Luck of the Wolf. Susan KrinardЧитать онлайн книгу.
used women as objects of pleasure and convenience?
“I regret if I have given you the impression that I want anything from you,” he said stiffly.
Her face fell, and she stared down at her bare feet. “I’m … sorry,” she said. “I’m just not used to …”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but he couldn’t doubt her contrition. It was a step toward gratitude, in any case. And gratitude was exactly the emotion he wished to arouse. That, and unquestioning trust.
He would have to work very hard to earn that particular prize.
“Whatever you have suffered in the past,” he said gently, “not all men are like the ones who abused you. There are motives other than.” He stopped, unwilling to put his thoughts into words. They seemed far too dangerous when he himself could not quite control his physical reaction to her. “Have you known no kindness in your life?”
“I …”
Don’t remember, of course. “If that is true,” he said, “I regret it deeply.”
She met his eyes. “I believe you.”
Another small step. “You do me honor, mademoiselle,” he said.
All the yearning he had seen before filled her face again. “Do you really think you can find my family?”
“I am certain of it.”
“There is so much I don’t understand. Everything is so strange.”
“I will guide you.”
Something in her seemed to give way, and she stumbled back against the table. Cort jumped up to support her, and this time she didn’t push him away. All the resistance went out of her body, and she looked up, vulnerable and frightened and trusting. Her eyes were like the sea at its most tranquil, right before a storm.
He didn’t intend to let that storm break. He held her, feeling the warmth and suppleness of her body, taut with the kind of muscle built by vigorous exercise. If he had ever doubted that she had experienced something very different from the soft, easy life of a Madeleine Renier, he had no such doubt now.
And yet she was so beautiful.
“Ma belle,” he murmured.
Her eyes half closed, dreamy and inviting. Her lips parted. She could not have offered a more appealing invitation.
He lowered his head. She made no move to stop him. With a staggering flash of insight, Cort recognized that she didn’t fully comprehend what he was about to do. She had understood enough to realize that the men who had taken her had planned something unpleasant for her.
But in this matter of a kiss her expectations were only half-formed, like those of a child who has heard snatches of conversation between her elders about things no youngster should know. Cort was certain now that she had never been touched.
A string of bitter curses ran through his mind, each one more profane than the last. He had lied to Yuri when he’d said he had no interest in this woman. He might tell himself so, but his resolve was not nearly so firm as a certain part of his anatomy, which had quickly developed the troublesome habit of demanding his attention whenever he was near her. And even when he wasn’t.
Perhaps if he had never seen her body in that diaphanous gown, or witnessed her Change, he might have dismissed such unwelcome sensations more easily. But he had seen it. All he wanted now was to feel her flesh touching his, taste her lips and her breasts, hear her eager little cries of joy when he introduced her to a world of pleasure he was certain she had never known.
And that would make him no better than the others who had lusted after an innocent girl. Would turn him into a barbarian who would use her for the sake of his own satisfaction. Destroy the very trust that was so essential in what was to come.
Slowly he released her. She swayed a little and found her balance again. The protective stiffness returned to her body. She edged away from him and toward her safe harbor on the sofa.
The sound of ripping fabric made Cort wince. She started, glanced at the shoulder seam of the bodice and bit her lip. He no longer doubted that she had little experience with dresses.
At least the garment hadn’t been too expensive.
He smiled at her. “Would you feel more at ease in a shirt and trousers?”
“Oh, yes.” She grinned, all embarrassment forgotten, then her shoulders slumped again. “But if you really think I need to wear a dress to see my family …”
“I do. In spite of your doubts, I remain convinced that you are of good family. I am certain that they would be deeply dismayed if they had any suspicion that you had suffered as you have. Dressing properly will help ease their worries. That is what you would wish, is it not?”
She hung her head. “Yes,” she said. “I will learn to wear a dress.”
She was so earnest that Cort almost felt ashamed. Her loneliness was like a wound in his own body. Whatever companionship she’d had before he had won her, it couldn’t have been enough. She would do anything to ease that emptiness inside.
Once he would have done the same.
“I promise,” he said, “that I will not ask more of you than you can give.”
Her smile was radiant, giving without holding back any part of herself. “Thank you,” she said, glancing down at her updrawn knees. “I have remembered something.”
Cort braced himself. “And what might that be, mademoiselle?”
“My name,” she said. “It’s Aria.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ARIA.
Not Lucienne, as Yuri had hoped, but something far more enchanting.
Aria. A song. She was a song, as enticing as a waltz, as earthy as an Acadian air, as full of fire as a Beethoven symphony.
God forbid that he should learn that melody too well.
“Aria,” he repeated. “A lovely name.”
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
The tone of her voice brought Cort to attention. “You wish to keep it a secret?”
“I … I just don’t want anyone else to know.”
Which was most peculiar. Was that the name she had been using since her abduction, the name her captor had given her? But why would she want to conceal an assumed name? Had she remembered something she didn’t want to share even with him?
“You can confide in me, Aria,” he said. “Why don’t you want anyone to know?”
“I don’t know why!” she said, her voice rising. “It must be important, but—”
“Do you remember ever having gone by any other name?”
She frowned. “I remember someone calling me ‘Anna.’“
Anna. Not an inspired name for a woman like her. “Would you prefer that I call you by that name?”
“Yes,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Except when we’re alone. But I still don’t want you to tell anyone else about Aria.”
Cort saw no good in pushing her too far. “I will not share your name with anyone without your permission,” he said. “You have my word.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Have I permission to tell Yuri your real name?”
“I … I suppose.” Her eyelids began to droop, the fringe of long lashes brushing her cheeks. She quickly opened them again, but Cort knew she was losing the battle to stay awake.
“You