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"No, no that's not it at all, I—" How do I find the words to tell him that sex is frightening. That it's been used as a tool over me, my own body turned into my enemy by a malicious demon in the past. That my whole life was threatened if I didn't give it, when I finally realized that I was only sharing a bed, and not a heart, with the man who twisted all good things and corrupted them.
The words stick in my throat, but he sees them on my face. His grip is firm on me, and he refuses to let go.
"I should have asked," he whispers, "I'm sorry." He presses a kiss to my temple, and the simple sweetness of it reaches deep inside of me, to the half-scarred place in my heart, the scabs that still exist, the flesh raw and broken.
"I'm not—" dirty. Used. I'm not. Even though I feel like I am. I don't want him to think that. Not about me. Not this great,beautiful man, who seems to carry the whole world on his shoulder. He doesn't need my burden. He doesn't need one more person to fix.
His eyes close, and he lets out a long breath.
"Let me take you to bed. Your bed," he corrects. "Let me walk you to your room."
I feel fragile, like a snowflake heading toward earth, knowing that it's doomed to melt as soon as it hits the ground. And I don't want to be alone. But the look on his face is so pained, as if knowing that I've been hurt is hurting him too much to bear it. I can't put that on him.
"I'm alright," I promise, and pull away, my body going cold as I leave him. He bends to take my nightgown and helps me into it, fingers grazing my shoulders. I swallow hard. He must be in some pain, aren't all men, when they're denied their own passion and release?
But he says nothing, helping me into my underwear, lifting them up my legs, averting his gaze as he dresses me with a gentle tenderness that threatens to crack my heart open.
When he finally stands, I can't stay. I can't even say anything else. My throat is too choked wth pain.
I'm ruined. Not by him, but by the past. Paris looms over me, a shadow that will forever stain my future. No matter how far I run, I'll never escape it.
"I— goodnight," I choke out, and turn, running from the room, the only hint that he's sad to see me go is the ghost of his touch along my wrist as I flee.
29
Eva
The stars seemed to call to me while I slept, disrupting my dreams and making me toss and turn. I wake in a tangle of sheets, my hair in my face. Groggy, and unsure of the time, I stagger to my feet and stare at the clock.
It is afternoon. Panic squeezes my chest and I throw my clothes on, not even taking a moment to brush my teeth before I rush to my guest-room door. My bare toes feel paper, the sound of me stepping on it giving me a start, and I glance down.
A note had been pushed under my door. In elegant pen on a thick piece of cream paper, waited his words.
Sleep in and sleep well.
Madeline is visiting with an old friend of mine.
She won’t be back until evening.
~ M
I gulp. How had I slept through my alarm? Even after everything that happened last night with Mas-the duke, I’d still set myalarms before sleep.
I stand there, flooded with relief, and confusion, when I look up and catch a glimpse of myself in the large floor mirror that leans against the far wall. My dress is on backward. How had I not even noticed that, either? I’m an absolute mess.
A knock at my door stops me still, and I hold my breath.
“Miss Bell?” I close my eyes. It’s him. The rush of last night floods over me, the warmth of his touch, the memories it brought up, thecrying.
God, the crying.
“Evangeline?” His voice is close to the door, like he’s almost leaning against it. “I… must apologize to you.”
I fling the door open, not about to accept him falling all over himself to say sorry. My face is burning, my cheeks must be bright red. He stares down at me, his gaze dragging down my body—
My dress is still on backward.
Ah, fuck.
