a moment on her flushed face, as if memorizing her features, then dropped to her chest where her breasts were pushed forward by the unnatural position of her hands. He raked his fingers through his hair in a distracted gesture and a flush darkened his cheekbones.
She raised her brows at him imperiously.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
She sent him an exasperated look to remind him just how ridiculous that was. “Go away.”
* * *
Alex locked the door, pocketed the key, and strode down the corridor, desperate to leave the confounding woman behind. He could barely contain his need to do violence. Not to Emmy, but to the bastard who’d placed her in such an untenable position.
The irony of the fact that he’d completely reversed his position, from being angry at her to being angry for her, did not escape him. The desire to protect her, from Danton, from herself, from her own foolish choices, was almost overwhelming.
He’d witnessed the infinite possibilities of violence in his three years of war. He knew the damage that could be inflicted on the human body. The thought of someone hurting Emmy made him break out in a cold sweat. If this Danton harmed a single hair on her head, he’d tear him apart with his bare hands.
Alex exhaled slowly and tried to calm the pounding in his blood. He needed distance. Not proximity. Emmy Danvers was dangerous. She sucked all the air from his lungs. No wonder he couldn’t think straight; his poor brain was permanently deprived of oxygen whenever he was near her.
What did he want from her? He let out a despairing laugh. He wanted her to be a different woman. He wanted her to be the perfect, innocent girl he’d held fast in his memory for so long. He wanted her not to be a criminal.
What if she hadn’t been the Nightjar? He forced himself to complete the thought. What if he’d simply recognized her across a dance floor as the girl from the garden and learned she was a paragon of virtue, perfectly socially acceptable. Would he have been contemplating marriage?
He doubted it. Because although he might have been physically attracted to her, he couldn’t imagine having much in common with a paragon. He’d have been bored with a perfect, automaton, society wife who only wanted to throw dinner parties and go shopping. It was Emmy’s passion for adventure, her bravery, her brilliance, that attracted him.
He usually lost interest in a woman once he’d bedded her. The thrill of the chase was gone, the mystique shattered. He should have been immune to her by now. But he was even more drawn to her this morning than last night, if that were possible. Even after she’d confessed.
He should be feeling elated. He’d captured the Nightjar and made her admit her crimes. But that paled in comparison to the triumph he’d felt when he’d joined his body with hers, the satisfaction of holding her in his arms. He wanted her again.
No. Last night’s lapse could be dismissed as temporary insanity brought on by shock and a whole host of other, contradictory emotions. Taking her to bed a second time would be a colossal mistake for which there was no excuse. He’d averted complete disaster by not finishing inside her last night, but he didn’t trust himself to be able to repeat the task if he got carried away again. She made him forget his own name.
He regretted the need to restrain her. The sight of her, her chest rising and falling in anger, should not have filled him with such lustful thoughts. He knew there were places, clubs, in London that catered for those with such proclivities, and he’d never imagined he’d find it titillating to have a woman bound and at his mercy. Until now. He was still hard in his breeches.
Bloody woman. What was he going to do with her?
Chapter 28.
Harland didn’t return for what felt like hours. Emmy could hear a clock ticking somewhere in the bedroom but couldn’t see it. She shuffled her chair around in tiny increments to face the door. Several times she heard heavy footsteps outside—presumably the Tricorn’s mountainous manservant, but nobody came in.
Her grumbling stomach reminded her she’d had no breakfast, and hunger did nothing to improve her temper. A procession of dire thoughts chased one another around her head. Not knowing what was going to happen to her was maddening. Finally, the door clicked open and Harland strode in, bringing a gust of pine-scented air