He grabbed her wrist, his fingers a hot vise. "Don't."
His harsh whisper made her insides knot, her most secret flesh ache. "It's cold. Let me at least provide a bit of warmth since you left me the bed."
Hurstgrove cursed, then stared at her, dark eyes burning with lust.
She gasped. He wanted her. Badly. Relentlessly. And he either couldn't or didn't bother to hide it.
Felicia backed away, her heart racing, nipples beading with forbidden need.
"Your Grace--"
"Damn it, it's Simon. Go to sleep."
"Not yet. What happened earlier can't happen again."
"Agreed." No arguments, no hesitation.
Good, she thought. Then she frowned, suddenly distraught at the thought of never kissing Hurstgrove again.
She shook her head. It wasn't like her to be contradictory. Perhaps she was simply tired or having difficulty adjusting to the recent, dramatic events.
All that was true, but deep inside, she knew she reacted solely to the man.
Hurstgrove gathered the edge of the blanket around his chest, his gaze unwavering. "We'll leave shortly after dawn. Sleep now. Tomorrow will be a long day.
I'm trying like hell to resist you, so don't look at me that way. And don't come near me again."
Sunrise came a sleepless three hours later. Felicia eased the skirt of her voluminous dress into the small black convertible as she settled in the seat beside Hurstgrove. He gripped the wheel and stared grimly at the tree-lined road shrouded in fog, studying every inch of his surroundings, as if expecting a ghost--or Mathias--to jump out at any moment. He'd already rebuffed her attempts at conversation twice. The uncomfortable silence between them settled like a lead weight in her stomach.
Surprisingly, the black eye, lacerations, and bruises he'd sported last night were completely gone. Normal people didn't heal in a day. What the devil was he?
Hurstgrove revved away from the house, and she stared at the passing scenery, trying to ignore the tension between them. She turned on the radio, pretending interest in the latest pop songs. Though she trained her eyes away from him, she felt Hurstgrove beside her, intense, larger than life. He put off heat, as if he had a raging fever. Being this near him made her skin flush, her lips tingle. The ache between her legs returned with a vengeance.
After an hour, he still hadn't spoken a word. And it wore on her nerves. What had she done last night that was so deplorable, give him a pillow? Or return his kiss?
"You can't punish me for last night," she blurted into the silence.
He zipped a sharp stare at her. "I'm perfectly aware that I'm to blame. You asked me for a favor. I took advantage of your proximity, then put you in the uncomfortable position of refusing me. I'm sorry."
Of all the things Hurstgrove could have said, this she hadn't expected. Just as he had with her abduction and his yielding of the bed, he surprised her. No selfish lothario would bother feeling remorse, much less shoulder the blame.
"You're not entirely at fault. I-I should have said no or pushed you away sooner."
"If you had, restraining myself would have been easier." A grim smile twisted his full mouth. "But without my overtures, you could have showered and slept without all that self-castigation."
Felicia turned a stunned gaze to him. "How ..."
"... did I know?" He rolled his eyes. "It was nothing I wasn't feeling. Besides, guilt was all over your face."
Felicia looked out the window, away from Hurstgrove. Still, his tangy midnight scent filled the little car. It was too cold to roll down the windows. And they were so close, nearly elbow to elbow. How long before he saw her lingering desire and curiosity, the pull toward him she couldn't explain? What would happen then?
"Would some breakfast and a trip to the loo be possible?"
"You needn't try so hard to avoid me that you refuse to look at me," he demanded.
Reluctantly, she did her best to school her features and turned. But his scorching gaze dipped to her elaborate lace wedding dress he'd helped her don, then caressed her face and the wild fall of her curls. Felicia feared he could see right through her to the desire she suppressed.
His jaw tightened. "Sorry. Let's get you fed."
