Page 22 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

ABIGAIL

I ’m safe now, Dane.

I can hardly believe I said those words to him last night. They’d been automatic, an irrepressible urge to comfort him in the wake of his nightmare about losing his sister.

But had I meant it?

Yesterday, he confessed that he would die without me. The man who fell to his knees and literally offered me his heart wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t be capable of it.

Nothing will erase the pain he’s caused me. Nothing can undo the stalking and kidnapping. The lies and the heartbreak.

But I don’t think he’ll hurt me again.

When he first brought me to England, I railed at him that he was tormenting me, that he was my own personal monster. He hadn’t listened. Convincing him that he’d wronged me seemed impossible.

Now, he’s apologized. He acknowledged that he caused me immense pain. And it was so much more than a simple I’m sorry.

I’ll be better for you, Abigail. I will never be worthy of you, but I’ll be better. I swear.

And last night, he was so raw. He told me how he watched his twin sister die because of his father’s carelessness. He welcomed my comforting touch, as though he needed to feel me.

I thought he was a complete psychopath. But he does seem to feel something for me. Maybe it’s every bit as cruelly possessive and obsessive as he claimed. That doesn’t change the fact that my ravaged heart feels tethered to his by a gossamer thread.

We both have emotional wounds inflicted by our families. It was one of the first things that bonded me to him.

That had nothing to do with his stalking, nothing to do with the thrilling fear I experienced around him—the fizzy sensation I’d mistaken for lust.

This part of our connection has always been real: we’ve both been subject to abuse.

It made me kind, but it made him cold.

I never want to hurt anyone the way my parents hurt me. But Dane seems to have shut off his feelings entirely to avoid the pain.

He was only five years old when he watched his sister die. I can’t imagine the psychological damage that inflicts on a child.

“What are you thinking about?” Dane’s eyeing me almost warily.

I realize I’ve fallen a few steps behind him, and I’ve been staring at him like I can peer into his mind if I just look hard enough.

I cut my gaze away and study the stunning landscape. We’re walking along a vaguely marked footpath through an idyllic field dotted with sheep.

Dr. Graham has deemed that I’m well enough for light exercise, and I jumped at the chance to explore the countryside. For weeks, the stunning views from the manor’s windows have been tempting me to paint the rolling hills, but I was too focused on my anguished self-portrait.

“Can we talk more about last night?” I ask after a moment.

He pauses, then leans back against a dry-stone wall. His posture is casual, but there’s a defensiveness in his crossed arms.

“What do you want to know?”

I know this topic will be painful for him, but I have to understand him better. And not just so that I can formulate an escape plan. I’m starting to accept that I simply long to know everything about him.

Some secret part of me wants to justify opening my heart to him.

I’m nowhere near loving him again, but I do feel compassion for him.

And yearning for the man who knelt before me and promised to give me the world. All he wants is me. The knowledge is heady and terribly tempting. I’ve been alone for so long, and Dane promises complete and utter devotion.

I consider my next question carefully. I could ask why he decided to assault me as the masked man again, but I fear that his answers will be the same as before. He thinks it was the best way to win my heart.

That subject is too painful to contemplate, so instead I ask, “What were your parents like with you? After Katie died?”

His brow furrows. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I told you how my family treated me when I was a child. Is it too much to ask for the same in return?”

He manages a halfhearted smile. “Do you promise not to kill them if I tell you?”

It’s not funny, but I return his smile, my lips twisting with sorrow for the abused child he used to be.

“I promise,” I vow needlessly. His family is in no danger from me, no matter how awful they are. I hope to never meet them.

“They didn’t beat me, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, tone light.

“That is what I’m asking,” I confirm. “So, what did they do to you, Dane?”

His eyes focus on something beyond me. “It was the opposite of what you experienced. Your father belted you, and your mother punished you. They controlled you with physical and verbal violence.”

“What’s the opposite of that?” I press.

“Complete indifference. Duty and expectation. Raising me like I was nothing more than an extension of their own vanity. Everything for appearances, nothing real. Nothing raw.”

“No emotions,” I surmise.

He sneers. “What good are emotions if there’s no one there to bear witness to them? Why bother with the theatrics when you’re alone? Why suffer through them when they’re of no consequence?”

