Seduce Me at Sunrise (The Hathaways #2)(27)

"No." His voice was barely audible. "It was only friendship. And pity."

Win felt her face go very white. Her eyes and nose prickled. A hot tear leaked down her cheek. "Liar," she said, and turned away.

The door closed gently.

Kev never remembered walking back to his room, only that he eventually found himself standing beside his bed. Groaning a curse, he sank to his knees and gripped huge handfuls of the counterpane and buried his face in it. He was in hell.

Holy Christ, how Win devastated him. He had starved for her for so long, dreamed of her so many nights, and woken to so many bitter mornings without her that at first he hadn't believed she was real.

He thought of Win's lovely face, and the softness of her mouth against his, and the way she had arched beneath his hands. She had felt different, her body supple and strong. But her spirit was the same, radiant with the endearing sweetness and honesty that had always pierced straight to his heart. It had taken all his strength not to go to his knees before her.

Win had asked for friendship. Impossible. How could he could separate any part of the unwieldy tangle of his feelings, and hand over such a small piece? And she knew better than to ask. Even in the Hathaways' eccentric world, some things were forbidden.

Kev had nothing to offer Win except degradation. Even Cam Rohan had been able to provide Amelia with his considerable wealth. But Kev had no worldly possessions, no grace of character, no education, no advantageous connections, nothing that the gadje valued. He had been isolated and maltreated even by the people of his own tribe for reasons he had never understood. But on some elemental level, he knew that he must have deserved it. Something about him had destined him for a life of violence. And no rational being would say there was any benefit for Win Hathaway to love a man who was, essentially, a brute.

If she was well enough to marry someday, it would be to a gentleman.

To a gentle man.

Chapter Eight

In the morning, Leo met the governess.

Poppy and Beatrix had both written to him about having acquired a governess a year earlier. Her name was Miss Marks, and they both liked her, although their descriptions didn't exactly convey why they should like such a creature. Apparently she was slight and quiet and stern. She was helping not only the sisters but the entire family learn to acquit itself in society.

Leo thought this social instruction was probably a good thing. For everyone else, not himself.

When it came to polite behavior, society tended to be far more exacting of women than men. And if a man had a title and held his liquor reasonably well, he could do or say nearly anything he liked, and still be invited everywhere.

Through a quirk of fate Leo had inherited a vis-councy, which had taken care of the first part of the equation. And now after the long stay in France, he had limited his drinking to a glass of wine or two at supper. Which meant he was relatively certain of being received at any dull and respectable event in London that he had no desire to attend.

He only hoped that the formidable Miss Marks would try to correct him. It might be amusing to set her back on her heels.

Leo knew next to nothing about governesses, save for the drab creatures in novels, who tended to fall in love with the lord of the manor, always with bad results. However, Miss Marks was entirely safe from him. For a change, he had no interest in seducing anyone. His former dissipated pursuits had lost their power to enthrall him.

On one of Leo's ambles around Provence to visit some Gallo-Roman architectural remains, he had encountered one of his old professors from the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. The chance meeting had resulted in a renewed acquaintanceship. In the months to come, Leo had spent many an afternoon sketching, reading, and studying in the professor's atelier, or workshop. Leo had arrived at some conclusions that he intended to put to the test now that he was back in England.

As he strolled nonchalantly along the long hallway that led to the Hathaway suite, he heard rapid footsteps. Someone was running toward him from the other direction. Moving to the side, Leo waited with his hands tucked in his trouser pockets.

"Come here, you little fiend!" he heard a woman snarl. "You oversized rat! When I get my hands on you, I'll rip out your innards!"

The bloodthirsty tone was unladylike. Appalling. Leo was vastly entertained. The footsteps drew closer… but there was only one set of them. Who on earth could she be chasing?

It quickly became clear that she was not pursuing a "who" but a "what." The furry, slithery body of a ferret came loping along the hallway with a frilly object clamped in his mouth. Most hotel guests would no doubt be disconcerted by the sight of a small carnivorous mammal streaking toward them. However, Leo had lived for years with Beatrix's creatures: mice appearing in his pockets, baby rabbits in his shoes, hedgehogs wandering casually past the dining table. Smiling, he watched the ferret hurry past him.

The woman came soon after, a mass of rustling gray skirts as she ran full bore after the creature. But if there was one thing ladies' clothing was not designed to do, it was to facilitate ease of movement. Weighted by layers and layers of fabric, she stumbled and fell a few yards away from Leo. A pair of spectacles went flying to the side.

Leo was at her side in an instant, crouching on the floor as he sorted through the hissing tangle of limbs and skirts. "Are you hurt? I feel certain there's a woman in here somewhere… Ah, there you are. Easy, now. Let me-"

"Don't touch me," she snapped, batting at him with her fists.