He panicked. Faced with her shining, girlish adoration, when there was nothing childish about his lustful feelings for her, he’d done the only thing he could think of. He pushed her off and plastered a fierce scowl on his face even though he knew she couldn’t see him in the dark. “What are you doing?”
“I thought, well, we’re friends…aren’t we?”
“Friends?” He gave an incredulous laugh. “No. We’re not ‘friends.’ Your brothers are my friends. You’re their annoying little sister.”
She gasped at the cruelty of his words, as he’d predicted. He made his tone even more scathing. “You’re a child, Heloise. Now go home and leave me be.”
She pulled away. Sniffed.
To make it worse, he’d laughed.
She slapped him.
She’d tried to run then, but her ankle had denied her a dignified exit. She’d been forced to suffer the ignominy of him carrying her back to the house. She hadn’t looked at him once, but he’d felt the shaking of her body she hadn’t been able to hide, the wetness of her tears against the front of his shirt. He’d felt like someone had slipped a knife between his ribs.
She’d ignored him for months afterward. And then, while he’d been immersing himself in all the ruinous debauchery London had to offer, she’d been scarred. He’d rushed back to see her immediately, their stupid rift forgotten. It had broken his heart, to see her face like that, still red and obviously painful. Not because it made her ugly in his eyes, but because it reminded him that horrible things happened to good people. It reminded him that she’d already had enough bad things befall her without ever getting involved with him.
Sometimes he wished he’d never set eyes on her. Most of the time he wished he’d just pulled her down onto the cold stone floor of the grotto and simply taken her. It would have been so easy. She’d wanted him with a passion that was both desperate and astonishing. A passion that was completely underserved.
Of course, his restraint had backfired. He’d been haunted by her taste, the feel of her, that sound of choked amazement she’d made when he’d cupped her breast. He’d never forget it, even if he sailed a thousand leagues away from her. He’d become an expert at ignoring the inner voice that insisted she was the woman for him.
It had taken his own kidnapping and the better part of six years for them to get back onto any kind of normal footing. And now he’d ruined it again.
What was she doing now? Would she shrink from him? She was probably in her room sobbing. Wishing herself as far away as possible. Raven sank under the water again, wishing he never had to resurface.
Chapter 26
Heloise was not crying.
Two of Scovell’s men brought a hip bath full of hot water up to her room and she sank into it gratefully, washing herself with the rose-scented soap from her satchel. She scrubbed at her skin until not a single trace of the caves remained, then used the water to wash her dress as best she could. There was nothing she could do about the ripped front, but she draped it over the windowsill to dry and lay on the bed and closed her eyes.
She couldn’t relax. Her mind churned and her body felt restless and agitated. She had the niggling sense that something remained unfinished. She had to clear the air between them.
He’d saved her. From rape and possibly murder. She’d needed protection and he’d been there for her. Yes, he scared her, but who better to protect her than the most frightening man she’d ever met? Who better to keep her safe than the angel of death himself?
He wanted her, she was sure of it. It was there in the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. There in the way he simultaneously pulled her close and kept his distance. She knew his ways. He had some stupid chivalric idea that he wasn’t good enough for her. Every time he started to relax and open up he deliberately introduced some painful topic to give her a disgust of him, as if to remind them both how unsuitable he was for her. So wrongheaded. She was the only one for him.
Today he’d proved himself a killer, and yet she trusted him instinctively. She wanted to reach him. To show him he was more than he gave himself credit for.
Heloise let out a sigh and opened her eyes. He washerkiller. She needed him. Wanted him, despite everything he’d done. She thought back to his admission in the cave, before they’d been interrupted. He’d thought of her while in prison. He cared for her. However much he wanted to deny it.
She stared at the damask canopy above her head. He was her protection, her strength and shield. She’d ride with him into whatever hell he chose to take her. She could have died today. Without ever taking what she wanted. Without ever admitting how she felt about him.Carpe Diem,Horace said.Seize the day, and put no faith in tomorrow.
It was time to stop being a coward.
She heard him return half an hour later, the echo of his boots in the room next door. Her dress was still soaking, so she simply slipped her shirt over her head. It was so big it reached almost to her knees. She didn’t bother with the breeches. The tiles were warm on her bare feet as she slipped out onto the balcony and opened the door to his room.
He was lying on the bed, dark hair in disarray, but sat up at her unexpected entry and glared at her. She watched him warily, unsure of his mood. Of her welcome.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt and for a moment she paused to take in the naked beauty of his chest, the flex of his forearms, the bulge of his biceps. She clasped her hands in front of her to stop herself reaching for all that luscious skin. He lowered his lashes and she stared at the bruises already forming on the side of his jaw, a dark red bruise starting to darken his ribs. A nasty slice, where a knife had caught him, marred his side. Her stomach lurched in guilt. He’d been hurt because of her stupidity.
He opened his mouth to speak but she forestalled his objection. “I’m sorry I went to the cave. I didn’t take your warnings seriously. I should have listened to you.”
“Yes, you should have,” he said sullenly.
“It was stupid.”
“Yes.”