25. Affected by Affection

AFFECTED BY AFFECTION

M alum let the reins rest loosely in his hands as the horses carried them toward the lake. Melanie would be expected home soon, no doubt, but he found himself reluctant to end the drive. Her presence had a peculiar effect on him—bringing a quiet sort of ease when he wasn’t paying attention.

More than ease, actually. There was a warmth pooling low in his gut, a persistent awareness—familiar, but also somewhat foreign.

Normally, he was deliberate, measured, every decision weighed and purposeful. Yet here he was, letting the horses carry them a little farther, a little longer. Impulsive. It wasn’t like him. But rather than acknowledge the thought, he let it drift away, much like the notion of turning back.

The stillness between them wasn’t entirely still—not with the clatter of the wheels or the faint rustling of the trees overhead.

Every time he thought he had Melanie figured out, she surprised him. She faced scrutiny without flinching, deflected the sharp edges of gossip with more grace than he’d expected. Just when he presumed to know who this woman was, she showed him another side—catching him off guard.

He should have minded, but he didn’t.

Their fingers remained threaded together, relaxed, natural, even though no one was watching them now.

He was beginning to wonder if his performance today had perhaps been a little too convincing, fooling himself along with the rest of their audience.

“It was surprisingly easy, wasn’t it?” she said, breaking the silence. “Showing affection.” The lilting in her voice was like music.

She wasn’t wrong. Leaning in to whisper something that drew her laugh, brushing a stray curl from her cheek, catching a hint of her scent—all of it had been easy. Too easy. Disturbingly so . Malum merely nodded.

“I wonder if that’s what it’s like…” She let out a nervous laugh. “Being in love for real.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Really? I would have thought someone like you?—"

“No,” he cut her off. “I was betrothed once, but we were both young. Our parents arranged it but then had a falling out.” He grimaced at the memory.

“But were you in love?”

Malum shook his head. He didn’t have conversations like this. “No. I hardly knew the lady.”

“But have you ever been in love?”

How the devil had they come to be discussing this damning topic?

“Was she… one of your workers?”

“No. I told you I don’t—” Malum sent her a sharp glance. “I may have fancied I was.” He shook his head. “There was someone… before I opened the Domus . You don’t need to hear this.”

“You were young, then.” She was undeterred.

Young and ridiculously foolish. It was a memory he hadn’t revisited in ages.

Clarise—a dancer with a talent for making him feel as if he were the only man in the room—had been nearly a decade older. She would lie in his arms, look into his eyes and swear he was her one and only, so sincere he’d been willing to overlook the warnings of others. Until, of course, he arrived early once and…

“What happened?” Perhaps it was the quiet of the trees, or the soothing tone of Melanie’s voice…

“She preferred my father.” A duke, who was also diseased and careless. And in the end, had cost Clarise her life.

Malum dropped Melanie’s hand.

Her silence was proof that he’d shocked her.

A few years later, compelled by the merciless exploitation of the world he’d witnessed, he’d opened the Domus . Stella de La Cour’s name slammed into his thoughts, reminding him that there was more work to be done.

They’d arrived at a small clearing overlooking the lake, and the horses halted with the gentlest of tugs on the reins. It was just in time, too, before he spewed all the ugliness of his past.

‘I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly filling the silence.

“For what?”

“That people who should have loved you, hurt you instead.”

It was laughable, really, but instead of mocking her misplaced sympathy, Malum instead, inexplicably, found himself struggling to swallow a thicker feeling.

“Don’t be.”

Anxious to have his feet on the ground, he deftly leapt off the curricle and circled to Melanie’s side.

Melanie, who had the uncanny ability to summon all his unseemly secrets.

But rather than looking put off, as a proper lady ought to, she was instead merely contemplating the distance between her and the ground.

Earlier, she’d climbed onto the vehicle with relative ease, but climbing down was a different sort of challenge. “How does one?—”

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he said. “Don’t worry about finding the steps.”

Following just a moment’s hesitation, she did as he suggested, shifting her weight to him while he grasped her waist. Even so, when her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled slightly.

Malum could have just as easily supported her with his hands on her waist, but instead, found himself winding his arms around her.

Her breath hitched.

She held his stare for only a second before dropping her lashes and laughing nervously. “I’ve been sitting for too long.”

But when she moved to back away, he didn’t release her.

She laughed again, breathless, but kept her hands on his shoulders. When she lifted her gaze to meet his again, she licked her lips.

And just like that, the birds fell silent. The breeze stilled.

This woman was innocent, but the flush in her cheeks and the light in her eyes stemmed from… excitement.

If Malum had been tempted earlier that morning, he was doubly so now. How hadn’t he noticed the delicate shadow her lashes cast on her skin, faint and fleeting in the shifting light? The sheen on her lips, a dusty rose invitation that begged to be accepted.

