Page 3 of Royal Hunt
“Who’s there?” I asked the darkness, looking around but not seeing anyone else. I rounded the corner of a column, spying a short set of stone steps that led down to the gardens. A man lay sprawled a few steps down, covered in wine and smelling like vomit. My nose wrinkled in disgust. Had he been there this whole time?
His face was smooth and free of stubble, his nose pointed with a slight upturn to the tip, and his hair black as obsidian. It was mussed beyond repair, framing high cheekbones and full lips, and curled around the edges of his ears. He was handsome in a way that I found irritating. Too perfect.
Wryly, I took in the fine fabric of his tunic and the quality of his leather boots. Some nobleman’s son no doubt, spoiled and drunk. Certainly not someone who’d ever known a hard day’s work.
“Where you going?” His voice was dark and slightly slurred, and purred at me with far too much confidence. I gathered my skirts and stunk my nose in the air.
“Excuse me, sir. I must not be out without my chaperone.”
Lies. I didn’t have an official chaperone. I wasn’t important enough to merit one. Not that he knew that.
His head tilted to the side, a few of those black curls falling into his eyes. He smirked at me.
“That didn’t seem to matter to your other . . . paramour.” He flung his head back, gazing up at the stars. His hand waved dismissively in the direction Gregory had gone.
I flushed. “Well, all the same.” I turned to go.
“Walk away from me, and I’ll tell everyone I saw you two going at it like rabbits out here.”
His voice was rough, suddenly devoid of slurring and stutters. If it wasn’t for his stench, I might not even think he was drunk.
This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?
My back went rigid. Yes, I wanted to create a scandal, but I’d off myself like my mother before I’d take Gregory down with me.
The man must have realized I was stuck, because he smirked at me. “Now turn around. Face me.”
My hands clenched into fists at my side. I spun on my heel and crossed my arms across my chest. He stared at me, and I glared back. The man snorted inelegantly, only to fall forward as his hands flew to cover his mouth. I scrambled backward away from him, just managing to turn and avoid him as the sound of liquid hitting stone met my ears.
Charming. The only thing that kept me in place was his earlier threat.
Hacking coughs followed, which eventually quieted until he awkwardly cleared his throat.
The man wiped his face with his arm and met my gaze head on. Unbridled, raw misery reached out to me, intense grief etched into his face. I was so struck by it that I didn’t realize I’d moved forward, crouching down next to him to make sure he was alright. Just because he was an ass didn’t mean I’d leave a sick man to suffer on his own. He reached a hand up to brush my cheek with his fingertips. His touch was like ice.
“My nightmares have finally come to haunt me in real life. Isn’t that ironic?” His hair fell over his eyes again, making it difficult for me to see much of them in the darkness.
I drew back in disgust, remembering who I was. This drunk idiot was on his own. I turned to go.
“I’m dying, fair maiden.” His tone was laced with sarcasm, but I paused all the same.
He started coughing again, and I automatically turned, offering him my handkerchief. He wiped his face, letting it fall to the ground. That was fine. I certainly didn’t want it back after he’d used it.
“As a dying man, my last request is that you lie with me.”
His hands snaked around my waist, and pulled me down to him. I yelped with surprise, trying to lean away from his fouled jacket.
“Ah, my apologies.”
He released his grip, and with one hand ripped his jacket and tunic from his body. I could only stare as I immediately took back my words about him never working a day in his life. Those muscles certainly said otherwise; sculpted biceps and rounded shoulders set atop abs that reminded me of our washwoman’s cleaning board. Then again, now would be the time to run. If he was this sick, he couldn’t come after me. No one would believe the word of a drunk anyhow. I was safe.
Yet I stayed put, a weak protest on my lips. “This is very improper—”
“Isn’t that what you want?” he purred, pulling me back down to the ground with him and ghosting his lips against my ear. I shivered, one hand propping myself up on his broad chest in a pitiful attempt to maintain any sort of control over the situation.
Then again . . . why should I? Wasn’t this what I wanted? A stupid man to seduce and ruin my marriage? Not only was this one willing, but he was also insisting, and I could hardly do worse than someone as young and muscled as he was, even if he stank to high heaven.
I just hadn’t expected him to be so sinfully handsome. And with his ruined clothes gone, he didn’t smell as offensive. There was still a bit of acridness about his breath, but there was also something else: a musty, strong scent of leather and pine. Of the woods and sweat.
