Page 21 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

“Ah! Longsword!”

“Of course, you’ve read it.” He shook his head at himself.

“Five times, at least, and it was published only last year.” She stepped nearer, reaching out to touch her fingers to the book’s cover. “When Jacqueline is rescued—” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I don’t want to ruin the story for you.”

“I’ve already reached that point in the tale. But I’m eager to find out what happens to the dastardly Raymond. It’s always satisfying when the villain is justly dealt with.”

“Quite gratifying.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling at him. “Romantic novels are amongst my very favorites.”

“Mine, as well. But,” he added, in a low, confiding tone, “don’t tell the other lads. They’ll tease me something merciless if they know I love it when the maiden and her champion find their happily ever after.”

“I will take your secret to the cold solitude of the grave.”

“Let’s not hurry ourselves on to that inevitable conclusion. Especially when there are so many more books to read before that time.”

“There will always be too many books,” she said, smiling. “But that’s what helps me rise in the morning, knowing that there’s so much to read.”

“A shared sentiment.”

His smile grew. Then he looked down, and she realized that she’d moved her hand from the book to his forearm. His skin was warm and satiny beneath her fingers.

Their gazes met. Held. His eyes were deepest velvet.

Her breath caught in her throat. He, too, went motionless. The air between them was alive with potential. He truly was exceptionally handsome, lean as a dancer, with the heart of a romantic.

“Is everything—ah.” Desmond stood in the doorway, and at the sound of his voice, both Clara and Gideon stepped apart, her hand dropping away.

She walked briskly to a bookshelf and pulled down a book, which she held up. “Finally found what I was looking for. An herbalist’s treatise on simples.”

When she turned back, Desmond wore a smirk as he glanced back and forth between her and Gideon, who wore a carefully neutral expression. “All kinds of fascinating things to be found in a library.”

“Enjoy the book, sir—Gideon.” She started for the library door, then stopped and faced him. “I dub thee Sir Gideon.”

Still holding the book, he gave a courtly bow. “My lady.”

She continued on, brushing past a still smirking Desmond, and moved into the hallway.

“Gideon does love his books,” Desmond drawled as they climbed the stairs. “He reads to us, sometimes. I think he likes the ones with ladies and heroes best, but I’ll never tell him I know.”

She maintained her silence, but couldn’t stop herself from smiling a little.

They reached the Blue Bedchamber, and were met by the hulking form of Liam. He looked every inch a former boxer, body thickly muscled, nose bearing the telltale signs of healed breaks.

“I’m going to see to the horses,” he said in a rasping voice, before heading out and downstairs.

Clara entered the room, with Desmond behind her. Desmond leaned against the wall, adopting the same pose he’d had when waiting for her outside her bedroom. After setting her book down, she approached the bed.

“How did you sleep?” Clara asked Hugh, who lay pale and strained beneath the coverlet.

“Well enough.” He gave her a labored smile. “Haven’t had such a fine bed beneath me since I was born. Nay, even then I was birthed into a heap of straw, not unlike Christ himself. I cannot compete with his chastity, however.”

“When have you been chaste, Hugh?” Desmond grinned.

“I was but a wee laddie the last time I knew chastity.” Hugh chuckled, but the laugh turned into a hiss of pain as Clara examined his wound. “Have a care, lass. I’m fond of that leg, and I’d be fair gloomy to lose it.”

“You won’t lose it,” Clara answered with assurance. “But there’s a hint of infection, and it will require a little more care.”

“I trust you.” Hugh took her hand in his, his thick fingers enfolding hers. Despite his discomfort, he gave her a warm smile.