Chapter 13
Reason fled. There was no logical explanation for what Thomas saw.
Clio was being strangled by some invisible force.
Fear hit him, visceral and raw. He crossed the threshold of the library, determined to save her, but before he went more than three steps, she became a human flame.
The white glow started in her sternum, bleeding through her nightgown and robe, lighting her like a bloody lantern.
It spread over her entire torso, down her arms and legs, until in a sudden and brilliant flash of light and heat, the power pulsed from her in a wave, knocking him several paces back.
If he ever questioned whether she was a witch, that query was answered the moment she ignited.
But it wasn’t fear that filled him. It was awe. She was magnificent. The most incredible force he’d ever witnessed.
In the afterglow of her supernova, he saw the faint glimmer of a form spinning backwards and dissolving like ash in the wind.
‘What the fucking hell was that?’
Clio had her hand over her throat, but fear only came when she turned and saw him. Even in his shock, it cracked something inside his chest. Fury washed through him. That some unknown enemy would attack Clio, and instead of looking to him for support, she saw him as another threat.
‘What did you see?’ She closed her eyes and scrunched her face, shaking her head back and forth like a child refusing to take medicine. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She opened her eyes and pointed her finger at him. ‘Whatever you think you saw, you are wrong. It was nothing.’
If she were trying to cast a spell to repel him, she was failing miserably. Because he was only drawn inextricably closer.
His feet followed his heart as he crossed the space between them and gripped her arms, tilting his head to better see her neck.
‘Are you well?’ It was all that mattered. Once he knew she was safe, he could kill her for lying to him.
Amber eyes widened as fear softened into confusion. She blinked, pulling her shields up and gathering her formidable wits.
Dear God, she is a wonder.
‘I am hale and hearty, Grey. I certainly don’t need you fussing over me.’
His hand skated up to her neck, but he didn’t touch her, worried he might further damage her bruising skin. Instead, his fingers tangled in her silky hair, no longer bound by the loose braid. He pulled the midnight strands away from her injury. ‘You’re hurt. And I am not fussing.’
She stepped back, and he reluctantly let her go. ‘Yes, you are. It’s only bruising.’
‘Who bruised you, Clio? What happened?’ He couldn’t exhale. If he let the air out of his lungs, he would lose the tenuous control he had on his temper. He needed to punish whoever had hurt her.
The image of her neck, tight as a bow string, held by an invisible hand, played through his mind. To watch her fight a foe he couldn’t even see was a poignant reminder of his uselessness. Even in this.
Thomas was a warrior. He might lack in certain areas, but he had always been able to fight. If the enemy was stronger, he was smarter. If they were faster, he was more determined. But with Clio, even that skill was stripped from him. How could he fight an invisible foe?
‘No one bruised me. Nothing happened.’
Her blatant lies fuelled his anger.
‘No one did this?’ He did touch her then, his rough fingers brushing softly over her delicate throat as sparks cascaded.
‘And what of these?’ He let his hand trail down her neck, staring intently at the sparkling embers that followed his fingers to the hollow of her throat.
While they should have burned his flesh, he only felt the thrilling tingle of awareness.
The banked fire behind her roared to life.
‘Is this also nothing?’ He spoke through clenched teeth, willing himself to remain calm.
Clio’s lip trembled, but she nodded. ‘Exactly. Nothing.’
Three things were instantly clear. One: ‘nothing’ translated into ‘a mammoth pile of something’. Two: his suspicions about Clio were correct. Three: she wasn’t going to admit to any of it. Because she didn’t trust him.
Incredibly inconvenient, because he was quickly discovering a fourth revelation: he very much wanted Clio to trust him.
Which was a terrible idea. Trusting led to wanting. Wanting easily became needing. And he had already made that mistake with Lissa. It nearly destroyed them both.
Unfortunately, he’d never been good at learning lessons.
‘I saw you, Clio. You turned into a human pyre. Don’t tell me that was nothing.’
She changed tacks, narrowing her gaze, readying to attack. ‘What exactly are you implying, Grey?’
‘I’m not implying anything. I’m asking. What the bloody hell is going on?’
‘Whatever you suspect, no one will believe you. Your reputation is already ruined. Every member of beau monde thinks you are a rakehell who abandoned his wife. If you start spouting off about some girl being a witch, they’ll know you’re a lunatic as well as a bounder.’
