He cursed silently. He’d never been careless before, never allowed anyone to get close to him as he practiced his art.
Running his sticky fingers through his hair, he held back an angry bellow, disappointed in his own lack of attentiveness. This could spell disaster for him and his plans. Crouching low, he hurried into the shadows and focused on the commotion that had caught him unaware.
The unmistakable sounds of a carriage coming to a stop. Angry voices.
His curiosity hounded him.
He placed his back against a tree, making his tall, wiry frame flat. He sucked in a deep breath and peered around the trunk into the clearing only a stone’s throw away.
At the sight of a black-haired goddess, his heart, which only moments before beat excitedly from the thrill of his glorious purpose, thudded erratically at the promise of delights to come.Hehadto have her, this ravishing beauty with an unearthly spirit of brilliance, this luscious and delectable piece of human imperfection. The imperfect fleshy canvas on which he could carve a masterpiece. He trembled, excitement and anticipation careening through his blood.
Tearing his gaze from the stunning female, he cast a glance at her companion. His blood cooled. Since birth, his Heavenly Sire had favored him, providing him with beauty, wealth, and splendid purpose. God’s Sovereign Will always made a way for him to perfect his art, his passion. Even now, His Sire gifted him with something extraordinary. As God’s adored son, he knew the pompous, elitist waste of human skin standing beforehisfemale would be helpless to deny him what he desired.
No. No one ever denied him. Though some tried, they were easily persuaded with the deft use of his blades. Their once unmarred skin turned to shredded threads of flesh beneath the brutality of his knife.
He loved knives. They were useful and artful tools. He owned thirty of them; each one a different size, blade length and width, and each beautifully handcrafted with a wicked edge.
Visions of his glimmering knife collection flickered through his mind, and he barely kept from stepping from behind the tree to claim his prize. Looking down, he sneered at his appearance. His clothes were in disarray, filthy from his activities, and smelled of livestock. His newest favorite knife held tight in his hand, was sticky with blood. He wiped the blade against the once white wool of his latest non-human canvas, sheathed it, and slipped it into his pocket.
This wouldn’t do. He couldn’t have that ethereal and gorgeous creature see him as he was now. No, he would wait for the perfect time.
Shewouldn’t stand a chance. None of them did.
He turned to leave, sticking to the shadows. Narrowing his gaze at the mess near his gory boots, he shrugged and smiled, knowing his mediocre life had been bestowed with something indescribable.
Looking heavenward, he thanked the Lord.
Finally, his prayers were answered, and he could fulfill his commission.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The ride back to the house was stifling. Haven groaned in mortification as she thought back to the horrendous scene in the pasture. Though she understood how the duke would assume she was trying to run away, she didn’t like his reaction.
Ugh, the duke.He was pissed.
Glancing over, she wondered how he could be so angry yet look so tasty. His strong, capable hands held the reins in a well-practiced grip, and a burnished curl over his brow made him look like a dashing pirate, ready to climb aboard the nearest ship and ravish a fair maiden.
A warm flush bloomed, and she shuddered. She couldn’t take her eyes from his strong, handsome profile even when it turned the waves of nervousness in her stomach to birds in flight. Heat, purposeful and undeniable, rose from her core, blanketing her with a need she’d never known before. The bright sun was far too warm. Anger and tension rolled off him. He drove the carriage with care, but from his expression she knew what he really wanted was to tear her a new one.
But for heaven’s sake, she hoped it was her clothes he tore from her instead.
Too hot. Too damn hot.
She tugged at the sleeves of her dress, wishing she were in her room so she could take it off and stop the suffocation.
When the carriage halted in front of the double oak doors of the manor, she tamped the urge to run. Instead, she waited for the duke to make his way to her side.
Holding her breath, she put her hand in his proffered one and quickly descended the single step. Attempting to lay aside the shame of her outrageous reaction in the pasture, she did her best imitation of a curtsey.
“After thinking about it, I know why you’d assume I was making a break for it, and I know I overreacted. I apologize.” Without waiting for his irate response, she straightened and made her way inside as fast as her booted feet could carry her.
Upstairs, she threw her bag on the bed and unzipped it.
Slumping to the mattress, she nibbled her thumbnail. “How do I make this whole afternoon go away? Wait?—”
She dumped the contents of the bag and riffled through the mound of clothing and toiletries.
There!
