When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,145
features was easily visible. Adeline had seen that before too—a soul forced to relive a moment from which it had never truly healed.
King stood, stalking away from the bench and coming to stand in front of the windows. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and King was silhouetted by the ghostly white gardens beyond. Adeline followed him, her own shape a reflection in the glass as she came to stand beside him.
She had changed out of her dress, pulling on her black trousers and coat for both warmth and practicality.
“Marstowe’s money is gone,” she said. “Is that enough?”
“No. There is no amount of money that is worth Evan’s life.”
Adeline sighed. She hadn’t expected a different answer. “Would you see him lose his seat in the House? See him publicly accused? Imprisoned?”
He put one hand against the glass, his other clenched at his side. “I want him to know fear. I want him to feel what Evan felt in those moments before he stole his life. I want him to know what it’s like to be thrust alone into a nightmare from which he cannot wake.”
Adeline chose her next words carefully. “Revenge is a dangerous mistress. Sir Francis Bacon once wrote, ‘A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well.’”
“You think that I should just forgive and forget?”
“I didn’t say that. No one can ever truly forget. And forgiveness—well, that is something that I cannot determine for anyone. I’m only saying that, in some cases, the need to right the past comes at a high price to the future.”
King remained motionless. “Sir Francis also wrote, ‘Revenge is a kind of wild justice’ and ‘If we do not maintain justice, justice will not maintain us.’”
“He did.” It would seem the bookshelves in King’s study were not there for decoration. “But it’s a fine line, that which lies between justice and revenge. And neither can bring back the dead, nor undo past wrongs.”
“I know that.”
“Good.”
“Why do you do this?” he demanded.
“Do what?”
“Seek revenge—justice for those you don’t even know. For people you do not care about.”
“What?” She heard the edge to her question.
“They’re nothing but clients, Adeline.”
“They’re people first,” she said. “And I care very much about each person.”
King made a sound in the back of his throat. “Even me?”
The man who seemed to understand and accept her more than anyone had?
“Especially you.” Her answer was barely a whisper.
She didn’t really see him move. One second she was standing beside him, the next he was in front of her, her chest almost brushing his, her head tipped back so she could see his face.
“You can’t be here,” he rasped.
“You’ve left me little choice.”
“You should go.”
“No.”
“I need you to leave.”
“Tell me why.”
His hand came up, and his fingers drifted along the side of her jaw, tangling in her hair. One by one, he pulled the pins from the back of her head, each falling to the floor, allowing her hair to spill over her shoulders. She shivered.
“You and your damned questions,” he murmured.
“Tell me why,” she said again. “And tell me the truth. And then I’ll go.”
“Because you make me weak.” He sounded almost angry, even as his fingers were tracing the top of her ear with exquisite care, dropping down to her lobe and then her neck.
The absurdity of that statement registered only dimly. Her entire body was a fiery mess of nerves, each stretched taut, yearning to discover where his fingers might go next. “You are not weak, King.”
“I needed you earlier tonight.” His words were stilted. “I still do.”
“Good,” she whispered.
“No.” He shook his head and brushed his thumb over her lips. “Needing people makes one weak. But you…” He trailed off. “I need you. And I can’t stay away from you. I keep trying but—”
“Then stop trying.” It was a reckless thing to say.
He groaned softly and dipped his head, his lips finding the spot on her neck just behind her ear. A decadent throb ignited at the junction of her legs.
“Perhaps I need you just as much,” she managed to gasp.
He caught her earlobe with his teeth, tugging gently as his hands slid over her shoulders and down her arms. “I am not what you need.”
Adeline’s head tipped back. “Let me be the judge of that.”
His hands slipped to her lower back, pulling her against him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, heavy and aching, the friction against her nipples sending currents of pleasure burning through her.