Savage Gentleman: 7. The Fugitive Lovers

He didn’t answer. Instead, he swung his legs out of bed and stood, every line of his body tense. The fire had died in the hearth, and the ashes glowed faintly red — like the remnants of a night they couldn’t keep.

Evelyn rose slowly, pulling one of his shirts over her shoulders. It hung loose, smelling faintly of smoke and rain. “You think it was one of yours.”

Lucas gave a sharp nod. “A man named Cassel. Used to handle transport. He must have followed me here after the auction job went bad.”

“And he knows about me,” she said.

Lucas’s silence was answer enough.

Outside, the wind shifted — carrying the distant growl of engines. Her pulse quickened. The world was waking again, and it was not kind.

He moved quickly now, methodical. He checked the weapons he’d hidden in a false drawer, loaded them without expression, then met her gaze. “There’s a back exit through the kitchen. Down to the lake. You’ll take the boat.”

“I’m not leaving you.”