When Ash Falls (London Fairy Tales #4)(44)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“For?” Ash asked, leading her into the great hall.

“Tonight.” She looked down and licked her lips then quickly kissed his mouth and ran up the stairs.

Ash stood motionless in the entryway.

He would burn in hell for the ways he had touched her.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but elated that she’d trusted him enough to let him.

With a curse, he rubbed his face with his hands. What the devil was he doing? Playing with fire, that’s what.

He could not promise her anything, yet he wanted to. So many times it had been on the tip of his tongue to say something about his true identity, to tell her he could rescue her, save her.

But that was what happened when one wallowed in darkness for so long; thoughts of being worthy enough to save — let alone to be the one to do the saving — ceased.

He was neither of those things.

As he slowly ascended the stairs to his rooms, bypassing all of the Royal Guard, who had naturally fallen asleep as they stood watch, he could not help but wonder if the story would end the same way it had begun — with him fleeing the country, broken heart in hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY

I give as much all I am, and it is still not enough to satisfy. —The Grimm Reaper

SOFIA STARED INTO THE darkness. It had taken quite a while for her to ready herself for bed because she had refused to have Ana help her, knowing that the maid would see the marks Ash had left on her chest and thighs.

The man’s mouth was meant for pleasure.

A pleasure she craved. It was as if the more he gave, the more she wanted. He’d said he cared, but could he love her? Was it worth the risk?

A rustling sounded in the other room.

She held her breath.

“Damn it!” Something hit a wall, and then more cursing.

Without a second thought, she charged into Ash’s room with a candle. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Ash’s chest heaved. His shirt was open, buttons had popped from their holes, and his face was a grimace of irritation.

“May I help?”

“Undressing,” he said gruffly. “Remember when we first met and—”

“You were rude to me — how could I forget?”

“I wasn’t rude, simply… eager to—”

“Be rid of me, yes, I know.”

“Stop finishing my sentences!”

She arched her brows. “Well?”

“My arm, there are times it pains me, and I cannot lift it at the right angle to remove my shirtsleeves. The pain shoots across my chest, causing me to lose my breath.”

“Here.” Sofia set down the candle and walked over to Ash. She carefully pulled the shirt from his body then ran her fingers across his muscled back. So many scars, so many stories. “Is that better?”

“Don’t stop.” His voice was hoarse.

As she continued running her hands over his skin, he swayed on his feet.

Without speaking, she grabbed his hand and led him to the bed, where she gently helped him lie down.

“Like a witch lulling me to sleep,” he slurred.

Sofia chuckled softly to herself and kissed his cheek. “Sleep, my Ash.”

“Your Ash,” he repeated. “I’m yours.”

“Yes…” She fought the emotion clogging her throat. “…yes, you are.”

The next two weeks flew by at an increased rate. Ash never left Sofia’s side, and for that she was grateful. He was always ready to pull her in for a dance when she was about ready to throttle another suitor, and in the evening, he loved her. Though her guard seemed to become more and more suspicious, possibly because of the laughter that came from their rooms at night. She merely made up a lie that she was reading an amusing book.

Ash had rolled his eyes in her direction and later that evening asked her what possible written word could be better than his mouth?

None. The answer was none, and he proved it over and over again.

As she neared the final week of their affair, her heart started to get sick with worry; almost every evening he would need more and more help undressing, his arm giving him more pain than he said it had in the last few years.

And each time she’d asked him to see a doctor, he refused.

Finally, with only five days left of their time together, Sofia became so worried that she took matters into her own hands and sent a note immediately to the Duke of Haverstone.

She had some tea brought into the drawing room and waited patiently for the butler’s announcement.

Right on time. “The Duke of Haverstone.”

Hunter waltzed right into the room and sat. “My, my, things must be very serious for you to send a note directly to my residence.”

“It’s Ash.”

“Bloody hell, what has he done now?” Hunter leaned forward. “If he’s… hurt… you in any way, or—“

“No.” Sofia almost laughed. “No it isn’t that. He’s… he’s in pain.”

“Ah, my dear…” Hunter leaned back in his chair. “…that is what a broken heart does to a man. It causes pain.”

“Not that type of pain.” Sofia clenched her fists. “He cannot change out of his clothes!”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this because you simply stumble into his room every evening?”

The blood drained from Sofia’s face, leaving her lightheaded, and, doubtless, her entire face had turned white as a ghost.

“Hmm, seems my brother has been keeping secrets from me.” His face turned grim. “Now answer my question. It stays between us, but how do you know of his suffering?”

“I—I can’t say.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“We’ve become…” She swallowed. “…close.”

“How close?” Hunter’s voice was filled with dread; his eyes pinched together.

“Friends,” she said with a forced cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “He tells me things, and he said that… it pains him every night and, well, our bedchambers are side by side. I hear him try to undress without his valet. You see, we both arrive so late from the balls that we simply dismiss the staff.”

“I’m sure that’s the only reason,” Hunter said dryly.

“Speak plainly if you wish to insult me.” Sofia tilted her chin into the air, pretending to be upset when really she was terrified of exposure.

“Tell me…” Hunter reached for a cup of tea. “…have you decided upon a gentleman yet?”