“I need to see her.”
“You saw her two hours ago.”
“I need to see her again. Just for a few minutes.”
One glimpse might quiet the craving. He’d raced across town in the dead of night, heart thundering, simply to stand in her room.
“Don’t make me call in a debt, Charlotte.”
“Consider it already paid.” Charlotte had pulled the ties ofher wrapper as if tightening a noose. “If she wakes and wants you gone, I shall drag you out myself.”
He’d nodded, sworn he wouldn’t linger.
Yet here he stood.
He fought the urge to crouch by the bed, brush her hair from her face, prove she was real. To wake her and beg her forgiveness.
He meant what he’d said. He wanted to marry her. Not because he was duty-bound or plagued with guilt. Because he was in love with her.
In the stillness of her chamber, the familiar burn of hatred was gone. The need to make the world pay no longer pressed at his back.
He felt calm. At peace.
Never more certain she was his life now.
He lowered himself into the chair in the shadowed corner of the room and drew the ruby necklace from his pocket.
She’d worn it the first night he kissed her, when she’d driven him half out of his mind with need, only to tell him he could never give her what she wanted.
The list was seared into his soul.
Love—she was wrong about that.
She wanted to be someone’s everything.
There was no doubt she was his.
A family—he’d have no trouble there.
He wanted her as surely as he needed to breathe.
A home—ah, there lay the stumbling block.
He’d made a pact with the devil. Such bargains were hard to break.
Shadowmere was built on control. Surrendering it would be no easy feat. Yet there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
He closed his eyes, if only for a moment. Her scent and the sound of her breathing were enough to lull him to sleep.
His body surrendered to the quiet, to the warmth of her nearby, as though the world outside ceased to exist.
A hand rested on his knee, rocking gently.
“Dominic,” she whispered.
He blinked awake, unsure if he was dreaming. Someone had lit the lamp. An amber glow bathed the room.
Daphne crouched beside his chair, dark hair spilling over one shoulder. The low neckline of her nightgown offered a generous view of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath.
