Page 35

Chapter

Twenty-Two

TESSA

Arlon holds my hand all the way down to the taproom, and I don’t shake him off.

We’re playing pretend for the innkeeper and the patrons—at least, that’s what I tell myself. The truth is, his hand is warm, his grip strong, and I’m a weak woman. I simply don’t want to let go.

We drop our dirty laundry with the maids in the hallway, then pass the bar and the massive fireplace spilling light and warmth into the room. Since we were here half an hour ago, the room has filled up even more. Arlon tugs me toward a table in the corner.

“We can sit there,” he murmurs, bending down so I can hear him over the din. “If you squeeze to the side, I’ll have enough room for my legs, I think.”

He lets go of me so I can slide onto the bench, and I miss the contact immediately. But moments later, he sits right next to me. His strong thigh presses against mine. I freeze, wondering why we’re still pretending when no one can see us touching under the table.

No one is paying us any attention now. The musicians at the bar have just stood and struck up a lively tune, their faces glowing with excitement.

Moments later, the first pair of patrons rises, a willowy, dark-haired woman and her tall, strikingly handsome companion.

They push their chairs back and begin to sway in time with the music.

Arlon glances down at me, his dark eyes warm. “All right?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

I’m feeling hot all over, so I shrug off my jacket and undo the top button of my shirt. He follows every movement with a hungry gaze until a young man materializes in front of us, placing two mugs of ale on the table.

“What can I get you?” he asks, swiping his forehead with his sleeve.

Arlon orders for us, his voice low and steady, then turns to me. “Do you want some, too?”

I blink, embarrassed because I haven’t been listening,only thinking about the warmth radiating from his body.

“What?”

His grin is devastating. “Dessert, love. Would you like some?”

“Oh.” I fight off a shiver of awareness. “Yes, please.”

The server nods distractedly and hurries away, and Arlon focuses on me again, his attention unwavering.

“Are you all right?” he murmurs, leaning close so we’re not overheard.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, clenching my knees together. “It’s just warm in here—and you’re a furnace.”

His low chuckle sends my blood rushing faster. He’s not being overwhelming on purpose, I know that, but his presence has all my senses tingling, and I can’t seem to stop my mind from wandering into inappropriate places.

“What are you thinking?” Arlon leans his elbow on the table, giving me his full attention.

I scramble for something to say—anything but the truth. “That if the caravan we’re following passed through here, someone must have seen it.”

He lifts an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but he doesn’t press me.

“Aye, we can inquire about them. In the morning, though.” He glances around the crowded taproom. “Don’t want anyone knowing we’re asking questions. You never know who’s listening.”

“You think we’re being followed?”

My eyes flick to a man in a dusty cloak seated alone at the bar. I don’t recognize him as a Raven, but he’s one of the few here without company, focused on his meal.

“Don’t know. But I’d rather be cautious.”

Arlon leans back, resting his arm along the back of the bench.

To anyone watching, it might look like he’s slipped it around my shoulders, but he’s not actually touching me.

It should be a relief, but all I feel is a strange hollowness.

Only our thighs remain pressed together, a lingering line of warmth I haven’t moved away from, though there’s room to my right if I truly wanted the space.

Our food arrives, good country fare steaming on our plates.

The waiter disappears quickly, winding his way through the couples who’ve joined the first pair of dancers on the floor.

I tackle my stew and bread quickly. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.

Arlon eats more slowly, his manners better than mine.

It’s been a while since I shared a meal with anyone like this, sitting down at a proper table instead of scarfing down leftover rolls with Etta over her counter.

My cheeks heat, and I force myself to calm down and remember the etiquette lessons from my childhood.

“Your scent has changed,” he remarks between bites. “Want to tell me what you’re thinking about?”

I glare at him from the corner of my eye. “It really is unfair that you can sense this about me.”

He shrugs. “I like to think it gives me an advantage. I’ll always know when you’re upset, so I’ll be able to help.”

Setting down my spoon, I turn slightly so I can face him. Only our knees are touching now, the contact scorching hot.

“Yes, but I can’t tell the same about you. How will I know when you’re upset?”

Arlon studies me for a long moment. “I haven’t thought of that.” He leans back, his powerful body relaxed. “I can promise to always tell you. You won’t be able to discern it yourself, but you’ll still know.”

I press my lips together, thinking it through. It’s not the same—I’d have to rely on his honesty instead of my senses—but Arlon has been truthful with me from the start. Doubting him now makes little sense.

“All right.” I drop my gaze back to my stew and admit, “I was thinking of my table manners and the last time I had to use them.”

He’s still watching me, his meal abandoned for the moment. “Was that before you had to leave your home?”

“My parents hosted a lot of dinners,” I tell him as I mop up the last of my stew with a piece of bread.

“It was such an achievement for me when I turned sixteen and was finally allowed to attend them. My sister was two years my senior, so she’d taunt me with stories about how lovely the dances were, how good the conversation, and I envied her so badly. ”

Arlon’s lips curl into a small smile. “Ah, I can imagine young Tessa in her best dress, hair pinned up, the most beautiful girl at the ball.”

