“You must be mistaken.” Morgan grew suddenly cold. “Adrian never goes out in public unless forced. He’d rather be hung over hot coals than attend the theater.”
She would have argued the point, but he seemed so certain, and she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. She wondered if Adrian’s brothers knew about his exploits as Prometheus, or if she was completely wrong about her late-night visitor’s identity.
* * * *
LATER, VANESSA LAYawake deep into the night, wondering if Prometheus would come to her and what she’d say to him if he did.
When he did not come, she found herself deeply disappointed. Now that she knew his identity, she found him even more intriguing. His fierce intensity both thrilled and frightened her. They said Adrian Strathmore was brilliant but a little mad. An inventor. A poet...
Suddenly, she realized the bits of poetry he’d tossed her had probably been original.
How extensive were his scars? Having met his beautiful twin brother, she couldn’t imagine the travesty of any of those features distorted. What must it have been like for Adrian, to have spent his whole life with a constant reminder of what he’d have looked like if the accident had never happened?
The next time he came to her as Prometheus, she would try to coax him once more into taking off the mask. She didn’t want him to hide from her anymore. What did a few scars matter? Surely she was not so shallow as to let a few physical imperfections stand in the way of what she’d found in his arms.
She’d grown to care deeply for the man in the mask. She wouldn’t care any less once he took it off.
* * * *
ADRIAN STOOD BESIDEVanessa’s bed, staring down at her with such need and longing he was surprised the heat of his gaze didn’t wake her. She’d left the window invitingly open for him.
When he’d seen that foolish implied invitation, he’d felt a surge of emotion so intense he’d had to pause to catch his breath. Even so, he meant to have a stern talk with her about leaving her window open. If he could steal inside her room, so could someone else, and he couldn’t bear the thought of any harm coming to her.
He wanted to wake her, to sit upon the sofa with her and tell her about his horrible week, while sipping cocoa and staring into her beautiful, perceptive eyes. He sensed she’d know exactly the right things to say to make him feel better, and for the first time in his life, he wanted nothing more than to converse with another human being. He wanted to share his heart and soul with her, and that scared the hell out of him.
But as the moments crept on, she still didn’t wake, and he realized she must be sleeping very soundly. As he stared at her, exhaustion began to weigh on him as well. How wonderful it would be to lie down beside her, pull her into his arms, and close his eyes, if only for a few moments.
Before he could think better of the rash idea, he’d stripped off his cloak, jacket, and cravat. He even took off his mask, leaving only the black silk under-mask he wore beneath it. Lifting back the covers on the nearest side of the bed, he slid carefully between them and gathered Vanessa close against him, his front to her back, burying his face in the crook of her neck and breathing her in.
He’d never simply lain beside a woman in bed. Though he was hardly a virgin, he’d never had sex that wasn’t paid for, a fact that shamed him to the depth of his soul.
But with Vanessa, he had something that had become so precious to him. There was an attraction but also a tentative friendship, and he longed to strengthen and deepen it. If only he dared trust her with his scars...
Maybe Lucien was right... maybe he didn’t give her enough credit.
The anger and frustration that had driven him here slowly faded, replaced by a pleasant state of aroused lethargy. She calmed him like nothing else he’d ever known. When he was with her, he didn’t feel the rage and restlessness that usually filled his days. He almost believed that with her he could be... happy.
Just as he began to drift off, she stirred beside him. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, brushing a few strands of silky black hair from her face. “I just wanted to lie here with you awhile.”
She stiffened against him but then went suddenly pliant as her tired brain must have recognized him. “You came back,” she breathed.
Her obvious pleasure at finding him in her bed touched something deep inside him. He couldn’t remember a time when anyone had ever given him such a welcome. Warmth spread through him, centering with pulsing urgency in his groin. “I told you I would.”
She smiled sleepily and turned to face him. He saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes when she realized he still wore a mask, even though it revealed more of him than she’d seen so far. She didn’t comment however, just reached up and stroked her fingertips along the line of his jaw.
“You looked so beautiful lying here, so peaceful... I just wanted to hold you for a while.” He eased his hips back a bit, hoping she couldn’t tell how aroused he already was.
She bit her lip and gazed into his eyes. “You look troubled,” she said after a moment. “What’s wrong, my love?”
My love. The casual endearment broke through the last of his defenses. “I fear someone is on to me,” he admitted in a rush. “I think I’ve been too cocky, taken too many chances, and now a young girl is paying the price for my mistakes.”
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“To find children to save, I have to first go to those horrid places and seek them out,” he began haltingly. “I learn the layout of the building and where the child sleeps, so that I can come back at a later date and steal them away.”
“You go to the brothels as yourself?” she asked encouragingly.
He nodded and rolled to his back, pressing his forearm over his eyes. “I hate doing it. Those places sicken me. And I hate that people think that’s the kind of man I am, that I’d find pleasure with children... The masks I don in real life are far harder to wear than this one.”
