Page 48 of From Duke Till Dawn
“Don’t,” he said without thinking. “There’s room enough for both of us.” He tested himself and the draw of attraction. Easing closer, more details of her appearance revealed themselves. Her hair had come loose from its pins, strands of gold curling around her face, giving her an unearthly look. She’d reminded him of a fairy queen long ago in Cheltenham, and now she seemed a wild elf, a creature of nature.
Those curls had spread in a golden wave across the pillow when they’d gone to bed together, perfumed with vanilla and roses. Did it still carry the same scent? He could reach out and wrap it around his finger.
Stop it.He wouldn’t go down that path with her again. In truth, he was almost appalled at himself that he could still hunger for her after all her duplicity.
Yet he did. Damn it, he did.
He sought a neutral topic. “Your bed isn’t comfortable?” Hell. Why did he have to mention bed?
She made a scoffing sound. “Softest mattress I’ve ever felt. Like resting on kittens.”
“Do you often sleep on cats?”
“They’re usually opposed to the idea.” The wry humor left her voice. “It wouldn’t matter if I lay on clouds or clumps of dirt. Nothing’s going to coax me to sleep tonight.” She looked at him questioningly. “Who knew dukes kept such odd hours? Doesn’t the nation depend on you, et cetera?”
“If that was the case, then I sorely disappoint Britain on a regular basis.”
She eyed him, folding her arms across her chest. “No sleep of the just.”
“It’s eluded me for some time now.” He could feel her edgy energy, radiating out in invisible, yet tangible pulses. “It’s Hughes, isn’t it? Thoughts of him keep you from your rest.”
She swung away, presenting him with her back. At first, he thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she spoke lowly. “Itrustedhim. I believed what he said to me, and that cuts deeper than any blade.” Raw hurt reverberated through her words. “But no amount of blood I shed cleans the cut. It’ll fester and rot.”
“Until it eats you alive from the inside out.”
Frowning, she turned back to Alex. “I... understand now.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “When someone you care about betrays you—this is how it hurts.”
“I can’t know what you’re feeling,” he allowed. “I’ve got a good idea, though.”
“It’s... hurt and anger and sorrow and helplessness,” she said, “wrapped up in paper and tied with twine. A neat bundle of treachery.”
“Nothing neat about it.” He stalked around the periphery of the gazebo, circling her. “It’s messy as hell. Throws everything into chaos.”
“God, Alex.” She rubbed at her face. “I’m... sorry.”
He stopped in his pacing and stared at her.
“No one should feel this way,” she went on. “And the fact that you do at my hands... I understand your hatred of me.”
The flare of righteousness never materialized. All he felt was sadness. He walked to a planter beside the gazebo. Reaching into it, he pulled out a flask, stashed here for sleepless nights like this one. He uncapped it and drew a long drink of brandy.
He held the flask out to her and she came forward to take it. Her eyes never leaving his face, she drank, then she returned the container to him before retreating several steps.
His heart thudded thickly, and his tongue was loosened by the brandy. “I don’t hate you.”
“Don’t you?”
“I did,” he allowed. “Now...” He searched within himself, rooting out the hot embers of fury and pain. “It’s more complicated.”
She chuckled without humor. “Complicatedis a good word for it.” She walked to one of the flowers and plucked it, twirling the blossom absently between her fingers. The sight fascinated him—the contrast between her slim fingers and the petals, both glowing softly in the moonlight.
“Martin was more of a father to me than my own blood,” she murmured. “Cared about me. Or so I thought,” she added bitterly. She crushed the flower in her hand, then let the crumpled petals fall to the ground where they lay like abandoned hope. “There’s no one I can trust,” she said without self-pity. It was a fact, as straightforward as the movement of the tides. The only one looking out for Cassandra was Cassandra.
“You don’t trust me?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Surely, you see the irony of that question.”
He shook his head ruefully. “It’s not easy for me to absolve a wrong.”
