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CHAPTER FOUR
SHEHADN’TMISUNDERSTOOD,THOUGH. She’d read him like a book, and more fool him for not being able to control his responses to her.
After six years, he’d thought his libido had curled up and died. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been around a woman in all that time, either. Though he rarely left the castle, when he did, he saw people. Flesh and blood people, beautiful women, who looked at him with the kind of interest he would have, at one time in his life, capitalised on. But Thirio wasn’t that man any more.
He’d boxed away that part of his personality, those needs; he’d derived satisfaction from denying himself those pleasures.
And year on year, it had grown easier, so he no longer craved a woman’s touch.
The scars on his body reminded him of why he had to abstain, of the loss and destruction he’d caused—not having sex was a very small sacrifice to make, when it came to penance. There was no penance, though, that would ever be enough.
He rolled over in his king-size bed, staring out at the rain lashing his window. It had intensified through the night, so he was glad of one thing: that he had not let her leave the castle.
Instead, the beautiful stranger was in a guest bedroom, just metres from his own.
If he’d had any choice in the matter, Thirio would have installed her on the other side of the castle, just as far away from him as was possible, but most of the placewas closed off.
And so, Lucinda was barely twenty feet from him. He muted his breathing, closing his eyes and straining to listen. Was she still awake?
They had barely spoken after his rejection. She’d carried her plate to the sink, he’d muttered for her to leave it. She’d obliged without a word. He’d offered to show her back to her room and they’d walked in stony silence. But that hadn’t changed the way the air around them had hummed when they’d crossed the threshold of her room. It hadn’t meant he’d been able to easily ignore his body’s yearning when he’d eyed the bed, and imagined drawing her into it with him.
And so he’d left before temptation could overpower him.
Thirio didn’t deserve the pleasure he knew he’d experience in her arms, and he couldn’t take it from her knowing that he would never offer more.
The sooner she left, the better. But for Thirio, the night stretched before him, long and impossible. He flipped onto his side, his eyes finding the silhouette of the pine trees, devouring it restlessly. Morning would come, as it always did, and then, he’d fly her away from here, into the town. Soon, he would be alone again, desire forgotten, opportunity lost, just as he wanted.
The noise was loud and woke her instantly. Lucinda sat up, disorientated and confused. Nothing was familiar. Not the four-poster bed, the renaissance art on the walls, not the view framed by the large bay window, and not the smell of pine and ice that hung in the air.
It took several seconds for Lucinda to remember where she was—and who she was under the same roof as! Just as that memory burst into her consciousness, a rush of ice wind encircled her, so she pulled the duvet higher, looking around. Her door was open.
A shiver ran across her spine. Thirio? Had he—?
Surely not.
The sound of howling wind called to her. She pushed back the covers and moved towards the door, the sweater Thirio had given her to sleep in soft across her body. It smelled so good. Freshly laundered with detergent that reminded her of lemons and vanilla. She paused at the door, noting the temperature seemed to drop by several degrees here.
Another noise, this time, the opening of a door. She turned on instinct, eyes landing on Thirio at the same moment her stomach twisted into a bundle of knots.
Holy crap.
Thirio was shirtless. Again. Only this time, despite the cool of the night, he wore just a pair of grey boxer shorts, so his muscular legs were visible to her very hungry, very fascinated eyes.
Her mouth went dry. Her gaze lifted higher, over his endlessly fascinating chest, marked and beautiful and broad and strong, to his throat, stubbled, and a square jaw that was set in a harsh line of disapproval.
‘You should go back to bed.’
‘I heard a noise.’ Her own voice was barely a whisper. She swallowed to clear her throat.
‘A tree came through the window,’ he muttered. ‘That’s all.’
She looked again. One of the magnificent pines had fallen, the tip slicing a path through the large window that she’d been admiring only hours earlier.
She grimaced, the destruction of a no-doubt ancient window a shame to see. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing.’ His voice was commanding. ‘Go back to your room.’
Even then, he was pushing her away, rather than taking her offer of help. She was tempted to argue, to insist on doing something useful, but the set of his jaw showed how little he would welcome argument. None the less, defiance spread through her.
