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Authors: Tessa Dare
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think of you. Constantly. I did remember that perfect, sweet kiss when I was bleeding and starving and pissing scared. It was the thought that kept me going: Cecily Hale cares whether I live or die. I couldn’t risk asking word of you, don’t you understand? I didn’t want to know. Surely I’d learn you’d married one of those twenty-six men queuing up for the pleasure of your hand, and I would have nothing left.”
“But I didn’t marry any of them. I waited for you.”
“Then you were a fool.” He gripped her chin. “Because that man you waited for . . . he isn’t coming back. I’ve changed, too much. Some men lose a leg in war; others, a few fingers. I surrendered part of my humanity. Just like the ridiculous werestag you’re out here chasing.”
“I’m out here chasing you, you idiot!” She buffeted his shoulder with her fist. “You’re the one I love.”
He kissed her, hard and fast. Just for a moment. Just until her mouth stopped forming dangerous words and melted to a soft, generous invitation, and her fisted hand uncurled against his chest.
Then he pulled away.
“Listen to me. I admire you. Adore you. Hell, I’ve spent four years constructing some twisted, blasphemous religion around you. And you must know how badly I want you.” He slid a hand to the small of her back and crushed her belly against his aching groin, then kissed her again, to stifle his unwilling groan. “But I can’t love you, Cecily, not the way you deserve.”
“Who are you, to judge what I deserve?” She wrestled away from him and stalked to the cottage door, taking hold of the door handle and giving it a full-force tug. “And what do you mean, you can’t love me? Love isn’t a matter of can or can’t.” She pulled again, but the door would not budge. “It’s a matter of do or don’t. Either you do love me, and damn the consequences”—she tugged again, to no avail—“or you don’t, and we go our separate ways.”
She let go the door handle and released an exasperated huff.
Slowly, he walked to her side. “There’s a little latch,” he said, pulling on the string above her head. “Just here.”
The door swung open with a rusty creak. Together they stood on the threshold, peering into the cottage’s dimly lit interior.
“After you,” Cecily said wryly. “By all means.”
“The light’s fading. We should return to the manor.”
“Not yet,” she said, pushing him forward into the dirt-floored gloom. “Strip off your shirt.”
Chapter Six
“W hat?” Luke crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes darted from the cottage’s single window to the straw-tick bed huddled under the sloping corner of the roof. “You can’t be serious.”
Cecily found his panic vastly amusing. “Certainly I can.”
“Cecy, this is hardly the time and place for—”
“A tryst?” She laughed. “You think I mean to trap you in this secluded cottage and have my wicked way with you? You should be so lucky. No, remove your shirt. I want a look at your arm.”
“My arm?” His eyes narrowed. “Which one?”
“Which one do you think?” She crossed to him and began unknotting the cravat at his neck. “The one you injured while wrestling the boar last night.”
Oh, the look on his face . . .
Cecily wanted to kiss him. He was so adorably befuddled. At last, he’d let slip that hard mask of indifference he’d been wearing since his arrival at Swinford Manor. And in its place—there was Luke . Engaging green eyes, touchable dark brown hair, those lips so perfectly formed for roguish smiles and tender kisses alike.
This was the man she’d fallen in love with. The man she still loved now. Yes, he’d changed, but she had too. She was older, wiser, stronger than the girl she’d been. This time, she wouldn’t let him go.
“You knew?”
She smiled. “I knew.”
His breath hitched as she slipped the cravat from his neck. Attempting to ignore the wedge of bare chest it revealed, and the mad
“But I didn’t marry any of them. I waited for you.”
“Then you were a fool.” He gripped her chin. “Because that man you waited for . . . he isn’t coming back. I’ve changed, too much. Some men lose a leg in war; others, a few fingers. I surrendered part of my humanity. Just like the ridiculous werestag you’re out here chasing.”
“I’m out here chasing you, you idiot!” She buffeted his shoulder with her fist. “You’re the one I love.”
He kissed her, hard and fast. Just for a moment. Just until her mouth stopped forming dangerous words and melted to a soft, generous invitation, and her fisted hand uncurled against his chest.
Then he pulled away.
“Listen to me. I admire you. Adore you. Hell, I’ve spent four years constructing some twisted, blasphemous religion around you. And you must know how badly I want you.” He slid a hand to the small of her back and crushed her belly against his aching groin, then kissed her again, to stifle his unwilling groan. “But I can’t love you, Cecily, not the way you deserve.”
“Who are you, to judge what I deserve?” She wrestled away from him and stalked to the cottage door, taking hold of the door handle and giving it a full-force tug. “And what do you mean, you can’t love me? Love isn’t a matter of can or can’t.” She pulled again, but the door would not budge. “It’s a matter of do or don’t. Either you do love me, and damn the consequences”—she tugged again, to no avail—“or you don’t, and we go our separate ways.”
She let go the door handle and released an exasperated huff.
Slowly, he walked to her side. “There’s a little latch,” he said, pulling on the string above her head. “Just here.”
The door swung open with a rusty creak. Together they stood on the threshold, peering into the cottage’s dimly lit interior.
“After you,” Cecily said wryly. “By all means.”
“The light’s fading. We should return to the manor.”
“Not yet,” she said, pushing him forward into the dirt-floored gloom. “Strip off your shirt.”
Chapter Six
“W hat?” Luke crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes darted from the cottage’s single window to the straw-tick bed huddled under the sloping corner of the roof. “You can’t be serious.”
Cecily found his panic vastly amusing. “Certainly I can.”
“Cecy, this is hardly the time and place for—”
“A tryst?” She laughed. “You think I mean to trap you in this secluded cottage and have my wicked way with you? You should be so lucky. No, remove your shirt. I want a look at your arm.”
“My arm?” His eyes narrowed. “Which one?”
“Which one do you think?” She crossed to him and began unknotting the cravat at his neck. “The one you injured while wrestling the boar last night.”
Oh, the look on his face . . .
Cecily wanted to kiss him. He was so adorably befuddled. At last, he’d let slip that hard mask of indifference he’d been wearing since his arrival at Swinford Manor. And in its place—there was Luke . Engaging green eyes, touchable dark brown hair, those lips so perfectly formed for roguish smiles and tender kisses alike.
This was the man she’d fallen in love with. The man she still loved now. Yes, he’d changed, but she had too. She was older, wiser, stronger than the girl she’d been. This time, she wouldn’t let him go.
“You knew?”
She smiled. “I knew.”
His breath hitched as she slipped the cravat from his neck. Attempting to ignore the wedge of bare chest it revealed, and the mad
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