profession. One was rounded, as if made by a bullet. Two more were long slashes, possibly from a knife or sword blade. But those were insignificant compared to the burns.
She could only imagine the physical pain he’d suffered from the castle fire, even discounting his emotional pain. The thought brought tears to Skye’s eyes. Foolishly, she wanted to press her lips against his ravaged skin and take away the hurt.
She would have to hide her sadness and sorrow from Lord Hawkhurst, though, for he wouldn’t want her pity. He wasn’t the sort of man who invited pity. Even in sleep, he was arresting, powerful.
She hadn’t meant to go so far as to lose her virginity to him last night, however. She’d flung herself against him, true, clinging so tightly she’d nearly choked him, but her motives had been entirely innocent at first. And then his consoling warmth had seeped into her bones, driving away the chilling fear of her nightmare. She could feel her trembling subside as he expertly molded his lips to fit hers. With his masterful arms holding her and his tender kisses kindling her senses, he’d inflamed her to aching arousal.…
Apparently she had done the same to him, Skye reflected, her gaze lingering on his bare, smoothly muscled chest. It was no wonder that Hawkhurst had reacted as he had, considering the brazen way she had explored and fondled him. Yet there had been an intensity in his embrace, almost a desperation, as if he needed her more than his next breath.
The same need had filled her. A hunger so strong that she felt dazed. She had longed to be part of him.
She couldn’t regret becoming a woman in his arms. In truth, she was amazed by how right their joining had felt—as if she’d never lived until he’d touched her, kissed her, melded with her.
She couldn’t help wondering if their consummation was a sign that they were meant to be together. She could picture this man as her husband, and waking next to him each morning. Indeed, the past night could have been their wedding night, Skye thought dreamily. But regardless of whether Lord Hawkhurst was her life’s mate, she would never be able to look at him again without remembering the feel of him moving inside her.
Fresh pleasure flooded her as she remembered his hardness inside her, his urgent thrusts as he took her.
The quivery feelings in her midsection persisted as Hawkhurst finally stirred awake. When he first spied her, a faint smile of greeting touched his mouth, while his gray eyes held unmistakable warmth. He reached out to touch her bare toes that were peeking from beneath the hem of her nightdress—to see if she was real, she supposed.
At the intimate contact, Skye felt her stomach turn fluttery again, but then a frown claimed his mouth.
Raising his head, Hawkhurst glanced around the bedchamber before returning his gaze to her. He must have recalled where he was and whom he was with, for those fathomless gray eyes leveled on her with an intensity that unsettled her.
Skye felt a flush stain her cheeks. She could no longer ignore the fact that she was still dressed in her nightclothes, alone with a naked man in her bed. A splendidly naked man who had plumbed the secrets of her body the night before.
The stomach-tightening awareness of his maleness made her feel shy and uncertain. She wanted to appear casual and sophisticated, but she was in way over her head, Skye silently admitted. How did one behave after a blazing night of passion with a new lover? With a first lover?
Suddenly she wished she had fled before the earl had awakened. But that would have been cowardly. She would just have to brave it out.
“I decided to let you sleep,” she explained in a rush. “You were so weary that I didn’t have the heart to wake you, and I thought it best if I didn’t go wandering around your house and startling the servants with my presence until you were able to alert them to the reason for my visit—”
Realizing she was running on at the mouth, Skye cut off her steady stream of nervous chatter and took a deep breath. “Thank you for consoling me last night, my lord.”
His expression remained enigmatic. Shifting slowly onto his back, Hawkhurst propped another pillow behind his head, as if preparing for a conversation he didn’t want.
“Do you suffer nightmares regularly?” His raspy voice sounded cautious.
Skye nodded briefly. “Since childhood. They started after losing my parents, when I was sent away to boarding school. But I haven’t had them recently. It must be this house, sleeping in a strange place, combined with the storm.…”
Her nightmares were her chief weakness, one she couldn’t seem to control. It was always the same horrible dream about her parents dying—descending to a watery grave when their ship sank during a storm. The sensation of drowning … reaching out to grasp their flailing hands … struggling futilely to rescue them.
In any other circumstance, she never needed to be coddled, but she was grateful the earl had provided her solace when the terror struck.
Hawkhurst, however, apparently did not share her view. “I did not mean to take advantage of you last night,” he murmured with genuine regret.
“But you didn’t,” Skye said quickly, wanting to reassure him.
He cleared his throat in disagreement, but otherwise gave her no reply. After a moment, he threw off the covers, preparing to rise. As he started to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, he happened to glance down at the bed where a faint pink stain marred the white sheets.
Her blood, Skye realized. The same stain had covered the insides of her thighs before she had washed it away.
“Good God. You were a virgin.”
His tone was faintly stunned while his entire body had gone rigid. His gaze shot back to her. “I never realized.… You seemed more than willing.”
Skye felt her flush deepen. Not unreasonably he had taken her wantonness for carnal experience. “I was willing.”
The grimness of his mouth told her what he thought of her declaration.