Page 68 of Seducing the Knave

Chapter Eighteen

It was late again by the time Max returned to his room.

He and Carver had spent a great portion of the day following up on the information Gregor Dune had eventually spilled about Gill Rook. Most of what the man had said had so far proven to be true. Max’s longtime enemy would soon be dealt with.

Afterward, Carver had gone on to handle an issue in Wapping while Max had gone to visit some of his other properties about London. He’d wanted to ensure the greater security he’d requested after the recent raids were sufficiently instated. But that had still left him with a number of hours to waste so he traipsed over to Mayfair and spied on Park Street for a bit before strolling to the new Marquess of Ilsworth’s bachelor residence.

Neither location revealed anything concerning, which left his mind free to wander.

And all he seemed capable of thinking about was Elle.

He hadn’t intended last night to happen.

At least, not in the way it had.

But when he’d seen her standing there as he’d wiped Dune’s blood from his knuckles, knowing there was no way she could not know what he’d been about, all he’d wanted to do was get her out of there. Get her back to his personal sanctuary, where the ugliest and most dangerous aspects of his life couldn’t intrude.

And then—once he got her through the double doors of his bedroom and saw the panic, then the pride, then the flare of passion in her eyes, he’d been overwhelmed with the desire to show her that he was not made for violence alone. That his hands were capable of far more than the infliction of pain. The desperate need to make love to her had been staggering.

He’d somehow managed to resist that base and ferocious urge only by ensuring she experienced at least a taste of the pleasure he wanted—needed—so badly to give her.

Yet all day, he’d been unable to escape the sense that something had been left unfinished. It was a feeling similar to what he got when he detected an opportunity within his reach, like a glimmer of gold in the dark.

He needed her again.

But worse than that...he wanted her. Wanted to see her, talk to her, be with her.

Tension invaded his body at the realization. His life was nothing like the one she’d come from. It was dangerous and dark and grimy and it was filled with pain and disappointment and he couldn’t protect everyone all the time. No matter how hard he tried to prevent it, horrible things still happened to those most vulnerable. He knew that well enough. Any association with him brought with it an inescapable risk.

But he was a right selfish bastard.

As he entered the quiet darkness of his bedroom, his gaze flew first to the deep shadows of his bed. She wasn’t there.

The disappointment was sharp and unexpected.

Fuck.

He strode silently across the room until he found her sleeping form curled up on the sofa before the low-burning fire, the velvet coverlet from his bed draped over her. She hadn’t left.

It had occurred to him that she might, but he’d discounted the thought several times because Elle wouldn’t be spooked so easily. Besides, she truly had nowhere to go. He knew from Langworth’s reports that she’d reached out to her acquaintances in town and had received no response. Her sly cousin’s lies had certainly done their worst.

Though she continued to breathe even and deep and her eyes remained closed, he got the sense she was awake. There was too much awareness hovering about her. Too much tension in the air.

Unable to resist a smile, he removed his coat and tossed it aside as he strode to the washstand in the corner near the bathtub. It was a bit late to call for a bath, but he did feel a need to wipe away some of the grime from the day.

He shrugged free of his waistcoat before tugging his shirt up over his head, then he toed off his boots before stripping off the rest of his clothes. After pouring water into the washbowl, he used a cloth and a sliver of soap to wash. The water was frustratingly cold, forcing him to clench his teeth through the process, but afterward, he felt refreshed and not nearly as exhausted as he’d been when he’d first gotten home.

Though the woman behind him still hadn’t stirred, he suspected by the sensitivity of his skin and the swiftness of his blood that she’d watched him. The shadows in this corner of the room likely kept the show to a dim suggestion, but the thought of her eyes following his movements still triggered a harsh rise in his ever-present lust.