Or the way her pulse fluttered just beneath the skin at her throat, visible only because he was looking so closely.

“Melanie.” He tested her name on his lips. The syllables were soft, almost musical.

Her body, pressed against his, seemed to fit perfectly.

She was, in fact… a symphony.

He flicked his stare from her eyes to her mouth again, his heart pounding faster than usual.

He caught the seam of his glove between his teeth, his gaze never leaving hers as he tugged it free in one slow, measured motion. He let the moment linger, the absence of the barrier sharp and deliberate, before sliding the glove into his pocket.

She didn’t move.

His bare fingers found the back of her neck, her skin delicate and impossibly smooth beneath his touch.

Willing.

That thought alone sent a pulse of something through him—something he wouldn’t name. Couldn’t. His thumb traced a light, unhurried line along the base of her skull, and then, unable to help himself, he slid his fingers upward, threading them into her hair. It was thicker than it looked, silkier than he’d imagined, the curls catching lightly between his fingers in a way that made him want to pause, to explore further.

For a man who prided himself on control, he was flirting with temptation. The realization came with a sharp edge.

A few pins fell out. The jaunty hat she’d been wearing slipped onto the ground, but she didn’t complain.

Her mouth parted, allowing a whisper of a sigh to escape.

Malum leaned in and then dipped his head, touching his mouth behind her ear.

Another gasp, this one of surprise but also—that excitement—and she tilted her head.

“Harry.”

The word floated around the two of them like a delicate thread, weaving something that could be broken all too easily.

Malum could have sent her away the first day she’d visited the Domus . But he had not.

Instead, he’d brought her home and she had followed him into the nursery. Then, he’d involved himself with her family—when he easily could have left it alone. He’d attended a ball to apologize, and after being discovered with her—alone—he’d allowed her to negotiate this ridiculous betrothal and all the details that came along with it.

He dragged his mouth along the shell of her ear.

He wasn’t kissing her. No, he was merely tasting her skin, which was little more than they’d agreed upon earlier. Proximity. Touches. The appearance of intimacy.

Her pulse fluttered beneath his mouth like a trapped butterfly.

Malum dragged his teeth to her shoulder, still clinging to his self-control.

If anything, she tasted better than he’d imagined—not all sweetness and perfume, but a little salty—a little musky. A familiar thrill shot from his mouth to his groin.

Step away.

But no. Not yet.

Her arms were around his neck, and as he trailed a decadent path, she gripped him even tighter.

Was this why he’d brought her here? Hell yes.

Only, he hadn’t meant for this to feel so… consuming.

Caution warred with desire. With each touch, he risked obliterating the temporary nature of their betrothal—a future she didn’t want. She was uninhibited, but she was also too damned innocent, and here he was, skimming perilously close to sealing both their fates.

This was reckless. Unforgivable. But still, he didn’t stop. He nipped at her skin.

Dangerous.

Malum locked one arm around her back, his other hand just below her bosom.

Melanie covered his hand with hers, not to stop him—but to guide him—to give him permission to complicate this even more.

Caressing her breast over her clothing was as exciting as it was frustrating. Still, he felt the pebbling beneath his palm. She fit his hand perfectly.

Malum was inviting chaos, an unfamiliar side of himself that he hardly recognized. It was Indulgent. Reckless.

Demanding.

His lips skimmed the ridge of her clavicle, that delicate hollow that whispered fragility and grace. Yet the sharp tug of her fingers in his hair told a different story—one of strength, urgency, and a woman who knew what she wanted.

And those pulling sensations at his scalp sent licks of pure want straight to his cock, already throbbing.

They were both fully clothed, in Hyde Park, and yet here he was, on the verge of losing control. He would have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so baffled by it.

By her.

Hell and damnation. One small woman was taking him apart piece by piece.

Malum barely registered his surroundings, save for the faint awareness that anyone positioned across the lake could be watching.

Unless he backed her into the trees, where they’d be more assured of privacy, he was going to have to put a halt to this.

Into the trees they must go.

The need to abandon all reason and do unspeakable things, to taste every inch of this woman, was overriding his better sense all too easily.

And he might have, if not for her question.

“What—” she breathed. “What is happening?”

It was straightforward enough.

Only, he wasn’t sure how to answer it.

Then, floating across the lake, the sound of not-so-distant voices pierced the fragile intimacy around them.

She’d heard them too.

Now, staring into eyes that had been haunting his dreams, Malum realized that succumbing to this moment hadn’t happened by accident.

Lady Melanie Rutherford, it seemed, had become his weakness.

He touched a fingertip to her lips. “I need to take you home.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and then back to his eyes.

And then she nodded.

After a few deep breaths, he adjusted himself.

She climbed onto the curricle without waiting for his assistance, and once he’d taken his seat, while turning the horses in a circle, he couldn’t help but wonder…

What the devil was he doing?