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He couldn’t afford to fall into her snare again. He had let his guard down once before—let a beautiful woman prey on his cock. It’d been four months since the witch, Madeline, had snaked her way into his bed and nearly cost him everything. And she hadn’t been half as beautiful as Sloane.
Sloane needed to be off limits, no matter what his cock insisted upon. No matter that he found himself staring at her from afar, longing to be touching her body, basking in her laughter.
Off limits, for the destruction she could cause.
That was assuming Falsted had sent her as his next spy.
The irksome thought popped into his head. The thought he’d been ignoring ever since he saw her lying prone on the ground below the vines.
What if Falsted or one of his other enemies hadn’t sent her? What if she wasn’t there to ruin everything—ruin him?
What then?
For his actions against Sloane had been grievous, in the least. Absolutely barbaric in the worst.
Locking her in a room.
Keeping her here against her will.
Kissing her when she was his captive.
He had all the power and she had none, and he well knew that fact.
Never mind that she’d kissed him back. That her body had pressed into his. That soft mewls had escaped from her throat.
Disgust at himself curled his lip and he started down the hallway.
Halfway to the main staircase a grumble echoed into the hallway from behind him. He spun and retraced his steps toward the sound.
Another grumble and then a small squeak—almost as though a scream was cut off.
Reiner opened the door to the library.
The rug was still rolled up from the dancing Sloane was practicing with Vicky. The furniture askew throughout the room—chairs against walls, tables pushed to the edges, and the settee had been dragged over to sit in front of the hearth.
Low flames still flickered in the fireplace and in their shadows Reiner spied two lumps on the settee. He stepped fully into the room.
Sloane and Vicky had both fallen asleep with Vicky curled into Sloane’s side. A book sat on Sloane’s lap, open with a few pages fanning upwards.
He looked about the library. Where were Claude and Lawrence? Neither one had been in the hallway, keeping guard like they had been ordered to do.
His gaze dropped back to the settee. His niece looked content, a small smile even turning up the corners of her mouth as she slept.
It was Sloane that grumbled, soft moans raw in her throat, almost as though she was in a bad dream she couldn’t escape from.
With a sigh, he moved around the settee and jiggled Vicky’s arm. She didn’t awaken.
Not wanting to scare her awake, he slipped his hands between Vicky and Sloane and picked his niece up. She curled into him, her face tucking into his neck. Just like she’d done when he’d picked her up as a tiny child.
He carried her up to her bed, tucking her tight under the covers. Probably too tight, but he wanted her to feel like she was still curled up with someone.
Clicking the door to Vicky’s room closed, Reiner paused. He should just turn toward his room and retire himself. Leave Sloane to her slumber down in the library.
Two steps toward his chambers and he heard Sloane scream. A real scream this time—not the muffled agony escaping from her throat earlier.
Within seconds he was down the stairs and to the library.
For the hundreds of possibilities that scattered through his mind as he flew down the stairs, he didn’t expect to find Sloane still on the settee, still dead to the world.
