“Hector.” If he used her name like a familiar caress, she used his out of sheer defiance. His eyes flared wide at the sound.
“What are you doing here, princess?” he asked. He reached for a tumbler of whisky on the side table, but the motion looked forced, as if he was tugging on this coat of casualness with a great deal of effort.
Clio felt as though something inside her was shaking. Maybe it was her heart racing—which it was—but it felt deeper than that. Like her veryessencewas trembling, searching for?—
For what?
For him.
She raised her chin, hoping she looked more certain than she felt.
“If people are going to be talking about me,” she said, “I may as well deserve it.”
Slowly, Hector put down his glass.
“Talk is rarely deserved,” he said carefully. “Do you think I deserve them hating me because my leg is not right? Because I was a blacksmith—an honest occupation? Do you think I don’t care when they offer me sycophantic smiles only to sneer behind my back?”
“At least you hear some flattery!” she protested, throwing up her hands. “I only get cruelty. Even my brother … he offers only pity. It’s kindly meant, but—” She cut herself off with an angry scoff. “You’re the only one who doesn’t make me feel like … like I’mruined.”
She hadn’t realized quite how true that felt until she said it. It wasn’t just her reputation; she didn’t really care that much abouther reputation. She cared that she was letting these people make her feel like she was less than she’d once been, just because of some idle talk.
But Hector hadn’t done that. He’d made her feel like a nuisance. Strange how reassuring that had become.
“They’re idiots,” he told her, rising to his feet. He made it seem sosimple.“But you knew that I would say that. So, princess. Why are you really here?”
He was sopowerful. It was written in every line of his body as he approached, his uneven gait notwithstanding. It was absurd to think that anyone had ever thought him lesser because of the injury to his leg or the scarring on his ear.
She swallowed hard.
“I told you,” she said. “If I’m going to be ruined … I want toberuined.”
“Clio.” His word was a warning, but his feet came closer to her. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
She narrowed her eyes at him; this time,shetook a step forward.
“Don’t do that,” she commanded. “Don’t treat me like I don’t know my mind. The only thing I don’t know …” She swallowed hard. “Is how far this feeling goes.”
His mouth ticked up into a hint of a smile, but his eyes were as serious as the grave.
“It’s a downside to being the perfect aristocratic lady, isn’t it, princess?” he asked. “It takes away the freedom to explore what you want—what youneed—because of Society’s expectations.”
She nodded, feeling transfixed.
“Show me,” she asked, the word a plea. “Just, please show?—”
She didn’t have enough time to finish the request before his mouth crashed to hers.
It was hungrier than their previous touches, as though each time they came together increased their wanting rather than satisfied it. She melted into the embrace instantly, opening her lips to the fullness of his kiss?—
Only to have him pull back long,longbefore she was satisfied.
“Why?” she protested, not caring that she sounded like a petulant child.
He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath ragged, no matter how brief their embrace.
“You should leave, Clio,” he said, though his hands did not move from her arms. “If you were smart, you would leave and tell your brother to greet me with pistols at dawn.”
Temper flared within her, eclipsing the flash of alarm at the idea of Hector and Aaron shooting at one another. Aaron had been in the Navy for years, after all. He was a deadly shot.