My heart bleeds for him. For years, I’ve felt so alone.

His damage matches mine, even if it shaped him differently.

Suddenly, he pushes away from the wall and closes the distance between us. He takes my hands in his, but he doesn’t force me closer.

“You see me, Abigail. Ever since the night we first met. You make me feel things I never thought possible. No one has ever given me that gift. I don’t think anyone else can. There’s only you. You’re all that matters to me.”

Longing floods my chest in a surging wave that’s strong enough to make my healed ribs ache. My head tips back, and for the first time in weeks, I allow myself to truly breathe in his salt-kissed cedarwood scent. Comfort blankets me, even as my body heats in response to the scent memory.

Before the terrible night I stepped into the powder blue house, this was all I wanted: Dane’s arms enfolding me, keeping me safe and giving me more pleasure than I imagined possible.

I still want that. I still want him.

Not the monster who kidnapped me.

Not even the man I thought I loved back in Charleston.

But this man: the real Dane.

Nothing about him is a lie. He’s raw and vulnerable. He can’t live without me.

“What are you thinking?” he asks me again. He’s staring at me so intently that I shiver like his gaze is a palpable caress on my soul.

“I don’t want to think anymore.”

It’s foolish, reckless. But I cup his beautiful face in both hands and draw him toward me for a fierce kiss. I don’t stop to consider what this means. What the consequences may be.

I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to pull him even closer.

He meets me with the hungry growl that makes my insides quiver with fear-edged delight. His sensual lips are so decadently soft on mine, worshipping the shape of my mouth. Tasting me with teasing flicks of his tongue, testing my welcome.

I open for him on a sigh, completely surrendering to my desire for him.

His tongue surges into my mouth, claiming me in deep, domineering strokes. I’m dizzy from his kiss, the passion we share.

How could any woman give this up? How can I walk away from such perfect chemistry?

He no longer allows me room to resist, and I don’t want to. His arms are iron around me, immovable but cradling my body with care. One hand grasps my nape in a firm grip, holding me in place so he can ravage my mouth.

My fingers spear into his thick, midnight hair, and I drag him to me, urging him to take me more deeply. I share every breath with him, and my heart races for him.

Rain begins to fall, and I welcome the cooling mist on our heated skin. It dampens his hair, and the thick, short waves tighten into loose curls. I twine them around my fingers, reveling in the feel of him against me.

It feels like a cruel eternity has passed since our last kiss. I’m a different woman than I was then. This is a different life.

One that I’m sharing with him, whether it’s by my own choice or by his will.

In this moment, I choose to be with him. To stop twisting myself in knots and just let go.

And it feels so blissful that my eyes sting with the force of my emotional release. I close them and kiss him like I need him more than oxygen.

The rain is falling in fat, cool drops, and I shiver despite the heat between us.

Dane breaks the kiss, fixing me with a cocky smirk at the sound of my small whimper of protest.

“Let’s get out of the rain. Come on.”

“I don’t mind,” I insist, wanting to stay in this surreal, peaceful bubble with him for a while longer. “It’s at least half an hour to walk back to the house. We’re wet anyway.”

“There’s shelter nearby. The rain will pass soon, and then we can walk back.” He grasps my hand and starts walking. “No more arguing, Abigail.”

I huff out a breath, but I don’t really feel annoyed. I’m still burning for him, and I remember the pleasure I used to experience when I obeyed his every wicked command.

“I don’t like it when you tell me to shut up,” I inform him.

He quickens our pace as the rain falls faster. “I would never tell you to shut up. I love the sound of your voice too much. I simply don’t want to argue.”

I love the sound of his voice, too. That gorgeous, lilting accent when he caresses my name with his tongue. The way his tone deepens when we’re intimate. The way he rumbles when he reads my favorite books to me, like rolling thunder during a warm summer storm.

We arrive at a tumbledown stone building that used to be some sort of barn or small enclosure for sheep. Now, half of the roof has fallen in, and it obviously hasn’t been functional in many years.

“It’s safe,” Dane reassures me as we duck under the remaining shelter. “I’ve been coming here since I was a boy, and it hasn’t changed one bit.”

“Your home is so beautiful,” I say with fervent sincerity. This estate has some of the most stunning landscapes I’ve ever seen. I can hardly wait to paint them.