Page 76 of The Scot’s Secret

Instead, Simon de Montfort’s body had been mutilated and scattered across England. But did Clara still have a reason to be afraid? Though she would likely never reclaim what should have been her inheritance, Alex wasn’t convinced the king would be looking for every child, sibling, or relative of de Montfort’s supporters. But he could easily understand the reason for her continued deception.

English bastards.

If only she’d gotten a good look at the man who’d murdered her father in front of her. Alex would have gladly hunted the man to the ends of this godforsaken country and slit his throat.

Clara, already sleeping, turned from him, but he didn’t have time to mourn the loss of his sweet Englishwoman. From the opposite direction, Clara sought the warmth of his body from behind. She wiggled as close to his side as possible, her bottom pressing up against him.

He groaned.

“Alex,” she mumbled, not as deeply asleep as he had assumed.

“Mmm,” he murmured.

“Are you okay?” She yawned, and he held back his answer. He’d nearly done something extremely foolish that night at the inn, when he’d instructed her on the ‘pains’ he was currently experiencing. And if he answered that question, he’d place them in the same compromising position.

As if sharing a bed with an unmarried maid, the one he desired above all others, were not compromising enough. But after hearing the rest of her story, he’d decided this was the one thing he could do for her, the one way he could show his unflinching support. If his presence could at least save her from her nightmares and give her a full night’s rest, then by God, he would sleep here every night.

“Alex?”

She turned, moving the feather-stuffed pillow under her head, and faced him. He could see her from the corner of his eye. And she was decidedly awake.

“Go to sleep, Clara.” If his voice was harsh, it was with good reason.

“I’m not tired.”

The way she said it. . .

He could not look at her.

“You were sleeping just moments ago.” He turned his back to her and prayed she would not pursue this.

“You said you desired me.”

“Please, Clara, don’t.”

“And that you’d not take the virginity of a maid. A woman whose name you did not know.”

His cock responded to the implication of her words. But he did not turn to face her. If he did, he would be lost.

“Now you know my name.”

He would not do this. Could not do it. He needed to be blunt. Without turning, he finally responded. “You said it should not matter.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I was angry you had rejected me.”

“Rejected?”

He did turn then, and Lord, he wished he had not. She’d taken out the braids. When had she done that? Her hair splayed across the white pillow, the fire casting a soft glow from behind. She looked like an angel. One he refused to allow to fall from grace.

“I did not, would not, reject you, Clara. Not then, not ever. But I will also not allow myself the pleasure of a woman who doesn’t belong to me.”

“I am not an ox, Alex. I belong to no one.”

He wasn’t doing a good job of explaining. “If I took you in my arms, pulled you toward me, took your mouth, your body, your maidenhood. What then? Would we marry? Return to Brockburg to live with Toren and Juliette?”

“I will never be able to marry.” She said it with such bleak conviction, he believed her.

“You don’t know that,” he said.