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7
Lillian wanted the earl dead. This much she could admit to herself. In fact, she’d gone so far as to envision his murder. At her hand, no less.
But she’d meant what she’d said to Dane. She wasn’t about to let him bloody his hands for her. She’d not have that on his conscience or staining his soul, and the thought of him being punished for it, either by the law or by the earl’s heir—it was unthinkable. She wouldn’t allow it.
That night, despite her humiliation at being rejected and despite all the unanswered questions about her future, she slept better than she ever had in her life.
For the first time in years, she was truly safe and protected. Without the threat of the earl, or Malcolm with his cold displeasure, or her father’s ever present disapproval, she was more relaxed than she could remember.
She went to bed early, just after the kind and gentle Mrs. Morris had brought a tray with food, and she’d slept straight through until the sun was high in the sky. She might have lolled about for hours more if she didn’t have a nagging concern that Dane hadn’t heard her. Or that he wouldn’t listen and would go after Fallenmore before she could stop him.
She’d seen his murderous fury, and she wasn’t certain her words would keep him from seeking vengeance.
She’d seen his fury...and she’d seen his desire.
Her breath caught as she ran a brush through her hair. The mere memory of that heated look in his eyes was enough to make her knees tremble and her belly dip.
This answering response—it wasn’t fear or panic. And it certainly wasn’t disgust. Whatever it was, it was overwhelming. Her free hand dipped lower to the spot between her thighs that ached mercilessly whenever she thought of the way he’d looked at her.
Was this feeling normal? Did he feel it too?
Her hand slid lower, exploring the sensation until a knock on the door had her dropping the brush with a clatter onto the vanity. Mrs. Morris had leant her the brush and a few other toiletries, assuring her that someone would be bringing the rest of her belongings.
“Come in.”
She held her breath in anticipation and when he walked in, she felt a surge of something like...triumph. She’d been worried when he’d left and hadn’t returned. Perhaps she’d turned him off with her overtures.
But she hadn’t wanted him to think she’d expected something for nothing.
No one would give without taking in return.
No one...except for Dane, it seemed.
She eyed this large brute of a man as he came in, looking frightening and handsome and untamed in a shirt that was open at the collar and a pair of plain trousers.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
She nodded. “Very well. And you?”
He made a noise that she couldn’t quite decipher. After a long silence, she asked, “How will they be fetching my belongings? That is, are your people going to my home?”
He studied her. “No one will hurt your father, if that is what worries you.”
“No, no that’s not it. I was just thinking that I should go with them.” She swallowed down a lump at the thought of her father, of the life she was leaving behind. “I should tell him where I am.”
His brows came down. “Did he know?”
Those tears were there, threatening just beneath the surface as his gaze grew so warm she was sure she could feel it in her bones.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said.
“He knew.”
It wasn’t a question. She didn’t bother to answer. Instead she shrugged. “He didn’t believe me. Or…” She looked up at the ceiling as she remembered that awful conversation—the day she’d realized she hadn’t only lost her virginity to the father of her betrothed—but that he’d left her with child. “He didn’twantto believe me.”
Dane cursed in a low voice that was oddly comforting.
It gave her the courage to meet his gaze. “I was a little relieved he didn’t. If he had...well, he might have tried to force a match between me and the earl.”
