He eased to his side, gathered her against him and buried his face in her hair. He murmured to her, his voice hoarse—he told her she was beautiful, exquisite, that she’d given him such pleasure—but his words washed over her, soundless, drowned as each desperate beat of her heart echoed in her ears.
She’d given him everything.
When she didn’t reply he pulled back to look down at her, an anxious frown creasing his brow. “Eleanor. Are you all right? Oh, God, I didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head, too numb to speak. No, he hadn’t hurt her.
But he would.
Panic began to well in her chest. She could become a slave to it. To the pleasure, yes, but also tohim, his fingers under her chin as he tipped her face up to his, his green eyes, dark with passion, his whispered words in her ears, so sweet she’d never be able to deny him anything.
Oh, dear God. What had she done?
He’d take everything from her now, until there was nothing left, until she was so empty inside she no longer recognized herself. She’d become a ghost, haunted and silent, her feet soundless against the marble floors.
The villain, or the hero, but never both at once.
He wrapped an arm around her neck and urged her head down to his bare chest. He toyed with her hair for long moments, then heaved a deep, satisfied sigh. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you to Lindenhurst.”
Eleanor’s breath froze in her lungs. “What did you say?”
Cam twined a long lock of her hair around his finger. “Just that I’m glad we came here.”
She shouldn’t be here. Not with him. Not like this.
“Why? Because you managed to lure me into your bed?” Eleanor heard the fear in her own voice, cold and brittle, like glass shattering.
“This is your bed, sweet.” His voice was teasing. “But yes, since you ask, I would have gone much farther than Lindenhurst to have you.”
She tensed. “How much farther, Cam? Far enough to orchestrate a seduction? To ruin me? It’s a good plan if you want to trap a lady into marriage.”
Silence. A pause, then Cam’s body went rigid beneath her. “Don’t, Ellie. Please.”
She had to close her eyes against the quiet agony in his voice. Oh, God, she didn’t want to do this, but the panic pressed in on her from all sides, and the coverlet was too tight over her, too hot, smothering her, and she had to get away,now, because if she didn’t, she’d sink down into him and never rise again, and he’d own her . . .
She kicked at the covers twisted around her legs and struggled out of his arms. His body was too warm, too seductive, his heartbeat too loud in her ears—
Cam caught at her waist to stop her but she jerked away and scrambled off the bed. Her gown lay in a discarded heap on the floor. She struggled into it, then turned back to face him. Her heart twisted in her chest when she saw he’d gone as white as the bedsheet still bunched around his waist. “Do you deny it?”
“Don’t do this.”
The pleading note in his voice stabbed at her, and she had to force herself not to cover her ears. “Do you deny it?”
He seemed to fight with himself for a moment, then, “It might have begun that way, yes, but now—”
“It won’t work.”
His expression changed then, his mouth hardening. “What do you mean, it won’t work?”
She laughed, the sound high-pitched, unnatural. “Just what I said. It won’t work.”
He rose from the bed and crossed the room to retrieve his breeches. Eleanor averted her eyes from his naked body. She didn’t want to see him, to see how beautiful he was. It made her weak.
“Explain.” He stood in front of her, his arms crossed over that massive chest, every line of his body rigid.
Eleanor lifted her chin. “I don’t care if I’m ruined. It doesn’t matter. It changes nothing. I won’t marry you.”
Chapter Twenty-four
