The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,93
the look a doctor gets from patients—or their patients’ loved ones—when he does his job and cures them of their illness or sets a broken bone. It is akin to hero worship.”
His comment stung. “Is that so wrong? You are a hero; you didn’t have to go into the mine to treat those men; you risked your life to go into that collapsing tunnel. And everyone knows that you did it all without pay.”
“I only did what I was trained to do, Benna. I took an oath to help. That is not the same as being a hero. I am certainly not thinking heroic thoughts at the moment.”
The comment caught her off guard. “Oh?” was all she could manage.
He leaned closer, his pupils and irises dark and indistinguishable, adding a satanic cast to his sculptured face “I want to touch you, even though I know it would be wrong.” His voice was so low she shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the howling wind and pounding rain. “I want to explore every part of your body and make you cry out my name.”
Benna throbbed at the desire she saw in his eyes. But she knew, from the restraint that shadowed his gaze, that he would not allow his passion to dictate his actions.
It would have to be Benna who crossed the line between them. She slid her hand beneath his jaw, her touch light but firm.
He swallowed, his jaws flexing, as if he were fighting to keep something in check. A bolt of lightning illuminated the room, throwing his handsome features into relief.
“I want you,” she said.
His chest expanded as he filled his lungs, doubtless to argue.
“You are not taking something from me; I am willingly offering. I am no virginal miss, my lord.” Benna waited for his disgust at her bold disclosure.
Instead, he smiled. “I am grateful for that—since I am no virginal mister.” He laid a hand over hers and then moved her palm to his mouth. His lips were soft, warm, and firm. He kissed her not once, but over and over, the hot, wet tip of his tongue licking the stunningly sensitive flesh.
Benna could only stare as he made gentle, cherishing love to her work-ravaged hand.
“Say my name, Benna,” he murmured against her skin.
“Jago.”
“Why do I like the sound of that so much?”
It seemed like an honest question, but Benna had no answer for him; she knew what he meant. Her name on his tongue made her feel like she was being wrapped in warm, sweet honey.
He lowered her hand to the table, his expression growing somber. “I am not my own master—I have …”—his mouth twisted into an unhappy smile—“responsibilities. What I want no longer matters.” He held her gaze. “You know how things are with the estate?”
The question caught her off guard, but she understood his meaning.
Benna chose her words carefully. “I know there are … problems.”
“The house and some portion of the land are entailed, but the outer farms—properties that have supported the earldom for generations—have been used to secure an extremely large debt that is coming due in less than two months. I’m running out of time to find the necessary funds. If I cannot—”
“I know,” Benna said, not wanting to hear him say the words out loud. She stared into his weary, hopeless eyes, her heart aching to soothe him—to save him.
But she couldn’t save him—not now, not for almost two years.
And he could not wait even two months.
Benna wanted him fiercely, but she could not take even this fleeting pleasure if he were already promised to another. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re going to marry Mrs. Valera?”
“No, I’m not marrying Mrs. Valera. But it is likely that I will have to—very soon—marry with the earldom, rather than personal preference, in mind.” His jaw flexed. “I will be faithful to my wife, Benna. So, anything between us would be—”
“Short-lived. I understand; I want you.”
“Benna—”
“I want you,” she repeated more firmly.
“Twice I’ve had you in my arms and both times I found the strength to do the decent thing.” His dark eyes burned into hers. “I’m not sure I can—”
“I want you,” she said a third time, like a heroine in a fairytale speaking magical talisman words.
His full mouth firmed and his eyes became hooded. “Come here,” he ordered softly.
Benna stood, her legs remarkably steady for all that her heart was threatening to beat its way out of her chest.