Chapter Twenty-Seven
T WENTY - S EVEN
While Bishop tests the water, I look around his bedchamber.
One window is broken, of course, and he’s lucky he didn’t cut himself on that.
A lamp still burns on the paper-strewn desk.
He’d been burning the midnight oil, quite literally.
Hastily drawn maps and floor plans cover the pages, one with an ink blot where he must have thrown down the pen and run to the window.
“Would you hand those to me, please?” he asks.
I gather and pass them over. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You weren’t. It’s not you I’m worried about seeing them.”
He tosses them into the fireplace, embers leaping to life and devouring the pages.
“You don’t need them?” I say.
“I was just working things out up here.” He taps his temple. “And even that was mostly to distract myself from the fact you were in the cage, and I could do nothing about it.”
His hands move to my hips as he leans toward me, hair tumbling into his face.
“I’m sorry. I hope you know that. I wanted to do something, anything.
Bring more food and blankets to make you comfortable, sneak you out for a few hours of proper sleep, even just stay with you.
” He looks into my eyes. “Mostly, I wanted to stay with you. If I couldn’t free you, I wanted to be there. ”
“You couldn’t,” I say. “And you shouldn’t have. Your plans are important, and you can’t endanger them to keep me from discomfort. I was fine.”
“I know, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling terrible. I kept reminding myself that the best thing I could do for you was push on, as quickly as I could. Do nothing to arouse suspicion and just move faster. Accelerate the timeline.”
“Which is correct. You need to focus on what you’re doing.”
“Doesn’t that make me as cold-blooded as my reputation? What man would leave you shivering and hungry rather than take a risk?”
“I wasn’t shivering or hungry. You had Julius bring me food, and he had the guard deliver blankets. Also, like you said, your plan is what sets me free. If you’d come down, I’d have thrown fireballs to drive you away.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “You are remarkable. I hope you know that.”
“And you are too hard on yourself. I hope you know that. ”
He reaches up to stroke my cheek and murmurs, “I’m no good at this, Cordelia. I don’t have any practice.”
“At worrying about what others think of you?”
Another twitch of his lips. “I do care whether my Pack brothers think I’m a good leader, a good wolf, even a good man. But that’s different. I’m not accustomed to caring what a woman thinks of me.”
“If they think you cold or uncaring, at least they won’t expect anything from you.
” I brush my lips against his. “I know what that’s like.
Softness smacks of weakness, until you want to show softness and realize you don’t know how.
” I look up at him. “I’ll never mistake your practicality for coldheartedness, if you don’t mistake mine for the same. ”
His lips lower until they touch mine. Then he stops and groans and straightens. “And here I am, worrying that I was inconsiderate… while being inconsiderate.” He waves to the bath. “Hopefully, it’s still warm.”
I smile up at him. “I want to say I can skip it, but I really shouldn’t.” I run my finger along his lips. “I’ll be quick, though, so we can get back to that.”
“Take your time. I can be patient.”
“Can you?” I grin up at him. “I’m tempted to test that.”
“And I’m tempted to let you, but having just said that I feel guilty about one thing, I’d rather not feel guilty about another quite so soon. Besides, I believe your bath involves something I’ve been dying to do.”
“Wash my back?”
He smiles. “I’ll probably enjoy even that more than I should, but I mean undressing you.”
“I can do that myself.” I look around. “You seem to lack a dressing screen, so I’ll need to ask you to step outside.”
“I can’t. I’ve promised my Alpha I won’t leave your side. Particularly not in a room with a broken window.”
He steps toward me. I back up. When he continues advancing, the glitter in his eyes sets my insides on fire.
“You like this,” I say. “A bit of the chase.”
He flashes his teeth. “I am a wolf.”
I back up again. He takes another step.
“You really do want to undress me, don’t you,” I say.
“I’ve been imagining it since the first moment I saw you.”
“On the street?”
“Yes.” His lips curve. “I wanted to undress you on the street.”
My cheeks heat. “I meant that was when you first wanted to undress me.”
“Also where.”
Heat rushes through me, and my tongue ties.
I’ve taken pride in being so worldly for my age, but it’s one thing to make the bold quips.
It’s another to be on the receiving end, and I suddenly feel every iota of my youth and inexperience.
And when I blush furiously, it only makes his grin grow, sharp and wolfish, and fresh heat licks through me.
I back up again, only to hit the wall. He closes the space between us, and then he’s there, his bare chest close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off it, to see each stitch of an old scar on his collarbone, and I find myself staring at that scar, at the pulse of his throat just above it, and I want to…
I don’t even know what I want to do. All those times catching peeks in the brothels, letting those snatched scenes fuel my fantasies, and now that there’s a man—a willing man—right here, all I can do is stare at the curve of his neck, his jaw, his smile, and think I want .
I don’t know what I want. But I want like I have never wanted before, and it’s new and exciting and terrifying.
“Cordelia,” he whispers.
I look up into his eyes, impossibly dark. “That’s not what you called me earlier today.”
The corners of his lips twitch and he breathes it. “Delia.”
I tilt my face up to kiss him, but his head drops to my neck instead, tracing kisses, ending with the slightest nip, making me shiver.
“Your hair needs to be down for your bath,” he says.
His hands slide up to my hair. His fingers find the remaining pins, one after the other, and they click to the floor.
As each strand comes free, he runs his fingers through it before starting the next.
The process is excruciatingly slow. I can feel his heat, smell him, touch him, but when I arch forward, my hips moving to his, he growls, “None of that.”
“But I want that.”
“You had that. I can do better. And I intend to.”
I bite my lip and decide to be bold, looking up at him through my lashes and saying, “You’ll need to be more specific.”
