Julia Knight by T J

Author:T J [J, T]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-16T23:34:47.041000+00:00

Chapter Five

Catherine lurked in a dark corner and cursed herself for a fool. How had she persuaded herself she needed to be here? Because she was an idiot, that was why. It wasn’t too late. She could still walk away, trek to where her caravel was secreted and get the hell out of here, but if she did, she’d never know for sure whether the navy had got wind of where she was hiding, and if so, when they would attack. But outside this window? She should’ve dressed as Cecily and gone to Matthew—he’d tell her anything if it meant he might get a chance with that innocent. No, Cecily was gone now, for good or ill, and Catherine didn’t miss her.

So here she was, against all her better judgment, outside Paul’s window. He was nowhere near such a sure thing as Matthew. Paul was his own man, not one to tell her what he shouldn’t. She knew that, as she knew, deep down, that it was all just an excuse anyway. She was here because she wanted to see him. And not just see him, now she was being truthful. She wanted him, a man with fire in his veins rather than the water that filled the hearts of most men. She wanted everything, and she risked all she had for that. Idiocy.

She crept to the window, keeping to the shadows as far as she could, and peered in. The moon was no more than a sliver, giving just enough light that she could make out Paul’s prone form on the bed and determine that he was alone. Her fingers tingled with unaccustomed nerves. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even while she thought the words, she lifted the sash and eased in over the sill. Her soft-soled boots made no noise on the carpet as she padded toward the bed.

Paul lay spread out over the bed on his stomach, the skin of his broad shoulders highlighted by the silver glow of moonlight. She’d once looked down at Jeremiah like this, with an ache of passion in her belly. She’d loved his muscular chest, the warmth and strength in the way he’d curled his arms round her, as though while he was there, nothing could harm her. She shivered in the heat. She’d loved Jeremiah at the start. Before he’d found out what she was, what she’d been. Before she’d tried and failed to give it up for him. Before protection had become control, pride had become unreasoning jealousy, strength had become cruelty. Was there any way to tell whether Paul would be the same in the end? Whether, driven by desperation and a fear for her own life and sanity, she’d end up thrusting a knife through his heart too and leaving him in a gutter somewhere?

Her hand trembled on the hilt of her sword, and her step faltered. There was no way to tell. She should leave, now, before it was too late, before she was in too deep. Before she lost herself in him.

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