Savage Gentleman: 8. The Hunt Resumes

He heard her stir. “You shouldn’t be here when the sun’s up.”

She drew the sheet closer around herself. “Neither should you.”

He turned then, and the look in his eyes was something she hadn’t seen before. Not guilt. Not tenderness. Something older—like recognition of the inevitable.

“I’ve been watched since the moment I stepped into that ballroom,” he said quietly. “They’ll find the breach by dawn.”

“And me?”

“They’ll suspect. Eventually.”

A pause. “Do you regret it?”

He almost smiled. “Regret is a luxury I can’t afford.”

She rose, the sheet falling in soft folds around her. The light made her seem almost carved from gold and shadow, too beautiful for the room she stood in. “And what am I now, Lucas? Another mark? Another stolen thing?”

He crossed the space between them slowly. “You were never something to steal.”

“Then what was last night?”

“Proof.”

She frowned. “Of what?”

“That you’re not made of glass.”