He pulled off the motorway at the next village, just east of the Welsh border, and stopped in front of a bakery lining a narrow street. The Tudor-style storefront, complete with climbing ivy and a thatched roof, stood sandwiched between an aged brick building and a nondescript tailor's shop whose whitewash had faded yellow. BAKERS AND
CONFECTIONERS read the awning over the door. At this hour, the sleepy town's streets were empty.
Anxious for a few minutes away from Hurstgrove's overwhelming presence, she reached for the door handle.
"Stop," Hurstgrove snapped. "Wait here."
He gave off a forbidding vibe. She bit her tongue and sank back in her seat.
As he stepped from the vehicle and pulled his mobile from his pocket, freezing air took his place. His blindingly white shirt and black pants were rumpled, and dark stubble shadowed his lean cheeks. Something bleak tightened his body as he leaned against the car, speaking into his phone in low tones. She rolled down her window just slightly, hoping to overhear. No such luck. But even without words, she felt his watchful concern bleed into the air as he hovered over the car.
He couldn't be this protective with every woman. Was he simply reacting to the danger? Or something more?
A few moments later, he pocketed the phone and opened the door. "A moment more."
Suddenly, two figures emerged through the thick fog, their ground-eating strides reaching Hurstgrove quickly. Where the devil had they come from? Did they live here?
Were Ice's caves near?
The first man she recognized from her disaster of a wedding--blond, commanding, and determined to get his way. Bram. Today he'd dressed in well-worn denim and a midnight blue sweater. A brown coat hugged his shoulders, falling to mid-thigh. He carried a large paper sack by its handles.
The other man Felicia had never seen. Dark hair gleamed to his shoulders. A gray henley stretched across his powerful torso. His black coat, black trousers, and black expression all matched. But his blue eyes, dissecting her with one unnerving glance, gave Felicia pause. He was dangerous, had nothing to lose. And wasn't human. Shivering, she looked away.
Bram opened the handles of his sack. Hurstgrove peered inside, nodded, then shot a rancorous stare at the stranger. "I asked you to bring Felicia a change of clothes because she's too conspicuous to use a public loo in a wedding dress. Why bring Lucan?"
The unstable one? Felicia met then man's blue eyes again and had no trouble believing that.
"Extra protection in case you were followed."
"Protection?" Hurstgrove growled. "He all but molested Sabelle a few weeks ago!"
Lucan grabbed Hurstgrove's shirt. "I have control of myself now."
"Do you?" Duke stared pointedly at Lucan's fists in his clothing. "Last week, I heard another female in your cave screaming."
Wild blue eyes narrowed as he released Hurstgrove. "Before or after the two in yours?"
Two? She flinched. That wasn't a lie. Felicia tried to shrug. It hardly mattered who Hurstgrove shared his sheets with.
And that was a big, fat lie. Jealousy gashed through her chest as if someone had shoved a blade deep and ripped her open. She struggled to breathe.
Ridiculous! She barely knew the man.
But rationalizing didn't make the pang go away.
"When did you develop a problem with Lucan?" Bram challenged.
"His problem isn't with me." Lucan smirked at Hurstgrove. "Is it? Your problem is female."
"Leave Felicia out of this," Hurstgrove snarled.
Lucan was talking about her? Felicia listened more carefully. Perhaps the men might divulge something important, such as when she could return to her life and escape the mysterious pull Hurstgrove had over her.
Bram stepped between the other two. "Enough. Lucan, get everyone something to eat at the bakery."
Shooting a homicidal glare at Hurstgrove, Lucan whirled away.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Bram tsked and shook his head. "And I thought Ice was overprotective."
Hurstgrove rolled his lean shoulders and sighed. "I know. Sorry."
"I expect you'll deal with this interesting complication."
"I will. I need to ... think."
"While you do, you have no argument with Lucan."
"He shouldn't be here." He tensed, clenched his fists. "Near Felicia."
Was Lucan really a threat to her? Bram didn't behave as if he was. But why else would Hurstgrove be over protective? Did she matter to him because Mason cared for her? Or because she mattered to Hurstgrove in some way? That possibility shouldn't excite her. He was everything she shouldn't want. But as much as she tried to push the feeling away, it settled deep in her chest.