He chuckles against my throat. “No, you only want me to be more specific. To tell you what I plan to do. Here is a hint.”
His lips trail up my throat and nip at my ear before he whispers, “I plan to do everything, Delia. Everything I’ve spent the last week imagining. With one exception.”
“If you’re concerned about my maidenhead, I’ve been trying to get rid of it for years.”
He gives a startled laugh. “You must not have been trying very hard, then, because I can’t imagine you’d lack for volunteers.”
“I didn’t, but none of them were right for the task.” I look up at him. “I want you.”
Color rises in his cheeks. A blush? I don’t take the words back, don’t turn them into a joke. I only murmur, “I’m very particular.”
“As you should be. And I’d love to be the man who solves your predicament.
” He pauses. “No, I fully intend to be the man who solves it. But not tonight.” He brushes a lock of hair from my face.
“As long as you’re a virgin, nothing that happens in this place can tie you here.
Nothing can tie you to me against your will.
” His finger runs along my cheek. “I won’t have that. Ever.”
I could argue. Men put far too much stock in the existence of a maidenhead as proof of virginity. But I understand his point, and I appreciate his consideration.
If anything goes wrong with his plan, if we end up legally wed…
I don’t know how I feel about Bishop Daniels. I haven’t had time to analyze it. I’m not sure I dare. But I know this much: I never want to be with him because I don’t have any other choice. And I never want him to be with me because he doesn’t have any other choice.
“Thank you,” I say, and press my lips to his.
He kisses me back, and it’s not like that kiss in the basement, hungry and devouring. This one is sweet and light, making my pulse flutter and my thoughts scatter as I chase that kiss, part of me wanting to dive deeper, harder, and part wanting to stay right here, every fiber straining for him.
His hands drop to my hips, his fingers digging in, and just when I think he’s about to surrender to that kiss, he stops himself, his lips moving to my throat as his fingers work at the final pins in my hair.
Then his head lifts, his hands tugging my hair down, a few missed pins tinkling to the floor.
“I’ve wanted to do that, too, for days now,” he murmurs. “I keep thinking about that morning I walked in, and your hair was down. I’ve thought the most indecent things about your hair.”
“My hair?” I say, arching a brow.
“What I want to do with it. Wrap my hands in it. Watch it falling over you as you ride—” He clears his throat.
“No, go on. Watching it falling over me as I ride what? Wrap your hands in it as I do what? I’m missing key details.” I look up through my lashes again. “Don’t forget. I am a virgin. I’m going to need more information.”
His eyes light with a fire that makes my throat go dry, my pulse race.
Then he pulls back sharply. “What you need is your bath, which is getting colder by the moment.” He brushes my hair over my shoulders, reaches around for my dress buttons and expertly pops each.
Then he peels the gown down, over my shoulders and then my breasts.
He stops there, staring.
“I removed my corset earlier,” I say.
“I see that,” he says, his voice thick. “At the risk of sounding like an utter cad, can I say that I’ve spent the last few days wishing I had not ordered your dresses quite so maidenly.”
“You—” I stop.
I’d been so certain my father bought my wardrobe, and I’d marveled at the care he’d taken, proof of his kindness.
His kindness? Hardly.
“You bought my wardrobe,” I say.
He shrugs, as if it’s a small thing. “I wanted you to be comfortable. To feel welcome here, in a strange place.”
“And the book. You left the receipt in it.”
He curses under his breath. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You saw me admiring it when you were following me, and you bought it.”
“I wanted you to be comfortable, as I said.”
I smile slightly. “So on my dresses, those ridiculously high necklines, that was your doing? Keeping me sweet and innocent?”
“Keeping you covered,” he says with a low growl. “I said I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you. That was on the street, but weeks before we met. I saw you, and I wanted to thrust you up against a lamppost and—” He stops.
“Continue. Please.”
His soft laugh turns to another growl. “Careful. I know you’re teasing me, but you run the risk of me looking for a lamppost the next time we are in the city and showing you what I had in mind.”
My breath quickens even as my face heats. “I might like that.”
“Quite the little”—a brief pause—“temptress, aren’t you?”
“Temptress?” I tilt my head. “What were you going to say?”
He ignores that and runs a finger along the neckline of my chemise.
“I wanted you naked. On the street. Against a lamppost. And that is not like me at all. If you had that effect on me, I could only imagine what effect you’d have on the others, so yes, I ordered your necklines unfashionably high, and I’ve been cursing myself for it.
Since you arrived, I’ve seen you in nothing but high-necked dresses, forcing me to imagine what was beneath them. ”
He looks down at me. “I thought my imagination was excellent. Apparently it was not. And I still have two layers to go.”
His hands slide up my side and across my torso, heading up toward my breasts. Then he stops. “May I?”
“If I don’t protest, the answer is yes.”
His hands slide up to cup my breasts, and he groans softly. “I’ve never considered myself particularly attached to any part of the female form, but these are truly spectacular. If I’ve had indecent thoughts about your hair, I’ve had even more about these.”
I laugh softly. “Have you?”
“Also your lips. And your thighs. And your arse.”
“You seem to have had a lot of indecent thoughts, sir.”
“You have no idea.”
“I hope to have a very good idea. I just need to get you to the point where you finally do more than hint. ”
“I’m certainly ready to do much more—” He pulls his hands away sharply and yanks his gaze up. “I promised you a bath.”
“I hear good things about cold plunges. Very healthy.”
He shakes his head. “No cold baths on my account.”
“It’s not only your account. I’m fine with—”
He takes hold of my petticoats and slides them down over my hips. Then he tugs my corset cover off and backs up a step to look at me in my drawers and chemise. He exhales, the sound low and ragged.
“Good gods,” he says. Then he scoops me up and plunks me into the tub.