The sound of pounding hooves drew their attention to an oncoming rider. Violet knew, as surely as she knew the sunwould rise in the morning and sink again come evening, and before setting eyes on the rider, those hooves belonged to Drake.
Call it instinct. Call it sixth sense. Call it retribution for her sins.
Drake had found her. Again.
“Quick,” she hissed, already moving. He couldn’t find her with Rook. “Run.”
The color drained from Rook’s face. He seemed to have the same premonition as her. “Run where?”
“To the carriage! Get inside before he spots you!”
Poor Rook didn’t hesitate. The man dashed off as if the devil were on his heels. Drake must have had him in a dungeon for a time for him to react so swiftly. Surprisingly, the thought wasn’t as disturbing as it ought to be.
A few moments later, the rider drew his horse to a halt. Tall, sinfully attractive, broody as ever. He spotted her at once, dismounting from his horse and crossing the distance between them in big, purposeful strides.
What bee had stung his bottom?
She smoothed her skirts with hands that refused to steady, lifted her chin, and faced the fierce man like a woman with nothing to hide. She expected a number of ways for this encounter to unfold. She certainly expected his ire. She had prepared for it, actually. She had not prepared for him to sweep her into his arms and kiss her as though the journey here had been an emergency and this was the only cure.
Blazes.
He pressed her body into his, and her hands rose to his chest, pressing against the firm wall of him. Not to stop him. Just to feel him. He broke away, eyes burning into hers before he kissed her again. Slower this time. Like he was memorizing the shape of her lips, the pattern of her breath, the secrets lodged between her gasps.
It was a kiss unlike anything she had ever known.
She didn’t feel merely beautiful. She felt powerful. Understood.
His hand slipped into her hair, threading through the strands. He didn’t touch her waist. Didn’t mold all the places he loved to mold.
He simply kissed her.
Over and over.
As if the act of touching her could rewrite something inside him.
Maybe his touch could rewrite something inside her, too.
*
Drake lifted hishand to curve around the base of her neck, drawing Violet closer. She came upon her toes, fingers clutching at the lapels of his coat, holding him fast. The moment her name left Pip’s mouth, a fear he hadn’t known dug its claws into the whole of him. All his nonsense had lost meaning at that moment. Not wanting to become like his father. Not wishing to destroy what he touched. What did those things matter when the only thing he could think to protect was her?
He deepened the kiss, sweeping her tongue in a tangle with his.
He’d had nothing but regret since she’d left his chamber. Left their den. It had followed him through the night and into the watch outside her shop and back to the tavern and had not left him alone for a single hour since. Regret for the silence he’d allowed to stretch between them. For the truths he’d swallowed because they felt too dangerous to voice. For letting her walk away believing she stood alone in something that had already lodged itself far too deeply beneath his bones.
He wrenched his lips away from her, brushing his lips against hers softly, before drawing back enough to see her face. “My uncle came to see you yesterday.”
She gave a slight nod, blue eyes glowing.
“Why didn’t you come to me immediately?” This was what bothered him the most. “Why did you send a boy to deliver the message?”
Her gaze slipped from his, and she sighed.
“Look at me, Violet,” he said softly. When she met his gaze again, he asked, “Why?”
“I’m taking a trip,” she admitted.
“A trip?” His brows furrowed. “Where?”
