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She needed to go back to the Den and face Lord Vontmour head-on, come what may.
Juliet turned around to find Evan still sitting in the chair, but now he was naked from the waist up.
She hadn’t been wrong about the build of his body.
Wide and thick and solid muscle. Haphazard scars about his skin. Her mouth went dry. Still not conventionally handsome, but pure, virile man. Strong and brutal and yet kind. His damn kind eyes.
No.
Since when did she look at a half-naked man and actually note the shape of his arms? The cut of muscles against his abdomen? The harsh line down the center of him that sliced between mounds of strength?
Never. She didn’t do it. Ever.
Resolve stiffened her spine. She needed to go back to London and never think on Evander Docherty again.
Gripping the rinsed washcloth in her hand, she stepped across the room to him, purpose thudding in her chest.
She dropped down onto her knees next to his chair, her stare refusing to veer off the cut along his upper arm. Longer and deeper than she had hoped. She cleared her throat. “All that said, my problems shouldn’t have affected you and I was wrong to come with you on this journey. I need to go back—go back to the Den of Diablo and face it like I should have. I will figure out what to do—I have Jasper and Egbert and if I need to, I can involve Talen Blackstone.”
“Mr. Blackstone? Didn’t Jasper say he was a rival of Mr. Hoppler’s?”
“He is, and he isn’t. He’s useful when Hoppler isn’t available, as he’s just as powerful.” She dragged a long swipe of the wet cloth against the cut on his arm. “It doesn’t matter. I will go back and deal with it. I never should have gotten you entangled.”
His head bobbed slightly up and down. “A bold plan, yes, but you made a deal with me, lass, and I need you to uphold it.”
Her eyes lifted to his face. “Your grandfather?”
“Aye.”
Not what she wanted to hear. “But what if Lord Vontmour sends more men after me? I cannot have you hurt again because of me.”
“Ye think I’m afraid of a wee bit of danger?”
She rocked back onto her heels, looking him up and down as her arms landed on the top of her thighs. “No. I suppose you are not. You are a wall. A very solid wall. By all rights that blade should have never breached your iron skin.” She pointed to his arm. “But it did. And if the steel had been deeper? Or across your neck?”
“It wasn’t. So I put no importance on it.” He grabbed her raised hand. “For the record, I think you should make other plans for when our ruse ends. I don’t think you should ever step foot back into the Den again.”
Juliet forced a smile. So like a man. Not understanding there were so few choices for women like her. She pulled her hand from his grip and lifted herself off her heels to continue dabbing at the wound along his arm. “I do apologize to the woman you will marry someday.”
“Why?”
“The cut on your temple may not, but this wound will surely scar. She’ll ask you about this scar and you’ll have to tell her the tale of your fake betrothal.”
He chuckled with a smile, but then his hand flicked into the air. “It’s not a concern.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “I will never marry.”
Her head jerked back slightly. “Never?”
“No.” The short-lived smile drifted from his face.
“Why not?”
His mouth clamped closed and his face shifted away from her, his gaze on the fire.
She studied his profile. Hard-set, closed off. Whatever his reason, he wasn’t about to let her be privy to it.
