At first he had thought she was entertaining a man and had damn-near broken down the door in outrage.
And then… it had been his name she had spoken.
Not once, but twice.
First came shock, second, pride, naturally, that she was whispering his name even after he had caused her to cry, caused her to feel afraid and stupid.
So he’d done what any normal man would do. He had asked for her to repeat it. It was possible it had nothing to do with his own arrogance or inability to remember and everything to do with his need to watch her lips as they formed the word.
His body tightened at the thought.
Ten years of celibacy was clearly not agreeing with him in that moment. Not with her in that bed, memories of her mouth whispering his name. Memories of her taste floating through the air.
She moaned in her sleep.
His body wanted to moan right along with her.
One thing was certain: it was going to be a very long night.
And then the minx turned, the mattress moving ever so delicately under her weight, and a feminine arm sprawled across his chest.
It might as well have been a torch.
His body erupted in flames.
Bad flames. The kind that destroyed a man from the inside out, only to repeat the process until he begged for water to quench the thirst.
She was both flame and water.
With a sharp exhale, he tried to move her arm, but the minute his fingers touched her smooth skin, something in him cracked. Maybe it was his brain, for he realized in that moment he very much liked the feel of her skin against his, and maybe, just for the evening, it would be all right for them to touch.
Friends in the evening.
Enemies at dawn?
Yes, that was how it had to be. For entertaining any other thought with the woman would surely have a bad ending. That much he knew without a doubt.
Men like Ash did not receive the hero’s ending, nor the hero’s reward.
It was best he memorize her touch now — for when he delivered her to London, he would never experience it again.
“Princess!” A loud clamoring jolted Ash out of bed, promptly depositing him onto the cold hard floor. “Princess!”
“Bloody hell.” He groaned, unable to suppress his cursing in front of the princess. “Do they ever sleep?”
“It’s morning,” came her swift reply as she moved toward the door, fully dressed and looking like she’d had the best night of her life, while Ash hadn’t fallen asleep until the wee hours of the morning, and even then, the sleep hadn’t been quite… deep. What with her twitchy arm.
Not that he was complaining.
Best bed company he’d had in ten years, that arm.
“Yes?” Sofia pulled open the door as Cornelius saluted her.
Ash shook his head and stood, unsure whether he should pummel the man or rush him through his speech so he could get breakfast.
“A visitor.” He nodded swiftly. “From London.” Cornelius’s eyes turned glassy. Damnation, was the bloke going to cry? “Such a beautiful place, I can hardly believe we’ll be there so soon!”
“Yes, well…” Sofia gave his arm a patronizing pat. “…did the visitor give a name?”
“Yes.” Cornelius nodded.
Complete silence filled the doorway.
“Well?” Ash said gruffly, moving to stand beside Sofia. “What the bloody hell is it?”
“I swear on all that is holy, if you touched her, I’ll remove your head before Dominique gets the honor,” came his twin’s reply as he pushed himself into the room.
“Ah, lovely greeting,” Ash said dryly, his eyebrows arching. “Do you truly think I’m the type to ruin a woman, let alone one so… pure?”
Hunter Wolfsbane, Duke of Haverstone, stood to his full height, examining the princess slowly from head to toe. “By God, you look nothing like him!”
“Who?”
“It’s remarkable!” Hunter addressed Ash. “She doesn’t look terrifying at all! Not even remotely like the Beast.”
“She can give a good scare...” Ash met her gaze and smiled slowly. “…what with the right circumstances and such.”
“So small...” Hunter tilted his head, continuing his immensely improper staring. “…like a miniature pony.”
“Did you just compare me to a pony?” Sofia gritted her teeth. “And who are you, sir?”
“Your Grace,” Hunter corrected. “You may curtsy when you see fit to remember your station.”
Sofia’s eyes widened with irritation.
Ash stifled a groan. “She’s a princess.”
“Yes, and I’m a duke and this is not her country. Shall we hold a parade later?”
“Hunter.” Ash groaned. “What are you doing here?”
“You were taking too long…” Hunter pulled a piece of invisible fuzz from his perfectly fitted jacket and examined it between his fingers before addressing the room again. “…and you know Dominique. He gets that damn twitch in his eye when he’s irritated.”
Ash nodded. “Is this the same twitch that is often followed by insults and the throwing of sharp objects, knives included?”
Hunter snapped his fingers. “That very one.” He shook his head longingly. “Lost my very favorite dinner jacket to one of those twitches. Then again, I wasn’t helping, what with my singing.”
“You do not sing,” Ash pointed out.
“Probably why he had a knife thrown at him,” Sofia said in a syrupy sweet voice.
Hunter turned to her, his yellow-brown eyes narrowing in amusement. “I think we’ll get along just fine, my dear. How old did you say you were? Fifteen?”
Sofia’s nostrils flared.
Ash felt the need to intervene before his brother found himself impaled by a sharp object, not that he’d feel the slightest bit guilty, since he clearly deserved such a tragic death. “She’s nineteen and ready for her debut.”
“Debut,” Hunter said the word slowly. “Ah yes, I believe Dominique mentioned a few men he’d picked from the lot. I imagine by the time we arrive back in London, they’ll have washed behind their ears and learned which utensils to use during dinner service.”
Ash coughed. “He’s joking.”
“He’s not.” Hunter winked at Sofia. “All right, I’ll just leave you to your morning ablutions. Ash, keep your dirty hands to yourself. Sofia, a pleasure, my dear. You’ll be traveling with me the rest of the journey to London, while my twin makes sure to keep the riffraff away.”