dove back in and rinsed the soap away before walking to the carriage and dressing. The sun warmed the ground, and Lillian’s exhaustion caught up with her. She drifted to sleep before they made a proper camp for the night.
The crackle of wood burning woke her. The sun touched down at the horizon, and the earth cooled beneath her. She shot up. “Dorian?”
“I am here.” He sat across from her on the grass and added wood to the fire.
“I apologize for falling asleep. I should have helped with the firewood.”
He shrugged. “You were tired.”
“You should sleep. No one will bother us here.”
He stood and moved closer before sitting on the blanket next to her. “How do you know?”
“I have hidden here and watched demons march by. They will not enter this place. I think it might be holy ground, too sacred for even the demons to enter. On the other side of the pond, behind the trees, there is a circle of standing stones. No demons will come near the area.”
His eyes sparkled in the firelight as he looked across to the area she’d spoken about. Scanning the entire clearing as she had done time and time again, looking for some hint of why the demons did not enter. His hard chest pressed against her back, and he pulled the blanket around them, forming a warm cocoon.
An intellectual nobleman and a peasant demon hunter; what creature might they emerge as? His arm banded around her middle, and her mind could process nothing besides the feel of this man. “Dorian, why are you so opposed to bedding me?”
His low chuckle tickled her ear. “I am not opposed, my lady. I just want more.”
“If we get sex out of the way, we could become friends.”
The fire crackled. His breath warmed her neck with an even cadence. He must have fallen asleep or found her too disgusting to speak to, yet his arm remained snug to her middle.
“Is that how you and Foxjohn became such good friends?” Low and close, his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“A long time ago.”
“And were their others, Lilly?”
“What do you mean?”
His grip around her waist tightened. “Besides Reece, have you made a habit out of sleeping with men to relieve the stress of battle?”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? I just do not want you to get yourself killed because you are admiring my legs.”
“And you think lovemaking will lessen my interest?”
“Of course.”
“Lilly, you are a puzzle to me. I want to know everything about you, and yet, I fear what you might tell me.”
“Because you think I’m a whore.” She hated the tear that slid down her cheek. Damn the pain his disapproval stabbed in her heart. Why should it matter what one man thought of her? He didn’t mean anything to her. He never would.
“No. Never that.”
“What do you think then?”
“I do not know what to make of you. I know you are not French, and Dellacourt is a false name.”
“But one I have been using for a long time, monsieur .”
“What is your real name?”
“What does it matter?” She pulled away, but he held her tight. Of course, she could have made him release her, but the warm protection of his arms was too delightful to let go of so soon.
“It makes no difference, but I’m curious. I would also like to know where you come from and how you came by those interesting blades of yours.”
Her heart pounded in her ears. Don’t tell him. The warmth of his embrace and the intimacy of the moment blurred her resolve. If she pushed him away, she might never feel so comfortable again. “I was born Lilly Blunt, though I suspect my mother made that name up as it is a bit too grand for the likes of us. She was a seamstress in Suffolk.”
“That is very respectable. Why change your name?”
His arms tightened.
She pulled away from him. He released her, so she sat up and moved a few feet away. The fire warmed her, but a shiver still ran up her spine. The ghosts of her past haunted her still. Damn them.
“I do not know who my
The crackle of wood burning woke her. The sun touched down at the horizon, and the earth cooled beneath her. She shot up. “Dorian?”
“I am here.” He sat across from her on the grass and added wood to the fire.
“I apologize for falling asleep. I should have helped with the firewood.”
He shrugged. “You were tired.”
“You should sleep. No one will bother us here.”
He stood and moved closer before sitting on the blanket next to her. “How do you know?”
“I have hidden here and watched demons march by. They will not enter this place. I think it might be holy ground, too sacred for even the demons to enter. On the other side of the pond, behind the trees, there is a circle of standing stones. No demons will come near the area.”
His eyes sparkled in the firelight as he looked across to the area she’d spoken about. Scanning the entire clearing as she had done time and time again, looking for some hint of why the demons did not enter. His hard chest pressed against her back, and he pulled the blanket around them, forming a warm cocoon.
An intellectual nobleman and a peasant demon hunter; what creature might they emerge as? His arm banded around her middle, and her mind could process nothing besides the feel of this man. “Dorian, why are you so opposed to bedding me?”
His low chuckle tickled her ear. “I am not opposed, my lady. I just want more.”
“If we get sex out of the way, we could become friends.”
The fire crackled. His breath warmed her neck with an even cadence. He must have fallen asleep or found her too disgusting to speak to, yet his arm remained snug to her middle.
“Is that how you and Foxjohn became such good friends?” Low and close, his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“A long time ago.”
“And were their others, Lilly?”
“What do you mean?”
His grip around her waist tightened. “Besides Reece, have you made a habit out of sleeping with men to relieve the stress of battle?”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? I just do not want you to get yourself killed because you are admiring my legs.”
“And you think lovemaking will lessen my interest?”
“Of course.”
“Lilly, you are a puzzle to me. I want to know everything about you, and yet, I fear what you might tell me.”
“Because you think I’m a whore.” She hated the tear that slid down her cheek. Damn the pain his disapproval stabbed in her heart. Why should it matter what one man thought of her? He didn’t mean anything to her. He never would.
“No. Never that.”
“What do you think then?”
“I do not know what to make of you. I know you are not French, and Dellacourt is a false name.”
“But one I have been using for a long time, monsieur .”
“What is your real name?”
“What does it matter?” She pulled away, but he held her tight. Of course, she could have made him release her, but the warm protection of his arms was too delightful to let go of so soon.
“It makes no difference, but I’m curious. I would also like to know where you come from and how you came by those interesting blades of yours.”
Her heart pounded in her ears. Don’t tell him. The warmth of his embrace and the intimacy of the moment blurred her resolve. If she pushed him away, she might never feel so comfortable again. “I was born Lilly Blunt, though I suspect my mother made that name up as it is a bit too grand for the likes of us. She was a seamstress in Suffolk.”
“That is very respectable. Why change your name?”
His arms tightened.
She pulled away from him. He released her, so she sat up and moved a few feet away. The fire warmed her, but a shiver still ran up her spine. The ghosts of her past haunted her still. Damn them.
“I do not know who my
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