Page 25 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
His bedchamber door opened. From his position, he couldn’t see through the ajar door into his bedchamber, but he could only presume it was Roberts preparing Zachary’s clothes for when he eventually left the bath. Though if it were up to him, he would never leave. He closed his eyes.
The dressing room door opened with a slight creak.
“I told you, Roberts, I have no need of your services,” he said without bothering to open his eyes. Loyal, Robert may be, but he was not abovepestering.
Silence. Suddenly uneasy, Zachary opened his eyes and looked to the doorway. Instead of Roberts standing there, it was Evangeline.
Evangeline, with those bright eyes wide, fixed on him, her mouth popped open in shock. Whatever she had come expecting, it had not been this.
That all too familiar rage swept through him, and he stood, water splashing onto the carpet beneath him. If she had come to cause more trouble, this would scare her away—the sight of him as he truly was, enough to scare any woman.
And perhaps seeing her reaction to him, finally, would be enough to put her from his head once and for all.
* * *
Evangeline should have run as soon as she’d seen the Marquess hadnot, in fact, gone out with his mother as she’d believed was his intention. As soon as he’d spoken to her thinking she was Robert, she should have definitely run.
But she did not. She wasn’t certain she could. Her knees appeared to have frozen in place, and if she moved, she would most likely fall. There was only so much one body could do to process shock.
Because he was naked. She had never seen a naked man before in any form, and not one whose entire body was laced with burns. The scarring was almost delicate, running like webbing down his chest, the skin an angry red. Very little of his torso had survived unscathed, but his legs were worst of all, and the skin still blistered there even now.
As for thethingbetween his legs—Now really was the moment to leave—to run, to pretend she had never witnessed such a thing—but when she glanced back up to the Marquess’ face, to the shame and fear that lingered alongside the anger in his eyes, her urge to run disappeared entirely.
“You should leave,” he said, his words grating as he stepped from the bath and fumbled with his robe. The worst of the burned skin disappeared underneath the white material—all of it save for his feet, red and blistered and twisted from the heat. “Or would you like to stare some more?”
The bite of anger in his voice made her flinch, and he dropped his head into his hands.
“I was not—I thought you were not here,” she said, the explanation insufficient, but what else could she say? “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
“What trouble were you going to cause?” He looked back up at her with a bleak smile. “Was this part of some other plot to torment me?”
This time, her wince was because his words were entirely justified. “I—”
“Well, now you have seen it,” he said, bitterness coating every word. “The reason they call me a monster.”
She frowned. “Your skin?”
“What else?” This was a side to him she hadn’t seen before, an anger born of defensiveness and shame.
This was the man she had seen in the library, sitting with his head in his hands seeking a little peace. This was the man she had been unable to believe was wicked, no matter how hard she tried.
Against her every good judgment, she stepped forward, closer to him. “There is nothing to be ashamed of.” Now only a foot separated them, and she felt that tug again in her gut—closer, closer, closer. Until she could see the clouds that marred the blue of his eyes and the tight, hard mouth that she knew could soften into a smile even if he chose not to smile for her.
“The fire burned you,” she said, “but that does not make you a monster.”
He exhaled sharply. “You had better stay back, Evangeline.”
He had never called her directly by her name before and hearing it made her start. “Why should I?”
“Because I do not want to scare you.”
“Scare me?” She laughed in shock and surprise. “Why should you scare me? Have I not proven I am above fearing you? There is nothing you can do to scare me. Not now that I have seen all of you.”
The expression in his eyes darkened to something that made her stomach clench. “Are you certain?” he asked, something almost breathless in his voice. “What about if I were to do this?” With one, wet hand, he reached out and brushed her cheekbone. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and her skin ignited at the sensation. “Or perhaps, if I were to kiss you.”
Evangeline’s breath came short and sharp. “You would not dare.”
“You are in my dressing room, alone. Why should I resist?” He sounded almost as though he were persuading himself. “You have handed yourself to me, and you still do not run.”
