Chapter Four
O wen stepped into the hut, his gaze sweeping over the modest space Thalia had called home for the past couple weeks. The earthy scent of damp wood mingled with a faint, bittersweet hint of wildflowers, an oddly nostalgic perfume that made his chest tighten. It reminded him of all the times he’d visited her family home in the country and the time they’d spent together on those visits. Late evening sun poured through the small window, casting a soft glow over an old but sturdy table, a few mismatched chairs, and a tiny hearth where the embers glowed faintly. An old quilt lay draped over a narrow bed, its once-vibrant colors faded, but still strangely cheerful.
He noticed sketches tacked to the walls—rough, earnest depictions of flowers, trees, and places he imagined came from her mind’s wanderings. Each stroke of charcoal revealed her knack for finding beauty in the smallest things. She’d sketched a garden for him once, years ago, the day she’d confessed her sixteen-year-old heart to him. He hadn’t been able to accept it. He couldn’t.
Even when she’d come of age, he hadn’t wanted to raise her hopes.
Love was for fools. He’d seen what it did to men—had watched his own father’s life dissolve after his mother’s death and other men become slaves to their wives. His grandfather had warned him, too, never to become a servant to love.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the rough portrait of himself pinned to the wall, with exaggerated features clearly meant to mock him. So, she hadn’t erased him completely, then. Somehow, that left him feeling both relieved and unsettled.
“You truly plan on staying here?” Owen asked, his gaze settling on her.
Thalia knelt by the hearth and stirred the embers. “That is the plan,” she said without a hint of hesitation.
“Are you sure hiding away from everything and everyone is a wise plan?” His disgruntlement simmered just beneath the surface. “From me?”
“From you?” She scoffed, meeting his gaze. “Is that not what you have been doing? You have never made an effort to stay near me in the first place, so why should I try to stay near you?”
Damn it. She had a point. A painful one.
But that was just because . . . because . . .
He took a step closer, unable to help himself. “You are right, but you can’t just disappear forever. Not from your past. Not from your future. And certainly not from me.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “You think you can just walk in here and tell me what to do?”
“I’m not telling you what to do,” Owen said, tamping down his growing frustration. “I’m asking why you would choose this ”—he gestured around the hut—“over a life that’s yours.”
“And who are you to decide what life is mine?” She stepped back, eyes flashing.
He opened his mouth to retort but clamped it shut again. He wanted to tell her she could have come to him. But saying that would only make things worse, he was sure.
She made a sound that was suspiciously close to another scoff.
Very well, then. Without asking, he moved to the bed and sat down, testing its creakiness with a sigh. “So,” he said, meeting her unimpressed look, “is this where we’ll be sleeping?”
Her eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “We?”
He offered an innocent shrug. “There is nowhere else.”
“There is the floor.” She crossed her arms.
Owen glanced at the hard, wooden planks and back at her. There wasn’t even a carpet in sight! “I’m prone to back pain.”
Conflict danced in her beautiful green eyes, and for a heartbeat, he froze, the air around them charged with something breathtakingly ambiguous.
“You are free to leave with your back and its pain.”
“I’d rather stay, thank you,” he said politely.
“Then is the floor going to be a problem or not?”
Of course. “Not.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Why do I feel like you mean the opposite?”
“Because I do,” Owen admitted simply.
“So, you want to sleep next to me?”
Well, put that way... yes, he did. “How else can I be sure you don’t slip off in the middle of the night while I’m asleep?”
She reached out suddenly, grabbing his shirtfront and yanking him close. He blinked up at her. “What—”
Her lips crashed against his, brazen and unrestrained. The world exploded around Owen. She leaned into him, almost pushing him down flat onto the bed, claiming him with the kiss, demanding he return it. It was electric, igniting every nerve ending in his body as the barriers he had painstakingly erected all his life crumbled to dust.
His hands found her waist, pulling her to him, lost in her storm.
She tasted of a hundred suns. A thousand heavens. A million stars. Everything he’d run from, a warmth he’d never dared to claim, a life he’d told himself he didn’t need.
And he suddenly knew. Just knew.
Truly I am damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
He’d been a fool all along.
*
Thalia shut her eyes. What the eyes didn’t see, the heart couldn’t get annoyed by. And at present, it was the man on her bed. She extracted herself from him and took three steps back. No, it was the look in his eyes that annoyed her. She couldn’t quite explain it, but if she had to try, she would say it was as if she could only see herself reflected there.
Which, a month ago, would have made her ecstatic. But not this day. Not after she’d decided to set up her hut in Larden.
Why the gods did she kiss him?
Was it that reckless impulse to snatch back some semblance of power? Or perhaps the unyielding pull of a heart that refused to be forgotten, even after she’d tried to bury it beneath sketches and solitude? She had done well to hide her once-rejected feelings, to suppress the memories that felt too big, too bright.
But he’d plopped down on her bed as if he belonged there, that infuriating mug of his making her blood simmer. Something inside her snapped. She should have slapped him, not kissed him!
“Not a word,” she said, her voice firm.
He pursed his lips, eyes burning, and when she narrowed her gaze, he cleared his throat and nodded toward the wall. “You sketched me.”
She glanced at the only drawing of a person pinned to the wall—a solitary depiction of a man—standing out like a sore thumb among the pictures of flowers, trees, and landscapes. Perhaps it represented her secret longing. She’d left him there, just as she had left him in her heart, as if he could fade into the background like everything else. Be that as it may, it was enough of a caricature that it could be any man. “Who says it’s you?” she muttered under her breath. “Perhaps it’s the Fox of Larden.”
“The Fox of Larden?” He chuckled, crossing his arms. “It looks an awful lot like the likeness you once sketched of me.”
Thalia stilled. He remembered that, too? “Then you must be the fox.”
He grinned at her.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. “It’s Leeds,” came a muffled declaration from outside.
Thalia shot a glance at Owen, who groaned as he rose from the bed. He strode over and opened the door, leaning casually against the frame. “What is it?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
“My apologies for interrupting your moment,” Leeds drawled, remaining outside. “A couple from the village has invited us to stay for the night. Will you be all right here?”
Thalia raised an eyebrow at the question. Hah! Did Leeds think she would devour his friend like some predator? Maybe he thought she was the Fox of Larden.
“Where is Harriet?” Calstone asked, his brow furrowing. “Don’t tell me you left your wife with strangers?”
Leeds shrugged. “It’s the country.”
“It’s a damn creepy village. You won’t leave her be in London, yet here you erase all the lines?”
Thalia had heard enough. She strode over and yanked the door fully open. “I would appreciate it if you took the duke with you.”
“Lady Thalia.” Leeds inclined his head. “Unfortunately, you overestimate my ability. I don’t believe I’m strong enough to pry him away.”
“Right on that score, old chap,” Calstone said with a nod. He glanced at Thalia. “Nothing can pry me from this dingy hut.”
Thalia opened her mouth to argue, to insist that staying in this dingy hut was her choice and that he should leave, but all she could do was stare at the infuriating man. The firelight flickered in his eyes, and she felt their heat like the embers in the hearth. She clenched her fists, her duplicitous heart racing. She hated how easily he could reach her, how his presence alone could ignite the chaos inside her. He made her feel like a wildflower in the sun whenever they were together. A warm illusion. Now, she would have to douse it all over again.
“Leaving with your friend is the only chance for you to sleep in a bed tonight.”
“The floor is my friend.”
Hah! Your tune is as fickle as your disposition.
“Suit yourself.” She turned back to stoke the hearth some more. The echo of their kiss still lingered on her lips, and it both terrified and thrilled her.
The thrill worried her. How was she going to cast this man from her hut?