The Glass Butterfly by Howard A.G

Author:Howard, A.G.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Golden Orb Press
Published: 2018-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Nick paused on the first floor beside the staircase as he heard glass break in Felicity’s room; he debated whether to go up and check on her. But she’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t need him … despite that she wanted him.

He knew the latter was true. It was in her eyes, in that kiss she tried to intensify to a level he wasn’t willing to surrender to.

What kind of clod did that make him? They’d been alone in there. And she’d been so beautiful: her hair fallen and messy from sleep; skin scented with lilac and orange blossoms. Not a wrinkle upon her lovely face. Sensual, vulnerable … lying on the bed in her gown. Aside from the men’s suit that first night, it was the only thing he’d ever seen her in other than mourning clothes.

All he would’ve had to do was lock the door. Then he could have peeled off that dowdy shawl, pushed her hem to her thighs and taken her, right there, in the pink dim of dawn—where she wouldn’t have to feel conscious of her scar. He could’ve shown her what a beautiful, desirable woman she was.

Truth be known, he’d contemplated it.

Piss that. He’d fought it.

All because of his bloody pride—what little he had left. The woman was still lying to him. There was something about Jasper’s death. Some reason Felicity was convinced he couldn’t be haunting this place. More than just her aversion to superstitions. But she wouldn’t tell him. She couldn’t trust him enough.

He frowned. Well hell. Since when did trust figure into a one-time tryst?

A rash impulse turned him around and spurred him back up, taking two steps at a time. He would ravish Felicity despite her lack of faith in him … they could spend all of their passion and desire in one powerful interlude. Then she wouldn’t ask him to leave. She’d beg him to stay.

He made it halfway up before it registered what the breaking glass had been. It took little deductive reasoning to know she’d thrown the opium. That had been the only bottle close at hand.

His fingers clutched the railing, stalling his feet. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much his weakness disgusted her. For her to cast aside the bottle like that. Even if she could get past his thieving nature, Felicity would never respect him because of the laudanum. Come to think, she’d as much as admitted it, pointing out that delusions must be second nature to him now.

And the most ironic thing of all? He himself wondered if she might be right. What if he’d ruined his mind irreversibly with the drug? What if he’d imagined that shadow in her room last night?

At this point, it didn’t matter. What he saw—or didn’t see—was irrelevant. For he had to walk away and would never know if that turret held the secret to connecting with spirits. And honestly, he no longer cared. Since he’d met Felicity, life had become so much more interesting than death.

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