Last night, no.
Last night, with no tea, she’d given herself with equal abandon. He had gone to her wrought with emotion for all she’d done, burning with need and taken her in the throes of it.
But she was not frightened or repulsed. She met his passion and even bested it.
And during their play, he did not need to be cautious, to curb his desires, to do or be anything but himself and take what he wished with Maddie giving it to him.
Gladly.
He was very aware that as they became attuned to each other, learned about each other, got used to each other, he would make comparisons between what he was building with Madeleine and what he had had with Ilsa. This would happen even if she did not look like Ilsa.
What he would not have imagined, after the loss he suffered when he lost Ilsa, was that Madeleine, it would seem, in a very short time was beginning to surpass all the beauty, intelligence and strength that had been his wife.
Fifteen years ago, his eyes fell on Ilsa, he quickly became smitten and not long after fell deeply in love.
With Madeleine, it was something else.
He could not turn his mind from her. Her smiles felt like gifts. Her laughter, a triumph. Every “honey” a treasure. Every “baby” sent a pulse through his cock.
He was not smitten.
He was growing consumed.
And he was troubled by it.
Not that it was happening. Not that some part of him felt this swift response to Madeleine was a betrayal of Ilsa.
No, because if his world could turn dark at the loss of Ilsa and these feelings he had for Madeleine grew, what would become of him if he lost her?
The horse reached the clearing of the trees and Apollo’s attention was taken away from Maddie when he saw Achilles and Draven on the front steps of Karsvall, a horse at the foot, Derrik packing it.
All that needed to be done last night was done with the swiftness it required. Therefore, he had little time to speak to any of his men as he did it, other than to give orders. And he’d gone directly to Maddie, so there was no time after it was done.
Regardless, he would not have been able to talk to Derrik for, after they extracted the information from the assassin, Derrik had absented himself completely.
At the time, Apollo had neither the time nor the desire to search him out and share gratitude for his efforts at keeping Christophe, Élan and Karsvall safe.
Now, he would take that time and hope what had elapsed since he’d last seen his friend had helped to cool his ire.
He kicked his horse to a trot and reined in when he was close to Derrik’s mount, seeing it packed for a journey.
Apollo home, clearly Derrik was returning to the Lazarus seat.
Perhaps his ire had not cooled.
His eyes slid through Achilles and Draven.
Draven looked annoyed. Achilles looked thoughtful. This told him nothing.
Although Draven was not often annoyed, it was known he could get that way on occasion.
Achilles was much like any Ulfr. In most cases, he kept his emotions to himself. Achilles, however, was a master of this.
Apollo dismounted and approached the men. They all watched but only Derrik did so with cold eyes.
“Morning, Lo,” Achilles called.
Apollo raised a hand to Achilles and Draven and turned his attention to Derrik when he stopped three feet from him.