Down that path lay dangerous heartbreak. She refused to suffer Deirdre's torment.
"Lucan is not yet stable enough for battle, and I must involve him or he truly will go mad. You know what losing Anka has done to him. Perhaps now you have a new appreciation for what he's endured."
Suddenly, the blond man turned her way. When Felicia saw his pointed stare through the driver's window, she whipped her gaze back to the deserted lane.
Settling a hand on Hurstgrove's shoulder, Bram murmured, "Here comes Lucan.
Talk to him. You know what Marrok says about effectively fighting Mathias if we're too busy fighting amongst ourselves."
Hurstgrove turned his dark eyes to her. His frustration and heat blasted her all the way to her toes.
"I won't leave her unprotected," he insisted, arms over his chest.
"I'm right here. We will draw more attention if you and Lucan brawl in the middle of the lane. Go bury the hatchet."
Hurstgrove growled something, then walked away.
Felicia shoved the car door open and climbed out. Bram darted around the auto and blocked her.
Planting a palm on his hard abdomen, she pushed him aside. "What the devil is going on?"
"Good morning to you, too." Bram smiled tightly. "Thank you ever so much for eavesdropping. I see your mood isn't any better than his."
Felicia glared in return. "Nor is it likely to improve until I get some answers. I want to know what's going on and when I can go home."
He stilled. "Duke hasn't told you?"
"Not a bloody thing."
"Damn it." Bram stood tall in the foggy mist, looking tense, his gaze darting suspiciously all around. "Not here. Not now. Do you want clean clothes?" He held up the bag.
Felicia snatched it from him. Black trousers, a warm sweater, trainers. Even a new pair of knickers.
"Yes. Thank you."
"Thank my sister. Sabelle is pure genius when clothing is involved. Want to change now?"
Absolutely. Though the dress was heavy, its lace did nothing to block the biting wind. And since they'd stopped, black clouds had rolled in. Drizzle now fell, along with the temperatures. "Where?"
"Backseat. I'll turn away. Lucan and Duke are too far to see you. The windows are tinted. There's no one else in sight."
Clean clothes sounded too good to resist. "All right. I ... I'll need help with my buttons."
At Bram's nod, she turned. He sighed at the little row of satin buttons and set impersonal hands to them, never touching her skin. When he was halfway through, a scowling Hurstgrove approached at a furious gait, planting himself between her and Bram.
"Problem?" Amusement laced Bram's voice.
"Get your bloody hands off her."
"How did you expect her to change into these clothes without help? I'm guessing, since some of these buttons are hanging by a thread, that you unbuttoned them last night?"
Felicia's face heated as she remembered what happened next.
"Don't touch her," Hurstgrove thundered beside her.
"I asked Bram to help," she offered.
Bram gave off a superior smirk. "Do you want him to finish or shall I?"
She glanced between the two men. No contest. "You, please."
With a curse, His Grace retreated one very small step. His gaze burned her back as Bram bared it and she climbed into the car.
Keeping her back to them, she changed in the cramped space, feeling instantly better equipped to handle whatever happened next. She folded her wedding dress into the bag and stepped out.
"Are either of you going to tell me what's going on now? Who exactly is this Mathias and why does he want me?" Felicia supplied.
"It doesn't matter. Let me handle this for you," Hurstgrove insisted.
Slamming his fist into the car, Bram cursed. "Are you mad? She needs to know."
His Grace looked as if he restrained a violent urge. "The more she knows the more dangerous it is."
"I can't fight what I don't understand!" she objected. "This is my life and--"
"You're not a warrior. I am." He grabbed her arms tightly. "It's my mission to protect you."
Felicia frowned. So he'd said. But why did he care?
"You risk her more by keeping her in the dark," Bram said solemnly. "She stands a better chance of survival if she understands who's after her and why. She may not be able to fight, but fast thinking may mean the difference between life and death."