“Thank you, Donovan,” she said through gritted teeth. “You have been very patient and I don’t need anything else.”
He looked as troubled as he did relieved to be let off the hook in answering her. Still, he didn’t press the issue and bowed away, leaving her alone. For a moment, she went back to staring the fire, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides as she thought about Oscar creeping around his own house, trying to make certain she didn’t see him.
It was ridiculous. If his mind or heart had changed when it came to housing her, she needed to know. She needed to make some other arrangement, whatever that might be.
She needed to understand if she’d done something to offend him. And the best way to handle all of that was head on.
She pivoted on her heel and strode from the room, down the hall and to his study door. It was closed, but she could see light dancing beneath it, which meant the fire was high and likely the lamps were lit. He was in there. Alone. And this was the perfect opportunity.
She lifted a trembling hand, girded all her strength, and knocked. There was a beat of hesitation, and then Oscar’s voice came from the other side. “Enter.”
She did so and took in a deep breath as she did so. This was one of the few rooms kept locked during the day, one of the few rooms she hadn’t yet seen in her exploration of the house.
It was wonderful. Large and warm, with dark wood paneling, a fine expensive, wallpaper and a huge fireplace. Its mantel rose all the way to the top of the ceiling and was lined with stones. A dark and sophisticated room which fit the man sitting at the cherry wood desk, quill in hand, still focused on the papers before him.
“And she’s fine, then?” he asked.
She blinked. He hadn’t even looked up at her. He thought she was Donovan, and now the reason for the butler’s concern for her was more obvious. Oscar had sent him to check on her.
“She’s standing right here,” she said softly. “Ask her yourself, or are you too cowardly for it?”
He jerked his gaze up and his knuckles whitened around the quill. He slowly rose as he set the writing instrument away. “Good evening, Imogen.”
“Excellent,” she said, pushing the door shut behind her and folding her arms. “You recall my name.”
He arched a brow at her cheek, and for a moment she lost her breath. It was very irritating that he could spear her in place with just one look. With just one stern frown. It made her forget herself and in this situation that was not what she needed to do.
“So you are angry with me,” he said, his tone not revealing his reaction to that observation.
“No.” She shifted her weight. “Yes.”
“Very confusing. Is it no or yes?”
“Yes!” she snapped. “I am angry. Or at least…irritated. Or maybe it’s confused?” He was staring at her now like she wasn’t making sense, and she supposed she wasn’t. Drat and damn the man for being so disquieting. She drew a breath and started again. “I appreciate all you’re doing for me. I assume you have been working on my…my situation.”
A shadow crossed his expression, troubled and dark. “I have,” he said softly.
“And that means a great deal. I’m not trying to be ungrateful.”
“But…” he encouraged her.
“But I have hardly seen you in three days,” she gasped out. “Not one shared meal, not one conversation. I’m going mad in these halls, Mr. Fitzhugh, and I have no idea where I stand with you. Are you annoyed with me? Do you regret helping me?”
“No.” It was one word, eased out slowly and with no other explanation.
She threw up her hands. “It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it?”
The words left her mouth and she clapped a hand over her lips, but it was too late now. She had been imprudent in her irritation. Said the thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. Brought up the moments that had been haunting her for three long nights.
He was stock still for what felt like an eternity. Then he slowly came around the desk and eased toward her a few steps. His gaze never left hers, and she was frozen by the force of that look and the powerfully attractive man behind it.
She’d never known anyone with such command.
“You want to talk about that night,” he said.
“No.” She said it as an instinct. “Yes. No.”
“Confused again?” he teased, though it was gentle.
“If I am, it’s because you make me so,” she said.
He blinked and actually looked chagrined. He bent his head. “I have been avoiding you, you’re not mistaken in that assessment.”
“Did I do something…wrong?” she asked, and found herself moving a small step closer. Now they were no more than an arm’s length apart, and it took all her will power not to reach out and brush the tips of her fingers along the hard angle of his jaw.
“No,” he said. “I did. I shouldn’t have come into your room that night. I certainly shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have spread your legs and made you come. I shouldn’t keep thinking about all those things. You are here for refuge, not for…not for all the things I want to do to you. So I’m avoiding you because if I don’t, it will go far further than what happened the other night.”
Her lips parted. She’d been picturing a hundred reasons for his distance, but never this. Never that he wanted her that same way she wanted him. Never that he was fighting that or that he was losing the battle.
She licked her suddenly parched lips and reached out. They both watched her seeking fingers extend toward him, and when she brushed against his hand, they let out a sigh in unison. She heard the ragged desire in his breath, saw it in his eyes, felt it in the way he leaned toward her. He was a coiled spring, wound so tightly that he could pop at any moment.
She trembled at the thought.
“I don’t want you to avoid me,” she whispered.
“I’m fire, Imogen,” he said, and caught her seeking fingers. He threaded them between his own, unthreaded them, repeated the action. Such a simple touch, someone might even label it as innocent. But the reaction it caused was anything but. She felt like she was melting under the very heat he contained.
“I don’t mind being burned,” she whispered. “It’s impossible not to want to risk it when you’re standing there, staring at me like you want to eat me.”
His pupils dilated. “Eat you,” he murmured. “Now there is a wonderful idea.”
He caught her waist and drew her against him. Her air left her lungs, but it didn’t matter. Not when his mouth came down against hers. She didn’t need air or water or food, just this. Just him and the way he pushed her back toward the desk. He was forceful, rough, and she had no choice but to simply fall into the current of his desire and let it sweep her away.
He caught her hips, dragging away from her mouth and watching her as he lifted her onto the desk. “You want this?” he rasped, his breath short, his voice dark and deep and dangerous.
Perhaps she should have hesitated. Perhaps she should have refused. But she didn’t. “Yes.”
He asked nothing more, but caught her chin and held her firm as he kissed her yet again. She lifted against him, clinging to the lapels of his jacket as he reached behind her and pushed the items on the desk away. He lowered her back on the hard surface, his mouth dragging to her throat. He sucked hard there, and she dug her fingers into his hair with a gasp, holding him steady against her flesh.