Page 55 of The Taste of Light
"Discipline?" Anne spun so fast that her hair whipped against his chest, and she fisted her hands by her hips. "Don't you mean retribution?"
Silvery blonde hair spilled over her face, eyes defiantly raised to his, sharp breaths pushing her breasts above her corset—she resembled a martyred angel.
What was worse? Her betrayal, or her attachment to his cousin, the ultimateraguser? Must he always arrive in second place in a woman's heart? Maybe the order did not matter.
"What's amiss with righting a wrong, seeking retribution? An eye for an eye? I would expect proper, pious girls like you to accept it."
She lifted her palms, taking a step closer. "Something made you afraid, and you mean— "
"Do you love him?" he asked through gritted teeth.
She gazed down. "How did you know I've met him?"
He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. "Answer me."
"Here." She pulled her face out of his reach. "I think you’d best take your mother's ring back." She fumbled to retrieve the band from her finger. “You forgot it with me before you went away last night."
Pedro caught the ancient ring, the warmth of her skin vanishing after a mere second. "You left today to meet him, didn't you? What did he offer in exchange for arresting me?"
Gasping, she turned her face to him. "No! I would never put you in danger. Don't you know me at all?"
The blue of her irises was fully black, moist, focused on him. He knew about people, about the ways of the world. The innocence swimming in her gaze seemed genuine, but how could he trust her? Trust himself around her?
She lifted her hand as if to touch him. "What would it take for you to believe me?"
Pedro shook his head and turned from her, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.
She placed her hand upon his shoulder. "Pedro, please. I can't. Not like this."
Pedro jerked away from her touch. Staring at the night outside, he counted his breaths. Was she telling the truth? He forced his mind back to their moments together. How could she have alerted Gabriel? Unless she was waiting somehow for him to arrive. It made little sense. An insidious pain found its way inside his brain. Pedro shook his head and crammed his fists against his temples.
"This discipline you mentioned. Will it make you believe me?" she asked, her voice detached as if she spoke from a place he couldn't reach.
What?
Pedro whirled.
With the elegance of a ballerina, she bent over the recamier headrest, arching her spine, a swan reverencing. It would not surprise him if white feathers emerged on her back and she flew away.
Pedro staggered back a step, his eyes widening.
She tucked her hair over her shoulder. "Will you do it already, or will you tie me up first?"
Lightning flared outside, drawing the shadow of his hand on the wall. He had seen that shadow before. Over and over. Holding the back of the chair while his father had administered the rod, the belt, the ruler, sweating to make him mend his ways, to purge his sins, to make him better. His skin crawled with the old wish for an invisible armor to plate his skin against the duke's touch.
"I believe you, damn it!" His doubts came crashing in on him with the force of a steam train. Pedro stumbled forward and circled his arms around her, bringing her close to his chest. "Don't do that. Never do that again."
Chapter 26
Annepanted,unabletomove. The distrust in his eyes had wrenched her chest open. The sensation of losing something precious had been too intense. Why his trust mattered so much, she could not fathom. It had bloomed since the moment they’d met in his ballroom, and it pained her to see it gone.
Pedro released her and dropped his weight onto the recamier, shoulders caved, face engulfed by his hands. Without his heat cloaking her, the cabin's dank air brushed against her naked arms, raising prickles on her skin. Dazed, Anne stared at her palms imprinted with the headrest flowers. The boat swayed, the waves crashing against the hull an afterthought of what had passed between them.
Nothing about Pedro Daun was what she needed. When she craved comfort, he was anger. When she wanted company, he was heat. When she expected hate and hurt, he was care. When she dreamed of perfection, he was spiked edges.
Shivering, the floor swaying under her soles, she glanced at the door. That man collapsed on her chaise… perhaps there would be no mending him. This suffering was worse than his Achilles's wrath.
A lump formed in her throat, her eyes gritty as if sand had entered her eyelids. His misery shouldn’t affect her. She pulled in a shaky breath, hugging herself. The door waited five feet away. All she had to do was turn the key. Pedro didn't move, lost inside himself, inside his shadows, oblivious to her presence.
