The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,78
like having a part of her body ripped away.
***
“I’m sorry for losing control, Benna.”
Her usually pale pink lips were a dark rose from the savagery of their kisses and the twin slashes of color on her cheeks were vivid.
Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t need your apology, my lord. I wanted—”
Jago raised a hand in an uncharacteristically imperious gesture that made him cringe. But he had to stop her; one of them needed to show some sense. “You are my servant,” he said in a flat tone. “I am supposed to put your welfare first. Not use you to slake my—”
“I may be a servant, but that does not mean I lack sentience, like some inanimate thing.” Her mouth twisted and her eyes glittered.
Jago briefly closed his eyes. “I apologize if I implied that,” he said, meaning it. “What I mean to say is that—” He scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “We are not in any way—other than physically—well-suited.”
That sounded even worse.
Jago grimaced, annoyed at his own inability to articulate. “Let us put aside, for the moment, our difference in status. You are twenty—not even legally—”
“I am almost twenty-three.”
Jago gave a humorless laugh. “Ah, another lie, I see.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Twenty or twenty-three, it scarcely matters. You could be my daughter and—”
“But I’m not your daughter, sir, neither am I a child. Women my age are usually married with a child or two.” She cut him a sharp look. “Nor am I an innocent maiden.” The expression that accompanied her disclosure was challenging and, for a moment, Jago wondered whether she expected him to chide her for a lack of virtue or resume ravaging her person.
Jago held her furious gaze and admired the way her startling blue eyes sparked.
No, she was not a child and what she said was true; women younger than her were the staple of the London Marriage Mart.
Fine, he would have to spell out what he meant in bluntly. “What do you expect will happen between us after I take what I want from you?”
Her flush deepened at his brusque question.
Good. He wanted to shock her, to make her consider the gravity of what almost happened. And what must never happen again.
“What you fail to understand, my lord, is that you were not taking anything. What I was giving is mine alone to give.”
Her words froze him and their eyes locked.
“As for what I expect to happen?” Her gaze flickered over him in an angry, but hungry, examination. “I am not such a pea goose as to expect anything from you but sexual pleasure.”
Jago’s erection, which had dissipated in the face of his shocking behavior, came roaring back at her words.
He realized that his hand was still raised, as if to touch her, to comfort her—
Or perhaps to pull her back into his embrace.
He dropped his arm and took another step back before he did something that made matters worse.
Her eyes, which had been so dark and heavy moments before, were blank and her shoulders had slumped beneath her loose coats and billowing, untucked shirt.
“I will leave you now, my lord.”
Jago had an almost overwhelming desire to grab her and finish what they’d started.
Instead, he watched her go. “Good night—Ben.”
She didn’t answer and the door clicked shut behind her.
He stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, his thoughts churning.
It had been a mistake to bring her from the stables into the house, a terrible mistake. But he had been selfish and he’d wanted her near—all under the guise of saying it was for her own good.
Having her so close all day was driving him to distraction. Before, when she’d lived outside, he’d paced the house thinking of her out there. And now, she was only mere rooms away—
“Enough,” he ground out, striding to the small table that held several decanters and pouring himself a good three fingers of brandy.
Jago hissed as the rough, fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. Stephen Worth was spoiling him; Jago’s spirits were far inferior to those served at Oakland Manor.
Even so, he finished the glass in a second swallow and then dropped into the nearest chair.
He was a conscienceless hound. He’d known what he wanted from her tonight before he’d even stepped foot inside the library and found her working late.
Working late for him.
What a way to repay her loyalty and diligence—by molesting her.
His gaze snagged on the trunk she’d been working on; the lock was hanging open with the key still inserted.