Page 31 of Tempting the Scoundrel
“No.” She made some movement, but didn’t jerk away from his touch. “Itoldyou that I don’t—”
“You don’t believe my promises,” he finished for her. “Listen to me, anyway. I’m a bastard for what I did to you. You have every right to never trust me again, because god knows I don’t fucking deserve it. But I will protect you with my life. Understand?”
At her hesitation, he stroked a thumb across her cheek. He meant it to be a soothing gesture, but it was selfish, too. He had been deprived of her company for over four years. Starved of her touch. He’d take what he could get, he was so hungry for her.
But when he shifted closer—against his will, for she drew him in like a moth to light—he couldn’t help but whisper, “Remember what I told you back at the Brimstone? I protect what’s mine.”
Alex jerked away from him and stood. “I’mnotyours.”
Thorne made some frustrated noise. “Then call yourself your own. I’ll offer you protection regardless.”
Her silence had a weight to it. Her heart was like a walled garden that was too high and impenetrable and impossible to climb. As she looked out the window, her expression was shuttered. She was a fortress of fortified brick and mortar.
When she finally spoke, her voice was as firm and unyielding as steel. “I need to make something clear to you, if I am to stay at your club. This is not a choice for me. I am doing this for survival. When we find who is responsible for my attempted abduction and Mary’s murder, I will leave.”
The knife in his chest twisted. “Alex—”
“I’m not finished.” She made some soft noise. “This is not a second chance, Nick. When I walk out the door next time, it will be for good.”
Thorne didn’t expect her to understand—it was his own fault, after all. She couldn’t trust her memory of Stratfield Saye; every moment they spent together, once held to the light and examined, was suspect. There were too many lies to separate them from the truths, like trying to untangle an intricate knot of rope with no beginning and no end. How could he not have sympathy for her? Hers was an impossible task.
Of course she couldn’t know that Thorne held no hope for their marriage. He didn’t lie awake at night wishing for second chances, for that was a fucking fool’s errand. Second chances were for different men and difference circumstances. Thorne didn’t wish on stars, either. What stars he could see from the East End were as intangible as her heart.
Thorne dealt in simple truths: she owed him nothing, and he owed her everything.
And the truth? He owed her that, too.
He slowly approached her. Alex tensed, as if preparing for battle. He would have bet the money in his pocket that her pulse was as quick as a songbird’s caught in a pair of hands. Perhaps she expected him to lay some claim on her. To remind her of the vows they made in Gretna, and the register they signed as proof.
But he wasn’t like a child in the Nichol, about to cage a bird just to hear it sing. Caging something untamed always killed it quicker.
“I let you go before,” he said, “and I won’t stop you from leaving again. It’s not my way. But you ought to know a few things before you walk out that door one last time.”
Her breath came out in a slow exhale. “Like what?”
“It wasn’t all lies,” he said softly.
Chapter 10
Stratfield Saye, Hampshire. Four years ago.
Alexandra was nervous when she left Roseburn.
She promised to meet Nick at the lake for their first swimming lesson, and while she relished the thought of seeing him again, meeting him alone was a risk. If anyone knew . . . if anyone saw . . .
Alexandra would be ruined.
For now, she wanted Nick to remain her secret. To let their friendship flourish without obligation or societal expectations of courtship. So when her maid had tried to dress her that morning, Alexandra sent the girl away and performed the task herself. With her bathing costume hidden beneath a walking dress, she set out for Stratfield Lake.
It was another hot day in Hampshire. The clouds over the distant hills were as fluffy and white as a storybook’s. Alexandra hummed as she strolled down the sun dappled path, smiling as the lake emerged into view.
Her smile faded when she saw Nick at the shore.
It’s only an infatuation, she told herself, swallowing hard.Only an—he turned and spotted her—infatuation.
Oh. My.
How had she never noticed that a gentleman’s bathing costume left so little to the imagination? His suit was black, in a sailor style, with a shirt that left his muscular arms bare. The shorts were no better; the material clung to his powerful thighs and ended at the knee to reveal long, shapely calves. It wasn’t only the smooth expanse of his golden skin exposed to her, but the corded strength of it. No, this physique was not achieved in a classroom; he had worked for it.
