He leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. His fingers curled inward, knuckles whitening as he held something still by sheer discipline alone.
"I am sorry," I stammered, wringing my hands in the folds of my dress. "The door was unlocked and Agnes said Hawthorne was not feeling well, so I wanted to check on him."
I snapped my mouth closed, breathing deeply through my nose as I tried to step past him. "I will just go."
His hand shot out, gripping my arm to stay me. "Perhaps you should stay and explain to me more thoroughly why you thought Hawthorne would be in my bedchamber."
I stared up at him, eyes wide.
Hisbedchamber?
He released my arm, and I took an unsteady step back.
"I did not—I mean, I thought—"
"You thought what, Miss Reed?" One dark brow rose as he watched me flounder, the corner of his mouth threatening a shape that never quite arrived.
He stepped closer, leaning toward my ear, his composure slipping beyond his restraint. His breath cascaded down my neck as he spoke in a low voice that reached through the fabric of my ribbon and reverberated across my skin. "If you wished to see inside my bedchamber, I assure you, you had only to ask."
Heat flooded my face. My heart pounded violently against my ribs, every beat following the deep, sensual cadence of his voice. He pulled back just enough to look at me, the gold flecks in his amber eyes catching the firelight. His expression shifted at once, there and gone before I could examine it. The muscle in his jaw jumped, his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath.
"That is not—" I started, but what could I possibly say that would not make this situation worse than it already was?
"No?" His voice remained low, intimate and dangerous. "Then what were you doing in here, Miss Reed? Truly?"
"I told you." My mouth went dry, making speech difficult. "I thought Hawthorne might be resting here. I did not realize this was your bedchamber. I thought this was your late wife's room."
The confession tumbled, escaping in a breathless rush. I bit my bottom lip, sensing the change in him, the word cresting over him painfully. His eyes narrowed a fraction, and he took a step forward. Instinctively, I took a step back.
"My wife?" he repeated.
My pulse quickened with both fear and anticipation, a bird beating itself against the bars of a cage. I managed a nod, swallowing against the tightness in my throat as he continued forward. I matched it again, step for step, but he maneuvered around me, blocking my escape.
"Yes," I said, unable to keep the words from spilling out of my ridiculous mouth. "I checked all the other rooms first, and Agnes had said you lost your wife... and I just assumed this was her room. That you would not—that you did not—"
"You just assumed that I did not share this room with her?" he replied, cutting me off as he continued to advance with that same measured pace until my back hit the wall.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
My lungs constricted as he stopped directly before me. He was close enough for me to witness the exact moment his gaze dropped to my lips, then returned to my eyes with great effort. His hand came up slowly, fingers catching a loose curl that had escaped my pins during my frantic search of the house. He twisted it around his finger, the intimacy of it making me ache to lean into his touch.
"I suppose I had not thought that through," I replied, my words coming out ridiculous, even to my own ears.
"Indeed," he said, releasing the curl as his fingers glided across my cheek with devastating tenderness. His breath shook from his chest at the contact, and he paused there, as though he had measured something important, decided upon it, and chose to allow himself the moment.
His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, and I fought the sudden, shocking urge to part them and taste salt and flesh—to lean in and press my mouth against the warm hollow of his throat and feel his pulse flutter against my lips. I could picture it too easily. My teeth breaking the surface, the taste of copper and earth on my tongue as something green and growing wound its way between us.
The sensation sent heat flooding through me, pooling low, and the shameful truth of it was that I did not want to stop thinking about it.
His gaze searched mine for a long moment, eyes dark in the firelight, before dropping to the green velvet ribbon around my throat.
He went very still.
The change was so complete that it banished every other thought. His hand moved away, suspended helplessly near my face. His breath held as his eyes fixed on the ribbon with such raw grief it made my heart twist and burn.
He moved away unexpectedly, putting distance between us that felt far greater than its measure. Without looking at me again or acknowledging what had just passed between us, he turned and stalked to the door.
"Go to bed.”
