Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(57)

If he survived his fight with Murad, would Hestia understand his thirst to be avenged and wait for him? Would she forgive him for taking advantage of her in his drug-induced haze? Could they have a life together once his past was put to rest?

He could wake Hestia now and learn his answer. But he knew that would be dangerous. She would ask questions and demand answers. Answers he did not wish to give.

He did not know what he would do if Hestia begged him to forgo his quest. What if she asked him to simply find her father, and then take them all safely back to England?

What was worse by far was the fear that he might even listen to her. He wanted the life she offered. He’d be tempted to forgo his vengeance.

But then Hestia would only have half a man for a husband. How long would it be before the injustice of what Murad did to him, did to Tulay, ate through his soul and his need for opium grew to the point he could not function without it? He could not bear for Hestia to be stuck married to that man, the opium eater who could not function as a husband or a duke should.

With a heavy heart he stroked his thumb over her bottom lip and decided their conversation could wait.

Capture Fredrick, find the earl, then hand her safely into her father’s care. He would of course offer his hand in marriage. It was the honorable thing to do.

He would need to marry her before he went after Murad. If he died, Hestia needed to have the protection of his name because he had taken her innocence, and though very unlikely, she might be with child.

He took one more look at her sleeping form and then silently left the room.

—

Hestia loved dreaming.

Her skin burned, her body quivered with longing.

She drifted awake as dawn broke. She lay back, a satisfied smile on her lips. The dream had been thrilling, the rumpled sheets indicating her disturbed sleep. Her fingers touched her mouth. She ached for the feel of his soft, firm lips. Her night in his arms had fulfilled her wildest fantasies and her dreams relived her experience in vivid glory.

She dreamed of Alex. Her heart fluttered in her breast at the thought of him. There was no hiding from the truth in the gray dawn light.

She’d loved him from the minute she’d met him. He was the first man to awaken the woman in her, to set her body trembling with just one look. She’d fallen in love with him on their voyage home from the Greek isles.

It wasn’t simply that he’d saved her, although how could her hero not turn her head? Alex was stunningly beautiful, like a Greek god, with chiseled features and rippling muscles; it was the essence of the man she learned about as they sailed home to England. His force of personality drew her like the roaring flames of a fire on a cold day.

He was brave.

In order to rescue her, he’d had to face the man who’d held him captive and who used him like a slave for over two years. With strength and courage, he’d faced Murad in order to save her, when he could so easily have been captured again. He’d given no thought to the risk of failure.

He was selfless.

Alex had had to dump his cargo, a fortune’s worth of goods and antiquities, in order to ensure their ship was light and fast so they could outrun the pirates Murad sent after them.

He was kind.

Alex had ensured she was not embarrassed by her treatment at the hands of the sultan. He spent time comforting a young girl when she had nightmares about her ordeal. He promised he’d never let anyone hurt her again, and he proved it over and over again. His calm assurance gave her the strength and pride to overcome the indignity of her captivity.

He had patience.

Even when she’d followed him about the ship like a little puppy, he’d never let his irritation at having a shadow by his side show. She didn’t understand back then, but as she grew up she understood the ribbing his crew threw at him over her singular devotion to him.

But most of all it was his tenderness that captured her heart, body, and soul.

The way he’d tended her wounds. He had treated her as if she were the most delicate flower in the garden. His fingers on her face and body had been gentle, commanding, and for a young girl of sixteen, on the brink of womanhood, stimulating.

He was the only man for her. A man who would be a true partner, and who wouldn’t try and closet her away. He’d never want a woman to simply bear children and run his household. He treated her as an equal.

But last night had taught her one more thing about Alex.

He did not love her.

How could he when he dreamed of a woman named Tulay?

She’d thought of everything when choosing whom she wanted to marry except for the most important. You could not make someone love you no matter how much you loved them.

To her everlasting embarrassment, she had to face the man to whom she’d given herself, as if nothing had happened between them the other night.

She’d die if he ever found out she’d taken advantage of him when he was in a drug-induced sleep. If he learned what she had done, he would insist on marrying her, and she could not bear to trap him when he did not love her. Or worse still, loved another.

Tulay.

Decision made. She would act as if nothing had occurred.

—

Once dressed, Hestia made her way to the stateroom for breakfast. Of course, as if the day could not get any worse, the only person at the table was Alex. She ran her hand down her breeches and tried to gain leverage over her skittering emotions.

She took a deep breath and relaxed against the cabin wall just out of his line of sight, and contented herself to stare at him.