerous gloved layers was all she’d have of him today—and all she should allow herself to have of him.
She faced him, her smile easy to grant. “I cannot thank you enough for your assistance today, my lord.”
“I am Evan to you,” he told her because they were alone. Hawkins, wise man, had gone inside.
“Evan.” She tried his name on her tongue. “I like the name.”
He rolled her fingers into her palms and brought both her hands to his chest. “It is yours. Use it. Come for me if ever you are in need of a champion to fight off a villain who robs you of your peace.”
At his invitation, she swallowed a gulp filled with irony and despair. Little did he know that she had already been destroyed and he could not save her any peace. “You are most kind.”
“I think,” he said with a worried brow, “I am most necessary. Let me be the man you call to help you. Any time. Anywhere.”
Tears welled and her vision fragmented.
He lifted her fingers to his lips, straightened each one, and kissed the tip of each, then gave her hands back to her. “Go in.” He glanced quickly inside the open door. “Your man stands at your service, ready to protect you.”
As do you.
“As do I. Any time. Anywhere.”
Chapter Eight
