Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,29

service in the harsh steam-driven factories that weren’t quite a prison. “They even have synthetic skin these days, though it never looks quite real enough--”

“Esme,” he rumbled gruffly.

He wasn’t here to talk about the hand.

Esme fell silent.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She couldn’t stop herself from looking up then, meeting his gaze helplessly. Every hopeless look over the years, every time she sought him out to sit with him, the teasing arguments in the kitchen as he taunted her and stole her ingredients… She’d turn around and her carrots would be missing, Rip protesting his innocence so skilfully that she couldn’t help but laugh as she tried to find out where he’d hidden them. Pressing against him, her clever hands darting beneath his coat – though not entirely in search of whatever he’d stolen – until his cheeks would colour and he’d present them with a flourish.

Baking his favourite lemon tart, just for him. Kissing his cheek when he brought her a new ribbon and wishing she had the courage to turn her lips to his. “I thought I did,” she whispered.

Their fingers still interlinked. Rip gave a soft, bemused laugh. “You never said it. Never. I’d ‘ave remembered.”

“I thought I showed you—In everything that I did, in everything I said.” Her cheeks heated. “I practically threw myself at you in the street the other day! And you pushed me away!”

His metal thumb stroked hers. Rip thought about her words for a moment, frowning slightly, the way he always did when he wanted to get his own words right. A man of caution. “Six months ago I wouldn’t a pushed you away.”

She watched his hand stroking hers. “What changed? What--”

And then she knew.

Esme’s breath caught as their eyes met.

“I know I said I were right.” Pulling away, Rip scraped his metal hand over the back of his thickly muscled neck. “I told Blade I ‘ad it under control. I just… I couldn’t stand bein’ trapped in the Warren anymore. I needed to get out. Start workin’ again. I ‘ate bein’ useless.” Those green eyes danced to hers and she saw the flare of hunger in them, his pupils dilating. A look just for her, that told her everything she ought to have known. A look that stripped her bare of the heavy velvet dress and left her feeling naked. “It ain’t so bad, with other women. Just you. You throw me off the edge, Esme. I want you so much it ‘urts. And then I can feel the ‘unger creepin’ up, threatenin’ to take over. I don’t want to ‘urt you.” He shook his head emphatically. “Never.”

All this time she’d thought that he didn’t want her. And he’d been afraid to lose control, to take her blood – or her body – for fear of hurting her. “Oh, John,” she whispered. “I could have helped you. I’ve been a thrall for years. I know what to do. Sometimes Blade would--”

The vicious look he shot her stopped her in her tracks. The look of a man who wanted to hurt something – preferably his enemy. Esme slid closer, sliding her hand over his knee. “You have nothing to be jealous of,” she reminded him. “It was only blood.” Growing bold, she squeezed the hard muscle in his thigh as she knelt closer, digging her thumb in as she stroked the soft leather of his pants. Rip sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes glittering.

“So you do want me?” she asked, her whisper full of all manner of sin. “Just to clear up any misunderstandings?”

“Aye.” Voice rough, his eyes dropping to her bodice. Rip let out a harsh breath. “Christ, I’m only a man.”

Her hand slid higher, stroking the smooth leather over his thigh.

“Esme.” A warning.

One she took no heed of. She felt light as a bird, a smile crossing her lips as she crept closer, pushing between his knees. He wanted her. The way a man wants a woman. The way a blue blood wanted his thrall. She was so happy she felt almost giddy.

“And when you spoke of me marrying tonight… were you speaking of someone else?”

Those emerald eyes glinted. “You’d be best off--”

“No.” She put her finger to his lips. “I’ve had my share of misunderstandings. I won’t suffer it anymore. Do you want me to marry another man?”

She read the answer on his face. Fierce, almost violent. Possessive. Esme shivered, her finger lightening against his lips. She let her hands drop to the buttons at her throat.

Esme slipped her