Page 143 of Their Master

The thought shocked him, and he waited for a red, raging wave of possessive anger—like the one that he’d felt the night Luke told him that he wanted to be Moira’s lover.

But none came.

Instead, he felt a sadness that infused every part of his body and left him feeling as if he weighed a thousand pounds.

Only mere feet away—in a house that he’d provided—were the two people he liked most in the entire world, and they were together, without him.

And it was nobody’s fault but his own.

Chapter 34

“Can I move now?”

Moira smirked at Luke’s pained voice. “Fine,” she said, looking up from the half-finished sketch. “You may take a ten-minute break.”

Luke groaned and rolled his massive shoulders, the action causing the familiar tightening in her sex. He was a beautiful, beautiful man.

“I want to see it,” he said, pushing off the chaise lounge where she’d had him reclining—unfortunately still clothed as he’d refused to be nude in the middle of the day.

“Not until it’s finished,” she said, pulling the sketchpad closer to her chest.

He winced. “You’re going to get charcoal all over that gown and ruin it.” A wicked gleam entered his sky-blue eyes. “I think you should sketch in the nude from now on.”

Moira laughed. “I will if you will.”

“You sound like my ten-year-old niece,” he chided, his playful smirk positively adorable and so very, very rare. He bent to pick up his coat and slipped it on. “We’re finished for today.”

“Oh, we are?” she asked. Moira found it entertaining that her so-called servant managed to boss her around so thoroughly.

“Yes,” he said, his long, thick fingers deftly fastening the buttons. “You wanted to go and listen to Mister Darwin talk about his new book and that means you shall have to dine early.”

“Ah,” Moira said, closing her sketch book. “I’d forgotten that was tonight. What time do—”

A series of shouts came from the corridor.

Luke frowned. “What was—”

The loudcrackof a gun interrupted his words and Moira shrieked.

“My God, what is—”

Luke moved toward her like a blur. “Get down behind the settee,” he ordered, his eyes on the door.

“But—”

“Do it, Moira!” he ordered, gently but firmly pressing her down and then standing in front of the settee just as the drawing door opened hard enough to hit the wall.

“What do you want?” Luke asked whoever had entered the room, his tone so cold that it didn’t even sound like him.

A hysterical laugh filled the room, the sound chilling. “You’re not who I’m looking for, but you’ll do.”

Moira recognized the voice as belonging to Charles Smith, although he hadn’t sounded so shrill and brittle—sounhinged—the last time.

“Where is she?” Charles demanded shrilly.

“She’s not here.”

“Quit. Lying.”

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