I nudge him with my elbow, but I can’t help the heat that rises in my cheeks.

“I wasn’t the most admired girl, you know. My sister was a lot prettier, and she had all the suitors hanging around her.”

Janie knew she was beautiful, too, and used it to secure a match with one of the richest men in Redport—the match I almost ruined with my impulsive decision to run away with Hugo.

“I would have danced with you.”

Arlon’s low voice breaks through my memories.

“Every damn dance.”

My breath catches in my throat at his earnest expression. He’s telling the truth, I know it.

It’s why I glance toward the musicians, who have just launched into another song, and murmur, “Would you like to dance with me now?”

Arlon’s surprise is so evident, I can’t hold back a laugh. He clearly didn’t think I’d take him up on his word so quickly.

But he’s on his feet in a flash and holds out his hand for me.

“My lady?”

I slip my hand into his, letting him lead me around the table.

We find a narrow space beside the bar, out of the way of the first couple still dancing, caught up in the rhythm.

Arlon pulls me closer until our boots nearly touch.

He pauses, then gently sets his hands on my hips, like he’s waiting for me to push him away.

But I was the one who asked him, and I want this. Maybe it’s a flaw, but I want him to keep looking at me like I’m the only woman in the room—the only one in the world. So I rest my palms on his shoulders and hold tight as we sway with the music, our steps falling into rhythm.

The lessons from childhood come flooding back.

And I realize this is the first dance I’ve had since Hugo.

He’d been a graceful dancer, and in his arms, I’d felt untouchable—desirable, admired, the envy of every girl at a party.

But everything shifted after our failed elopement.

Society shunned us for not being wed, or so I thought.

In truth, they turned their backs on me, not my fiancé.

“The last time I attended a ball, I could only dance with Hugo,” I admit to Arlon, my voice quiet. “When it came time to change partners, he asked another girl to dance, and I was left without a partner. No one else would touch me because I was a fallen woman.”

Arlon’s hands tighten around my waist.

“They were fools. You weren’t fallen just for loving someone.”

“I know that now.” The memory stings. “Have you ever made a fool of yourself for love?”

Arlon’s quiet laugh brushes my cheek as he draws me into a turn.

“I’ve never been in love,” he says. “But I did make a fool of myself over a girl once. Asked her to meet me at the thermal baths. When she arrived and undressed, I lost control in less than a minute. She stormed off and told all her friends.”

I smother a laugh against his sleeve.

“Arlon, you can’t say things like that in public.”

He shrugs.

“I promised I’d be honest. And I’ve gotten a lot better since then. It’s been over a decade. I’ve had practice.”

A flash of white-hot jealousy streaks through me at the thought of him practicing on other women. Then I think of my own lovers, the ones I took after leaving Redport. Weren’t those nights practice too? I learned things with them Hugo never taught me. I know how to find my own pleasure now.

I grip Arlon’s shoulders more tightly as he spins me into another turn. His scent floods my senses, fresh and heady. I lean in, unable to help myself. He sucks in a sharp breath, and on the next turn, our bodies touch, my chest brushing against his.

And all of a sudden, I feel him. He’s hard, his cock straining behind the fly of his riding pants. My breath catches in my throat, but I don’t step away. I don’t push his hands off or demand that he release me. Instead, I tilt my head back to meet his gaze, my mind replaying what he just told me.

“You’ve never been in love?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head.

“No. I hadn’t met you yet.”

I let my right hand slide down his chest to rest over his heart. It thuds against my palm, and the sensation wakes something inside me, an awareness I can’t deny. Arlon lowers his head until his cheek brushes my temple and draws in a long breath, scenting me.

“You smell so fucking good, Tessa.”

His words are a rough confession, sending shivers through me.

The contact of his skin with mine feels incredible, and we haven’t even kissed yet.

If such a simple touch is powerful enough to make my nipples pebble under my stays, I almost dread the idea of him touching me elsewhere.

The sensations I feel in his presence are more intense than anything I’ve experienced, yet I want more.

“We should finish our drinks,” I murmur.

“We should go upstairs so I can show you everything I’ve learned,” he rumbles, but his gaze is warm, his lips upturned, telling me he’s joking, at least mostly.

I have no doubt that Arlon would show me everything if I asked him to.

And it’s getting harder to find reasons to keep denying him. I’ve been propositioned before, even by attractive men, but Arlon is different. He’s offering himself, not demanding.

I bite my lip and lean my cheek on his chest.

“It’s a bad idea.”

He leans down, curling his big body around mine.

“Why? Because you’re a thief? Are we back to that again?”

“Because you want different things in life than I do.” I don’t meet his gaze as I add in a whisper, “And you’re the most honest man I’ve ever met.”

Arlon’s arms tighten around me. “I want you . Everything else can wait.”