Hefelt right.
Her arms were wrapped around his lean waist, and she leaned into him, allowing herself to be vulnerable. Allowing herself to be consoled.
“Thank you,” she whispered, meaning it to her marrow, and yet, incapable of saying more, for fear she may burst into sobs all over again.
His gentle touch continued to glide up and down her spine. “Thankyou, Hazel. Thank you for telling me. I know what it cost you, how incredibly difficult it is to relive past horrors. I am honored you chose to share it with me.”
For a long time, she said nothing, simply holding on to him, absorbing his heat and his strength. Breathing in the familiar, delicious scent of him. Listening to the sound of his heart pumping life through his veins.
Wondering how she could ever possibly limit herself to one night with this man, with this beautiful, complex, surprising, endearing man in her arms.
Wondering how she could ever possibly let go.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucien could notsleep, which was not a new affliction.
The reason for his insomnia, however, was.
He wanted Hazel.
Well, to be precise, wanting Hazel was not a new affliction either, because he had certainly desired her from the moment she had brazenly waltzed into his study and scathingly referred to him asMr.Arden. But not being able to sleep because he knew she was beneath the same roof, and because he knew what she tasted like, what it felt like to sink deep inside her, because the sweet sounds of her release would forever haunt him to his dying day, that was all bloody well a new affliction.
Damn it.
One night, she had told him.
One night, he had agreed.
But one night could never be enough. He had known it last night, and he knew it better than ever as he tossed and turned, then lay on his back, staring at the plasterwork on the ceiling in the darkness of the night. Shadowy acanthus leaves mocked him, lit by the glow of the evening’s unusually large moon.
Christ, he was not even certain that one lifetime could be enough. They had shared more than just their bodies. They had shared themselves, their weaknesses, their mistakes, their follies, their regrets. And he wanted her in a way that was different than mere base lust. He was old enough, experienced enough, to know the difference between a woman he wanted to fuck and a woman he wanted to fuck and hold when she cried, and kiss away her tears, and hold her hand, and protect her, and worship her as she deserved, and, and, and…
Emitting a low growl of frustration, he scrubbed a hand over his face and sat up in his bed. In his lonely bed, which still smelled faintly of Hazel and their lovemaking. He had taken himself in hand, but it had not been enough. Nothing but Hazel could be enough now.
He thought again of what she had shared with him over their luncheon. How personal her revelation had been. How unexpected. She seemed so controlled at all times, so unemotional and untouchable. But he thought he understood her better now. She was devoted to her work as an agent as a sort of penance, a means of making atonement for the lost life of her fiancé.
To his great shame, Lucien knew a spear of envy for her dead betrothed. The man who had thrown himself in front of her to spare her a bullet. Her feelings for the man had been apparent in the way she had spoken of him, in the reverence of her tone, the tears she had cried. For a brief, embarrassing moment as he had listened to her story and relived the awful trauma she had experienced along with her, Lucien had experienced a sudden stab of envy toward a dead man.
He recognized instantly how foolish his reaction was, how grounded in primitive instinct. After all, her betrothed had died, and Lucien had been the one to take her maidenhead instead of the martyr who had saved her life. He ought to feel guilty for that, but he could not summon up a speck of remorse. When it came to Hazel Montgomery, all he knew was that he wanted her, all for himself. He wanted to possess her, to consume her, to protect her, to make her his.
To hell with one night. He would begin with two. Two ought to satiate his relentless desire for her. Never mind his forbidding aunt was in residence and that it would not do to potentially cause a scandal that would embarrass her. If he was quiet and careful, if no one ever found out, what would be the harm?
He threw back the bedclothes and quickly donned a dressing gown in the semi-darkness. The household was asleep. Finding his way to her chamber undetected would be easy. Convincing Hazel to change her mind may not be, however. But never mind. He was prepared to persuade her. With his tongue, if necessary.
The last thought sent a bolt of lust straight through him.
He opened the door, strode over the threshold and into the hall, and promptly collided with someone. He instinctively reached for the person into whom he had crashed. His hands met with warm female flesh, undeniable beneath the barrier of a wrapper. She made a startled sound, her hands clutching at his shoulders for purchase, as the scent of her hit him. Soap and a hint of lavender.
“Hazel,” he whispered, relief and gratitude washing over him as one. His grip on her tightened, but he could not help it. He was starving for her, and she had come to him. He could only hope her reason for flitting about in the darkness outside his chamber was the same reason he had been exiting his chamber.
“Lucien.” Her buttery drawl was once more in evidence.
Just his name and nothing more, and yet his cock twitched with appreciation and remembrance. She had been so tight and hot around him, so wet, dragging him deep, milking him to release. He was a greedy bastard, and he wanted more.
“You were coming to me?” he asked, just so he could be certain.
“No, I was off in search of your kitchens,” she said. “I have the strongest urge for a chocolate cake, and I thought to bake myself one.”
