Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(17)

Her words brought him back to the conversation.

“Ah, of course.” He should’ve realized.

Ubertino had informed him of her bath when the Corsican had woken him with wine and bread to break his fast.

He walked carefully to his chest of drawers. He must have something to cover her—for the good of his own sanity if nothing else.

Behind him, she said, “Is there someplace where I can procure suitable clothing?”

He turned with one of his banyans in his hands. “No. The only other woman in the abbey is Nicoletta, and she’s hardly your size.”

She took the banyan from him, looking hopeful. “The town where the vicar came from surely has a seamstress of some sort.”

He was already shaking his head before she was done speaking. “It’s far too dangerous for you to go into town without me. I don’t want the Lords to realize that you’re alive until I’m recovered.”

“But surely—”

“No.”

His harsh tone stilled her for a moment in the act of donning the banyan.

Her lips tightened. “Can I at least send a letter to the Duke of Kyle informing him of my safety?”

He frowned at the thought. “No.”

She narrowed her eyes and finished pulling the banyan around her. The hem puddled on the floor, and the ebony color made her skin glow.

He really shouldn’t mourn the veiling of her form.

“He’ll be searching for me,” she said with a clear hint of defiance. “He’ll be worried. I can’t think putting his mind at rest would do you or me any harm.”

“Don’t you?” he snapped. “And if the Lords of Chaos follow my man to Kyle—if they find out that you’re alive while I’m still recovering from this wound?”

She knit her eyebrows. “Your men can guard both of us, surely.”

“You don’t understand how great the danger is.” Raphael clenched his jaw, fighting dizziness, trying to convey the problem to her so she wouldn’t do anything stupid. “The Lords of Chaos have held their revels in this area for decades. Their influence is deep with the local people. Indeed, my father led their society for years. The revel you were at last night was on my own lands.”

“What?” She stared at him in what looked like horror. “You invited them to hold their debauchery on your property?”

“No,” he snapped impatiently. “It’s hardly as simple as that.” His shoulder was a throbbing mass of heat, and he tightened his grip on the bedpost. “The Lords do as they please—and it pleases them to continue their revels at the ruined cathedral on my estate. My father enjoyed having them here. When I discovered that the Lords meant to hold the spring rite here, I realized it was in my own interests to let them continue with their plans.”

“Your interests as a member of the Lords of Chaos, you mean.” She was edging toward the door to the bedroom as if she could flee clad only in his shirt and banyan.

He wanted to laugh, but he hadn’t truly laughed in years.

He took a deep breath and strode forward quickly, then grasped her shoulders.

She started and his head spun.

For a moment he thought he might vomit.

“Let me go,” she said. “Let me go, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve already shot me.”

If he thought to embarrass her, he failed.

“Yes, I did.” Her blue-gray eyes met his unflinchingly, and he could do naught but admire her spirit.

He squeezed her shoulders. The soap she’d used in her bath must’ve been perfumed with oranges, for the scent seemed to surround him. “I’m not a member of the Lords of Chaos.”

“Then why were you there last night? Why were you nude and wearing a mask, ready to participate in their orgy?”

“Because I mean to infiltrate them,” he gritted. The room was beginning to spin. “Find out who the Dionysus is and destroy him. Destroy them all.”

She hesitated. “I … I don’t know if I believe you.”

“I don’t give a damn,” he lied, and fell heavily against her.

She cried out as his weight hit her, staggering back against the wall, but her arms came up to brace him. His face rested against her neck, his lips on soft, cool skin, and somehow his left hand had landed on her breast.

Most fortuitous, that.

No. No, such things weren’t for the likes of him. He needed to resist. To pull away from her.

But he seemed unable.

“You’re burning,” she gasped.

“Then you ought not to touch me,” he said seriously. “You’ll be consumed.”

“Too late,” she muttered, and pivoted, trying to drag him, he presumed, toward the bed. “You’re awfully heavy—”

“My soul is made of lead.”

“—and you’re delirious,” she ended decisively. “I need to get help.”

He stirred at that. “Don’t leave.”

Her eyes were so lovely. “I must find Ubertino.”

He raised his head, staring into those storm-cloud eyes. “Promise me you won’t leave the abbey.” If she left him, all the light would leave as well.