To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(89)

Chapter Twenty

At the princess’s words, the Goblin King threw back his head and laughed until his green hair waved all about his head. “You shall be a delightful addition to my menagerie, my dear.”

He held out his horny hand. Princess Serenity laid her own small white hand in the Goblin King’s palm. At that very moment, Longsword appeared at a dead run.

“Stop!” he cried when he saw them. “Stop this dreadful thing! I did not know what my wife meant to do, but when I woke in the dark and found her gone, I suspected the worst. I have run all this night to prevent this thing.”

“Ah,” sighed the Goblin King. “But you are still too late. The pact between your wife and I has already been agreed upon and sealed. There is naught you can do. She is forfeit to me. . . .”

—from Longsword

“What will happen to Lord Hasselthorpe?” Beatrice asked later—much later—that day. She sat at her dressing table in her chemise, brushing her hair.

She watched Reynaud in the mirror. He lounged on the bed, his banyan falling open to reveal his bare chest. He’d discarded shoes and stockings, but he still wore his breeches. She’d almost lost him today, and the horror was still close to the surface. If she’d had her way, she would’ve shadowed him all day, just to watch him breathe. But they’d had to part early this morning. Reynaud had been concerned with taking Lord Hasselthorpe to prison, and she’d made an exhausting journey back to London in the company of a distraught Lady Hasselthorpe. The poor woman had had no idea of her husband’s murderous character, and moreover it seemed that she’d truly loved the awful man. Beatrice had spent the ride trying to comfort her.

As a result of all this, she’d only been reunited with Reynaud shortly after dinner, when he’d embraced her hurriedly and excused himself to bathe. His hair was still damp from that bath, she could see, and she wanted to touch it, but she restrained herself, feeling unaccountably shy.

“He’ll be charged with treason and murder,” he said. “And when he’s found guilty, he’ll be hanged.”

“How awful for Lady Hasselthorpe.” Beatrice shivered a little, placing her brush carefully on the dressing table. “Did he really inform the French of your regiment’s movements solely to kill his brother?”

Reynaud shrugged, causing his banyan to fall farther open. “He was probably paid as well, but I think the main reason was so he could steal his brother’s title.”

“What a terrible man.”

“Indeed.”

Beatrice swiveled on her stool to look at him fully. “I never thanked you for what you did to help pass Mr. Wheaton’s bill.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied quietly. “The men the bill benefits are soldiers. My men. I should’ve been more interested in the bill all along, instead of worrying solely about myself.”

She stood, walking toward him. “You’d lost everything. There was a reason you were focused on what you needed to have again.”

“No.” He shook his head and looked away, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “I thought only of money and lands and my title. I didn’t consider what was truly important until it was almost too late.”

She felt her throat tighten. She climbed into the bed to sit beside him and trailed her fingers down his chest. “And what is that?”

He turned and seized her hand, making her start.

“You.” He kissed the tips of her fingers, watching her with black eyes so serious they nearly frightened her. “You. Only you. I realized it on the ride to Hasselthorpe’s estate—realized it and knew I was too late. God, Beatrice. I rode for hours thinking that you would be dead before I got there.”

“I thought you might not come,” she admitted.

He closed his eyes as if in agony. “You must’ve been terrified. You must hate me.”

“No.” She drew their joined hands toward her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “I could never hate you. I love you.”

He grabbed her and rolled her under himself in a sudden movement. His position was dominating and aggressive. She should’ve been wary, but she had no fear of him at all.

Reynaud leaned close to her, nearly nose to nose. “Don’t say it unless you mean it. There’ll be no going back—no holding back—once you’re truly mine. I do not have it in me to let go once I have what I desire in my grasp. Tread softly.”

She framed his face with her palms. “I won’t tread softly. I want to go running and leaping. I’ll shout it from the rooftops. I love you. I’ve loved you since you came crashing into my tea party. Before that, really—ever since I was a young girl and saw that roguish portrait of you in the blue sitting room. I love you, Reynaud. I love—”

He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her words. She slid her hands up, reveling in the smooth feel of his hair beneath her hands. He was alive. She was alive. Joy flashed through her, and she widened her legs beneath him in invitation.

Fortunately, he seemed to have the same idea.

He tore his mouth from hers, gasping as he fumbled between their bodies. “You are mine. Forever, Beatrice.”

He levered himself up and pulled at the skirts of her chemise. Something ripped and then she felt his hot penis against her folds. He thrust into her, once, twice, and was fully seated, but he froze then.