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That takes me aback. “Then what?”

He reaches out and grabs a strand of my midnight hair. He starts twirling it around one of his fingers. “You’ve been hurt by all the men in your life. I don’t want to be another one. I need you to tell me what’s okay. I don’t know where to touch you or where to kiss you. I don’t know what’s too hard or too soft, with my extra strength. I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats.

I have no response. None. I’m so baffled and touched. This has never happened before. No one has ever said anything of the sort to me before.

Even Sandros, who gave me pleasure, never once asked what I wanted. He gave and he took, and I went along with just about everything because I wanted to try everything. But this? Having a real choice—is it true? Or just something he thinks I want to hear?

“You’ve truly never done this before?” I ask, because I’m not sure what else to say.

“No woman has ever known my secret. I couldn’t risk being this close to anyone before. I can’t keep it concealed when I’m… impassioned.”

“Is that what you feel for me? Passion?”

“You. You make me forget all my rules and reasons for everything. You make me want to believe it’s possible not to be alone forever. You make me want to claim the whole world and gift it to you on a silverplatter. You are unlike anyone I’ve ever known. And gods, but I love your mouth. The way it smiles. The words that come out of it. How it feels against mine. Just looking at your lips makes my mouth water.”

I bite my lower lip, trying to think of anything to say in response. Anything at all. But as if he can help it no longer, he kisses me again. His movements are clumsy at first, as he tries to figure out how our lips work together. But that lasts only a matter of seconds before I’m drowning in his kisses. And damn him, but it feels so good to be kissed again. When his movements slow, I think he’s going to stop. But I realize he’s only giving me control again, allowing me to set the pace.

Gods, this is incredible. In control yet out of control. Feeling as though I could do anything. When I go to wrap my arms around his neck, I hiss and pull away, my hurt arm throbbing.

“You’re injured,” Eryx says aloud, as though reminding himself. “Shit, what am I doing? I’m so sorry. We should get you into bed.”

I arch a single brow his way.

“I meant alone. You need to rest and heal. I will take care of everything else.”

He doesn’t leave immediately, instead staring after me as though waiting for something.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you find that agreeable?”

Agreeable? Is he serious? “You get one taste of me and suddenly you’re going to act as though you care what I think? Why bother and just go back to bossing me around as you always do?”

He scoffs and, upon finding me in earnest, says, “Is that what you want? For things to remain as they were before?”

“Don’t you? Surely you’ve had a slip in judgment?”

“I’ve had a slip in judgment?” he questions.

“Well, I certainly can’t be held responsible for my actions. I’m on laudanum.” The lie is too easy to find. Too easy to use to protect myself.

Eryx’s expression turns to one of horror. He looks around the room, and then his eyes land on the cup the doctor left for me. The one I didn’t drink, but Eryx likely comes to the conclusion that it was for me to have more of if I felt I needed it.

He rakes his hands in his hair, even pulls out a few strands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I never would have—”

He cuts himself off and strides out of the duchess suite without a backward glance, but the door doesn’t slam in his wake.

I’m beyond exhausted, arm throbbing, but even after I climb into bed, my mind won’t let me find oblivion. It fixates on that horrible man, on his kisses and gentle words. On the way I hurt him by allowing him to think he took advantage of me. The guilt is consuming, but I can’t let it win.

Eryx… said the right words, did the right things, but I cannot trust any of it. Men will say and do whatever they can to get what they want. He’s had a taste of me. He will either lose his obsession or want more. Either way, I can work with that.

DURING THE NEXT FORTNIGHT,I observe constables coming and going. Men from the morgue arrive to collect the bodies. A special cleaning staff admits themselves into the manor to do a thorough cleansing of the master suite. I don’t know if I can stay in there again after this instance. Too many awful things have happened in that room now. Perhaps I should wall it off and let it crumble over time.

I have no clue what Eryx tells the constabulary, but I’m sure he gets Dyson and Argus involved, so it’s more believable that three men took out over a dozen intruders.

I visit Damasus, who’s finally recovered enough for visitors.

“I didn’t open the door for them,” he says during one of his first lucid moments when they lessen the pain medication he’s on. “Neverwould have let anyone into the house so late in the evening. They busted the door in, asked me where the master slept, but I didn’t tell them anything.”