‘What did you see?’ She closed her eyes and scrunched her face, shaking her head back and forth like a child refusing to take medicine. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She opened her eyes and pointed her finger at him. ‘Whatever you think you saw, you are wrong. It was nothing.’
If she were trying to cast a spell to repel him, she was failing miserably. Because he was only drawn inextricably closer.
His feet followed his heart as he crossed the space between them and gripped her arms, tilting his head to better see her neck.
‘Are you well?’ It was all that mattered. Once he knew she was safe, he could kill her for lying to him.
Amber eyes widened as fear softened into confusion. She blinked, pulling her shields up and gathering her formidable wits.
Dear God, she is a wonder.
‘I am hale and hearty, Grey. I certainly don’t need you fussing over me.’
His hand skated up to her neck, but he didn’t touch her, worried he might further damage her bruising skin. Instead, his fingers tangled in her silky hair, no longer bound by the loose braid. He pulled the midnight strands away from her injury. ‘You’re hurt. And I am not fussing.’
She stepped back, and he reluctantly let her go. ‘Yes, you are. It’s only bruising.’
‘Who bruised you, Clio? What happened?’ He couldn’t exhale. If he let the air out of his lungs, he would lose the tenuous control he had on his temper. He needed to punish whoever had hurt her.
The image of her neck, tight as a bow string, held by an invisible hand, played through his mind. To watch her fight a foe he couldn’t even see was a poignant reminder of his uselessness. Even in this.
Thomas was a warrior. He might lack in certain areas, but he had always been able to fight. If the enemy was stronger, he was smarter. If they were faster, he was more determined. But with Clio, even that skill was stripped from him. How could he fight an invisible foe?
‘No one bruised me. Nothing happened.’
Her blatant lies fuelled his anger.
‘No one did this?’ He did touch her then, his rough fingers brushing softly over her delicate throat as sparks cascaded. ‘And what of these?’ He let his hand trail down her neck, staring intently at the sparkling embers that followed his fingers to the hollow of her throat. While they should have burned his flesh, he only felt the thrilling tingle of awareness. The banked fire behind her roared to life. ‘Is this also nothing?’ He spoke through clenched teeth, willing himself to remain calm.
Clio’s lip trembled, but she nodded. ‘Exactly. Nothing.’
Three things were instantly clear. One: ‘nothing’ translated into ‘a mammoth pile of something’. Two: his suspicions about Clio were correct. Three: she wasn’t going to admit to any of it. Because she didn’t trust him.
Incredibly inconvenient, because he was quickly discovering a fourth revelation: he very much wanted Clio to trust him.
Which was a terrible idea. Trusting led to wanting. Wanting easily became needing. And he had already made that mistake with Lissa. It nearly destroyed them both.
Unfortunately, he’d never been good at learning lessons.
‘I saw you, Clio. You turned into a human pyre. Don’t tell me that was nothing.’
She changed tacks, narrowing her gaze, readying to attack. ‘What exactly are you implying, Grey?’
‘I’m not implying anything. I’m asking. What the bloody hell is going on?’
‘Whatever you suspect, no one will believe you. Your reputation is already ruined. Every member of beau monde thinks you are a rakehell who abandoned his wife. If you start spouting off about some girl being a witch, they’ll know you’re a lunatic as well as a bounder.’
She was lashing out, attempting to divert his attention. Damn her for being so effective. She swiped at his vulnerable underbelly, and he retaliated. Just as she wanted. ‘Maybe I am a rakehell, but I’m no liar.’ Thomas leaned closer. ‘And I never called you a witch.’
She took a ragged breath. He had her.
‘Those were your words. And that is exactly what you are. Try to deny it. It will do no good.’ He should have stopped there, but her accusations poured acid into old wounds already broken open by Berty and his drunken insults. ‘You are a witch. And I am nothing but a feckless rake. Isn’t that what you think?’
She pulled her shoulders back. In her struggle with the invisible bastard who hurt her, the thick woollen wrapper she wore had fallen open. The firelight illuminated her thin cotton nightgown. Arousal hit him harder than a punch. He had no right to feel such a potent need and yet he did. His helpless desire only fed his rage.
‘I don’t know what I think.’
Laughter tore at his throat like claws. ‘When have you ever not known your own mind, Clio Blair? I’ve called you a witch; now it’s your turn. Call me a blackguard.’
