Page 36 of A Kiss Of Lies

He rose and flashed Sebastian a rakish smile of old. “I have a plan, and there is no point in waiting a moment longer. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a painful shoulder that needs someone to attend to it.”

Sebastian’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Shoulder? Is that what they are calling it now?”

Christian left the room with a chuckle resounding deep in his chest. He felt wonderful.

* * *

It was absurd how much she had missed Christian’s company this evening. She’d only known him a few days, but already her lonely soul cried out for the man’s intelligent conversation and soothing presence.

A hot flame kindled her overheated senses. Conversation wasn’t the only thing she had found appealing about Christian.

She fanned her face with the book she was attempting to read. It wasn’t solely the humidity of the breezeless night making her feel so lightheaded. She leaned against the window seat, letting what little air there was wash over her and looking out over the lit garden, trying to spot the sea in the moonlit night. She could hear the lapping of the waves against the shore.

It was ridiculous. How could he have had such an effect on her this quickly?

She’d only known him a few days. But she’d worshiped him for most of her adult life. Not only was he the hero of her dreams, but he’d returned from the war a hero in real life. A hero all maidens dreamed of—gallant, brave, and distinguished.

Her stomach fluttered, as if a flurry of butterflies had taken up residence there, when she remembered the way her heart had leaped at his every smile. Her knees always went weak when she saw his startlingly warm green eyes. Eyes that were filled with such sadness and compassion.

Every time she looked deep into their depths she got the strangest feeling that if she gave in to his seductive charms, he could offer her far more than pleasure. He could perhaps give her back her pride, her dignity, and her hope for the future.

She threw the book on the floor in disgust. What future? All she had to look forward to was a life of living in fear. Fear that someone would recognize her, or find out who she was and, worse, what she’d done. Find out that she was a murderess . . .

She buried her face in her hands as violent shivers racked her frame. She was sick of having to be careful. The idea that she had to hide for the rest of her life was soul-destroying. Gone were her dreams of family, children—love.

Who could love her now?

Who could love such a coward? She should have stood up to her husband the first time he’d hit her. She should have swallowed her pride and fled his home and refused to go back, no matter the scandal that would have ensued.

She rose and paced the room. She was fooling herself. Her father would have seen to it that she was returned to her husband. The Duke would have told her to honor the agreement he’d made with Peter and to honor her marriage vows. He would have sent his only daughter straight back to a monster, all to save his pride. For if she had refused, Peter would have made sure everyone knew the Duke of Hastings had sold his daughter like a lowly slave.

On that dreadful night her world had changed forever. The night she’d killed Peter, he’d gone too far. He’d always enjoyed perversion, but he’d never let anyone else touch her. That night had been different, and she sensed he was tiring of her. She knew Peter could make her disappear, and no questions would be asked. He’d threatened her once before. Threatened to snap her neck if she didn’t obey him, brutally teasing her with how he’d make it look as if she’d been thrown from her horse.

She pushed the palms of her hands deep into her eyes, trying to blank out the horrors she’d lived through. The things he’d done to her, made her do to him . . . the thought of forced intimacies with a man—any man . . . What man would want her now? She was dirty, tainted by Peter’s touch and debauchery.

She was damaged, and she doubted she’d ever feel clean again, not even with Christian.

Would he understand she’d had little choice but to obey, or would he too look at her with revulsion?

Her breathing calmed and she thought about Christian’s touch the other night. He’d been gentle. He’d made her feel special. Most important, he’d not forced her, tricked her, or degraded her. She couldn’t imagine him letting anyone under his care get hurt.

Then, for the millionth time, she berated herself for being a coward and choosing to eat early with Lily, leaving the men to their privacy. She wanted to learn more about her wounded hero.

But, as usual, she was taking the cowardly way out. When would she ever get back her courage? As a debutante, she’d been fearless, flirting with and teasing her band of merry followers. Now she hid from everyone. No more flirting for her. Lord Coldhurst had wanted to flirt with her, she had noted.

Sarah was worried about the way Lord Coldhurst had studied her. She wasn’t worried that he might try to seduce her. He would try, of that she was sure, for his reputation had preceded him. But he’d not succeed.

Three years ago she had been at a ball that Lord Coldhurst had also attended, and she had been introduced to him. Luckily, he was in hot pursuit of a widow, the stunningly beautiful Lady Sheridan. He’d had no interest in a young debutante looking for a husband. However, she did not wish to tempt fate. The less time spent in the handsome marquis’s company, the better.

He might recognize her. Her nervousness had flared again and the sickness in her stomach had returned as soon as she set foot on the island. She was happy enough to be tucked away at Roaring Pavilions, but what excuse would she give if Christian insisted on them going into town?

She stopped pacing and stretched her arms over her head. It had been a tiring day. She still felt a bit lightheaded from all the sun. She moved around her spacious bedchamber and blew out the candles, leaving the curtains undrawn, so that the moonlight flooded in. She stripped off her clothes and slipped into a thin cotton shift that only came to her knees. It was too hot for anything else. She left the windows open and, still feeling uncomfortably warm, lay on top of the covers.

She’d only just closed her eyes when she heard a soft rap on her door. It was probably Margarita. The housekeeper had promised to bring her a cool drink to help her sleep.

When she opened the door she felt the heat rise to furnace level when she saw who stood there. She took a few steps back in shock.

“I’ve come for my treatment. You promised you’d see to my shoulder every night. I’ve been downstairs waiting for you,” Christian said lightly as he sauntered into the room, closing the door firmly behind him without seeming to care that she was semi-naked.

---