“Well, I need something,” he returned.
Her heart throbbed in her ears. She moved closer to the door. “What is it?”
“I need,” he paused. “I need to talk to you.”
“Bash,” the name came out as a whisper, filled with longing and a bit of agony. “Now?”
“Yes,” he said. “Please.”
She sighed as she shook her head. She’d broken nearly every rule that society had set forth for a lady of her standing. But letting a single man into her chamber in the dead of night must be the final one she hadn’t flaunted. “This is a mistake.”
“It isn’t,” he replied.
She opened the door, only sliding it open wide enough to look at him. She was in her night-rail, her hair in a simple braid. She looked…indecent.
But as she gazed out, she realized he was shirtless and only in his breeches. If she were indecent, he was downright…scandalous. “You must be freezing.”
“I’m not. Though to be fair, I’ve had a few glasses of whisky.”
Any thoughts of leaving him in the hall vanished. Without heat, the halls were cool at best. “Come in and stand by the fire, you foolish man.” She tried to ignore the way the sight of his rippling abs did funny things to the butterflies in her stomach. “What’s wrong that you need to talk so late?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He grimaced. “That’s not true. Something’s been wrong my entire life.”
He stopped just in front of her as she softly closed the door. “Your entire life? What do you mean?”
“Earlier when I said I wouldn’t marry you. It’s not you. It’s him.”
Him? Him who? Was this the piece she’d been missing? “All right,” she said, searching her face. “What did he do?”
“He was my father. The Demon Duke.”
Even the name made her shiver.
Chapter Fifteen
Bash rubbed the back of his neck. He was actually going to tell her about his past? The idea brought fear to his heart, but he couldn’t allow Isabella to think that there was something wrong with her.
“The Demon Duke?” she repeated stepping closer. “What kind of name is that?”
He shook his head even as he reached out a hand and hooked her waist, drawing her closer. “You should ask yourself what kind of man gets that name.”
She touched his biceps, her fingers light as they gently stroked his arms. “What kind of man?”
“The kind that beats his son for every small transgression. Spilled your milk, smack in the head, you stupid boy. Broke a vase, lashes across the back. He was relentless and nothing but perfection seemed to satisfy his temper.”
She gasped and then pressed to his front, her body fitting into his as her warmth seeped into his very soul. “How awful. Bash…no boy should grow up like that.”
“He was worse to Mason, I think. Told him regularly that he should be dead. That it would be better if he’d never lived.”
She winced even as her hands tightened on his arms. “He said that to a child?”
Bash closed his eyes even as he tightened his grip around her middle. “The worst part, Mason believed him.”
Her fingers danced up his arms and over his neck, sliding into his hair. “That is terrible.”
“Mason joined the army and practically threw himself in front of a bayonet. Nearly died. It wasn’t until he met Clarissa that he saw the value of his own life.”
“Clarissa?” she asked her fingers massaging his scalp.