She was lashing out, attempting to divert his attention. Damn her for being so effective. She swiped at his vulnerable underbelly, and he retaliated. Just as she wanted. ‘Maybe I am a rakehell, but I’m no liar.’ Thomas leaned closer. ‘And I never called you a witch.’
She took a ragged breath. He had her.
‘Those were your words. And that is exactly what you are. Try to deny it. It will do no good.’ He should have stopped there, but her accusations poured acid into old wounds already broken open by Berty and his drunken insults.
‘You are a witch. And I am nothing but a feckless rake. Isn’t that what you think? ’
She pulled her shoulders back. In her struggle with the invisible bastard who hurt her, the thick woollen wrapper she wore had fallen open.
The firelight illuminated her thin cotton nightgown.
Arousal hit him harder than a punch. He had no right to feel such a potent need and yet he did. His helpless desire only fed his rage.
‘I don’t know what I think.’
Laughter tore at his throat like claws. ‘When have you ever not known your own mind, Clio Blair? I’ve called you a witch; now it’s your turn. Call me a blackguard.’
He knew he’d stoked her anger when her eyes glowed like golden lanterns.
‘Pay attention, Grey. I don’t make assumptions without evidence.
And the evidence about you puzzles me exceedingly.
Your actions do not match your reputation.
A selfish lord who abandons his wife but dotes on his sister.
A renowned rake who is rumoured to have endless paramours, but damns himself for stealing kisses from a common girl?
The pieces don’t add up. Who is the real Thomas Grey?
’ She had masterfully twisted the conversation from focusing on her being a witch to him being a libertine.
Not that it mattered, as both were true.
His mind snagged on the way she described herself.
A ‘common girl’. Nothing about her was common.
She was the most extraordinary woman he’d ever known.
And he wanted to prove he was worthy of her.
Worse, she was giving him a chance to do just that.
Which meant she might see something of worth within him.
But that is a lie. Which is why I can’t do this. She needs to leave.
Pushing her away was the last thing he wanted. And the one thing he needed to do.
She wanted to make a logical decision based on reason and fact.
Thomas could give her reasons and facts that would prove he was the last man she should be meeting in libraries at three in the morning.
What had he been thinking? He allowed himself to be swept away, but no more.
Providing Clio the evidence she demanded was the fastest way to ensure she walked away from him.
And the fastest way to remind himself he deserved to be alone.
‘Perhaps I can shed some light on the matter. Provide you with enough facts to reach a decisive conclusion.’ He leaned closer. Drawn to her even as he knew she would consume him. ‘I fucked any willing woman.’
He threw the words like daggers. But she didn’t pull away. She wasn’t disgusted. Quite the opposite, in fact. His coarse language caused an entirely different reaction. A million gossamer threads of energy connecting them suddenly tightened.
Clio’s chest rose and fell in shallow inhalations as rosemary and bergamot infiltrated his senses. Dark nipples peaked against her thin cotton nightgown. She wasn’t afraid. She was aroused.
Not the reaction I needed. Let me try again.
Thomas went further. Testing her. Testing himself. He backed her against the wall, placing his hand over her shoulder and leaning down to whisper in her ear, his voice a rough rasp in the dark room where only the crack and pop of the now-blazing fire punctuated his words.
‘I spread a widow’s thighs in the middle of a masked ball.’
She hissed air between her teeth.
‘A celebrated soprano begged me to turn her bottom red with my bare hand.’
A barely audible moan.
‘The bordello beauties took turns letting me tie them up until their needs twisted into my own.’ Her hair tickled the tip of his nose as he inhaled her like opium. ‘Bored wives. Sophisticated debutantes. Talented actresses. If they wanted me, they could have me.’
Her body tensed. Not in fear, not in preparation for escape. But in anticipation.
‘There is your evidence. I am the worst of men.’ Sparks sizzled along her exposed skin, washing up her throat like a blush, hot sparkles kissing his jaw and lips.
Whatever incendiary magic smouldered between them wasn’t his imagination. She was the cause. Her mysteries intoxicated him.
‘Do I not disgust you, Clio?’
She swallowed and slowly shook her head.
Fine. He would try a different approach. ‘Did you choose to be a witch?’
A wrinkle formed between her brow at the abrupt change in topic. She shook her head. ‘Of course not. It’s not something one chooses.’
He couldn’t stop the small smile. ‘Ah.’