Chapter 9
Hector wasn’t all that surprised, ultimately, when she came to him that evening.
She was quite the little puzzle, after all. He was learning that more and more with each encounter.
Well, good. It wasn’t interesting to fix something simple. He welcomed her complexities.
That was the thing that surprised him, not that she showed up in his study, looking like a thundercloud.
“Why did you change your mind?” she demanded by way of greeting.
She was bold as brass; he had to admit that much.
Calling her a pampered Society princess might not have been wrong—he’d seen the place where she had grown up, after all, and it wanted for nothing—but she wasn’t a meek princess.
She was a warrior princess, the kind that might have found herself riding into battle in defense of her people, had she been born in a different time and place.
Alas, she’d been born here and now, which meant she’d scarcely been given enough weapons to defend herself, let alone lead an army.
That was fine, though. If things went the way Hector was planning, he would be her army.
“Good evening, princess,” he drawled with an exaggerated nobleman’s accent, just to annoy her.
She was rather pretty when she scowled.
“I’m serious,” she said, stalking into the room, unlatching her cloak from around her throat, and draping it over the back of a chair like she owned the place. “I know you don’t care about wagging tongues in the ton, no matter what you may have told my brother. So, why?”
Hector prowled across the room to speak to her without shouting across what was, frankly, a ludicrous amount of space for a single room.
He’d spent the past two decades in a house half the size of this one, and three generations of people had lived there.
The scope of this place made him uneasy.
The houses were too large and the city too crowded, making everything feel at once big and small.
“Do you know what I was doing before I came to London, Clio?” he asked. Her mouth twitched instinctively downward at the use of her given name, which he had not been invited to use. That was too bad for her. She was going to have to get used to his lack of polish.
“I don’t,” she admitted, sounding like it pained her. “There are rumors, but they’re as varied as they are outlandish.”
“I was a blacksmith,” he said, then frowned at his own use of the past tense. “I am a blacksmith.”
He didn’t miss the way her gaze darted toward the breadth of his shoulders. It was the kind of look that, had it come from one of the village lasses in the North, would have ended with her pressed against the back wall of the smithy with his lips on her throat.
Well. There was still time, perhaps.
“How does the heir to a dukedom end up a blacksmith?” she asked, and he liked that she didn’t look at his leg.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. That wasn’t his point. “But at the smithy, people bring you things that are damaged. Your job—my job, that is—is to fix them.”
Her mouth dropped into an “o” of outrage.
“I am not damaged,” she protested hotly. “And if you think I’m going to fall at your feet just because—”
“Oh, bide, lass,” he interrupted chillingly. “Listen. Metal that is bent or broken—it still has its uses. It’s still worth a great deal. It’s just that people can’t always see the use until someone like me comes along and bends it all back into shape.”
Her eyes were narrow and assessing, like she was trying to figure out whether this was an insult. Let her try; Hector himself wasn’t certain.
He took advantage of her silence to take another prowling step forward.
She was really so very beautiful. But it wasn’t, he had to admit to himself now, the boring kind of beauty that he’d assumed her to possess when they’d first encountered each other in the toy shop.
Yes, she had that plush, rosy mouth, but it had a stubbornness to it that lent it character.
And she had that creamy, perfect skin, but it turned into a palette for her emotions, her color rising and falling as he provoked her.
He wondered how far below the modest neckline of her gown that blush ventured.
“So, you’re saying you have a use for me,” she said after a moment’s thought. Clever little thing, wasn’t she?
“I am a duke now,” he told her plainly. “People have expectations. To that end, I shall be hosting a party at my estate this coming weekend. You will come.”
“Oh, will I?” And there was that blush again, two bright spots of color on her cheeks.
He took a step in her direction, watching her eyes search his face. Always looking for clues, his princess was. He saw something click into place in her mind when she saw the scar on his ear.
“How did that happen?” she asked. He wasn’t certain if it was a bid to distract from their conversation or merely an outpouring of insatiable curiosity.
“Accident in the forge,” he said. “It happens. I don’t hear on that side so well any longer.
” He shrugged like it didn’t much matter—and he supposed that, at his point, it didn’t.
When he’d suffered the injury as a lad of fifteen, however, he’d thought it the end of the world—just another sign that he was defective.
Now, though, he was willing to press it to his advantage. That was what he’d been doing his whole life after all, turning his weaknesses into strengths.
While she was distracted, he took another step toward her.
“You see, Clio,” he said, now close enough to see the way her lashes fanned out when she blinked, “I’m not afraid of a little danger. I’m not afraid of hard work. And I’m not afraid of playing with fire when the situation calls for it.”
And then, just in the moment that her wide, hazel eyes darted up to meet his, he kissed her.
Before, he’d held himself in check. He hadn’t planned to marry her, and though he thought the way that Londoners discussed ruination to be ridiculous, he didn’t intend to make things worse for her.
But now, he did plan to take her to wife. And he was going to show her what he might offer as a husband, beyond his name and his title.
And if that happened to tip things in his favor …
All the better.
Hector knew Clio to be stubborn, firm in her convictions, unafraid to stand up for herself.
But he couldn’t have gotten any of these things from kissing her, not when she melted into him like the mere press of his lips against hers caused her to go entirely boneless.
She sagged into him, her curves pressing against the hard-won muscles.
It had been a long time since he’d felt pride in the power of his body—it had long since become a tool for him to yield—but now all the hours of hefting a hammer were worth it, if it meant that he could support her when she needed him to.
He would be the strong one. He did not waver as he prodded at her lower lip with his tongue until she opened for him, then sweeping inside to taste her fully. She hesitated at the first touch of his tongue against hers, then mimicked his movements with more and more confidence.
Hell, but she was a marvel.
“Oh,” she murmured beneath his touch, the surprise in her voice revealing that she was inexperienced in the matter of kissing. Not that he hadn’t suspected this; she kissed him back with an innate sensuality that was belied by an unpracticed eagerness.
That little expression of shock made him want to press her, wanted to see what else he could do to make her let out such utterances. And there was selfishness, too. He wanted to see if the sweetness of her lips was the same everywhere on her body.
But there was temptation, and then there was taking. And he had enough control not to let himself cross that line.
That didn't mean it was bloody easy, though.
His pride was flattered when Clio didn’t seem to find it easy, either. As he pulled back, she followed, her eyes closed. Her nose scrunched up in confusion before she opened her eyes to look at him, and God help him, he was inexpressibly charmed.
“What … what was that?” she asked, sounding dazed. Hector summoned all his willpower to keep her at arm’s length. It would be so easy to draw her back into his arms. She would welcome it.
But he had made a decision, and he wasn’t the kind of man who gave up on his commitments, even when they were only to himself.
“A taste,” he told her, enjoying the faint shudder that went through her at his raspy tone. “Here is what is going to happen, Clio.”
There was a flicker in her expression that said that she was about to argue, but it faded before it could fully take form. Apparently, she was too kiss-drunk to object. Good to know.
“You will come to the house party. If you have found another man by then, someone else to protect your reputation, I will not argue with ceding my claim.”
Hector wasn’t certain that he was telling the truth when he said this—after having a taste of Clio’s plush, soft mouth, he thought he might more than argue with another man who tried to claim that pleasure—but he was willing to gamble that it wouldn’t come to that.
“And if I don’t?” she asked, breathless.
He smiled a predator’s smile. She should know that side of him, too. She should know everything that she would be getting with him.
“Then,” he said, “you will be all mine.”