Page 33 of Four Promises to Love

“I am sorry,” she said.

He shook her off, his eyes flashing. “I don’t want your pity.”

Another thing they had in common.

“I don’t pity you.” She made her decision. “I understand you.”

She unbuttoned her left glove and peeled off the layer of black lace. She heard Owen’s sharp exhalation and tried not to let it bother her. She told herself that she didn’t care—that while she had many flaws, vanity wasn’t one of them. Objectively speaking, the scars weren’t even that bad. The six circular marks on the back of her hand were about the size of peas, and they’d faded to a silvery color. More scars dotted her forearm, but she reckoned she’d shown him enough. Maybe too much.

After a heartbeat, he said, “What happened?”

“One of the attendants at the orphanage liked to dole out punishment.” She forced herself to shrug. “To this day, I cannot stand the sight of a cheroot.”

There was a pause. A string of expletives exploded from Owen, the words so blue that even Finn, whose vulgar vocabulary was advanced, had to blink.

“Is that possible? Anatomically speaking, I mean.”

“I don’t give a damn,” he growled. “The bastard deserves it and more. Give me his name, and I will see that he pays for preying upon innocents.”

Even though his chivalry was pointless, it was novel enough to give Finn a thrill.

“Thank you, but that is unnecessary.”

Years earlier, the Hawks had paid the attendant a visit. He would never hurt another child again.

“Bloody hell, Seraphina. He hurt you.”

Owen took her hand. With a gentleness that clogged her throat, he rubbed his thumb over the scars one by one.

“Yes, he did,” she said. “I did not survive a vicious war and subsequent captivity—I do not know what that is like. But I spent years fighting a different kind of battle, in a different kind of prison. I am a survivor. We have that in common.”

He closed his hand around hers.

“I wish we shared a different kind of bond,” he muttered.

“A brutal past isn’t the only thing that draws me to you.”

She’d meant to tease him, to lighten the mood, but his regard intensified. The fierceness of his gaze made her wonder how she’d ever believed him to be a spoiled and sheltered lord when he was clearly so much more than that.

“You’re drawn to me.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

She couldn’t bring herself to lie. “Yes.”

“You came here to apologize. Did you also come for something else?”

Crikey.

In that instant, she recognized the extent of her self-delusion. She’d come to make amends, yes, and to figure out another way to get into Bottoms House. But she’d also wanted to see Owen. To kiss him again. To be with him in a way she’d never allowed herself to be with any man.

She was acutely aware of his warm and solid grip. The tension of his lean frame just inches away. She’d never let a fellow come this close unless she wanted something from him. Her pulse fluttered, as did that traitorous place between her thighs. In that instant, she couldn’t deny her desire.

“You,” she admitted. “I came for you.”

His eyes darkened—with delight, maybe. Hunger, most definitely.

“I am at your disposal,” he said.