Pretend that her body didn’t crave him at all hours of the day and night.
Honora was so very tired ofpretending.
She decided, then and there, that this season had been her last. Honora would speak to Benedict when this matter was settled and explain that marriage was not in her future.
Surely he would understand?
The room was unbearably stuffy and hot, so she got up to open the double windows, flinging them wide with a frustrated sigh. A crescent moon hung high above, flooding the room with a hint of glowing light as she stared out into the darkness below, wondering if, even now, someone was watching her.
She hated to imagine it and pushed the thought aside determinedly.
Silas had said he had placed patrols, and she trusted him completely. She knew it was ninnyish to be so fearful.
The humidity was almost unbearable, and she turned and flopped diagonally across the foot of the huge bed, her head angled towards the bottom, lying spread across the rumpled covers with her nightgown hiked up around her thighs as a faint breeze stirred the air, blowing a small hint of coolness across her cheeks.
Honora had almost drifted off, her body finally relaxing, when steps sounded in the hall, the door swinging open. She flung her arm over her face as a candle flickered in the doorway.
It was Silas, of course, the very last person she needed to see.
Her body was still heavy with want, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to throttle the man or pull him down on top of her.
She said nothing, merely peering at him through her fingers.
“I heard a noise,” he rumbled, walking into the room, the door swinging closed behind him.
Sealing them in together with the now rapid beat of her heart.
“I opened the window,” Honora murmured, tilting her head to watch as he advanced towards her.
He was dishabille, bare-chested and clothed only in a pair of loose drawers, his feet naked as they padded across the carpet.
“It’s hot,” Honora added, closing her eyes against the sight as her mouth went dry with lust.
He said nothing, but she felt his eyes on her, the moment dragging out until it felt as taut as a string waiting to be cut.
Unbelievably, she felt the bed dip, and then he was stretching out next to her, his head on the cushions.
Silas’s hand closed over her ankle, a light grip that spoke of easy possessiveness.
“Yes. It is,” he sighed with frustration, an echo of her own, stroking the arch of her foot distractedly.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Honora said, keeping as still as possible, not wanting to do anything that might break the spell that seemed to have fallen over the room.
“Why not?”
“I was thinking too much.”
“What were you thinking about?”
Honora smiled with dry amusement, staring up at the bed canopy. “You.”
His hold on her foot tightened, and then it skimmed up her shin, over her knee and back again. Reassuring, and comforting, but tormenting as well.
The touch felt so good, Honora slid her leg closer, her shift riding up further as she moved on the bed.
Raising himself on an elbow, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing, Silas stared down at her with pulse-stopping intensity.
“I was thinking about you too,” he said finally, swallowing hard, as if it pained him to admit it.
