Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

H ow can you think you are ice, Alaric, when all I see in your eyes is fire?

For the entire day, Princess Evaine’s words had spun around in his mind. Well, that and a scene that would remain permanently lodged there: her lying naked before him.

Alaric’s fists clenched as he stood in front of his bedchamber looking glass, Wesley brushing the back of his gold-embroidered cream doublet, to ensure it was spotless for tonight’s banquet.

Evaine was the most beautiful woman in creation. Fair hair like sunshine, creamy skin, huge green eyes with thick black lashes, and rosy lips begging to be kissed. It had physically hurt to see her too-slender frame, to know she’d been forced to hide and starve just to live. But that hadn’t halted a fierce wave of lust; his mouth had watered to taste those jutting pink nipples, to part the blond bush between her thighs and feast until she’d screamed herself hoarse and drenched his tongue in sweet cunt honey. Draping his doublet around her so she wouldn’t be cold had been as natural as breathing. Really, Evaine should only wear clothing provided by him, although he’d known a moment of pure alarm that his doublet might be unworthy. Nothing but the finest of silks and velvets, the costliest of jewels, the softest, most supple leather shoes could adorn such loveliness.

Stop. Evaine is not for you . Theda was your fated mate and she is dead. This scent you smell, the raging lust…it’s just your mind playing tricks after staying at the human court and will soon be gone.

Alaric took several deep breaths, relieved to have a completely logical reason for his unsettled temperament. Of course he would be on edge! Bloody Henry had foisted a dukedom upon him, collected a pile of gold for the “gift”, and made him a future target for both wolf and human. Besides, it was deep winter. All wolves ran a little mad in winter, especially with breeding season approaching. While only some mated females went into a week-long breeding heat, it affected the whole castle as everyone absorbed the insatiable need in the air. Between January and March, Alaric readily forgave the antics of mated pairs in his pack; the constant, frenzied rutting, the need for copious food and drink, the way even his most sensible, decorous male courtiers sported foolish grins and stumble-walked because their cocks hurt from overuse. They truly couldn’t help themselves.

Indeed, these strange feelings weren’t his own, but excitement and anticipation from the mated wolves around him. While they unleashed their desires, he needed to behave like a king, cool and calm and composed.

“Are you content with the fit, my king?” asked Wesley as he stepped back. “I can fetch the tailor if need be.”

Alaric peered hard at the looking glass, examining all angles and checking every seam, button, and fastening. However, he found no flaw with his white linen shirt, black woolen hose, the embroidered cream doublet, or the gold circlet he usually wore atop his head. Even his hair sat neatly on his shoulders for once, and his calf-length leather boots were polished to a shine. He looked like a king.

Perhaps now he was back at Blackstone surrounded by his own pack rather than humans, he would feel like a king again and be able to provide the generous hospitality that Princess Evaine rightly expected.

“No, you’ve done well,” Alaric said gruffly.

Wesley beamed. “We must have you looking just so for the princess!”

Alaric’s head jerked around. “Beg pardon?”

His squire gulped. “Er…well, any king must appear to best advantage when entertaining another royal, yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Alaric reluctantly, inwardly frowning at his own sharp reaction. He was an experienced diplomat, not a hot-headed fool. “Come, we must escort the ladies into the Great Hall.”

Soon, he and Wesley waited outside the double doors for the elder queen and Princess Evaine. When the two women descended the stairs, Alaric’s breath caught at the glorious sight of his guest, who wore an emerald-green gown with a gold underskirt and gold sleeves. Evaine’s blond hair was confined in a long plait that bounced gently against her back, and the square bodice of her gown framed a heavy gold necklace set with diamonds, a piece from the Beaumont vault.

My jewels. Right where they belong .

His mother approached and curtsied deeply, elegant as always in a gown of rich amethyst studded with pearls over a silver underskirt, her dark hair plaited and coiled at her neck, and covered with a sheer veil. “My son and king. Doesn’t Evaine look beautiful? I had my ladies adjust a gown, and thought something from the vault would set it off nicely.”

Alaric nodded brusquely as Evaine curtsied and her gown bodice strained against the curves of her breasts. “Indeed, Lady Mother. Shall we proceed into the banquet?”

“Yes!” Sian replied, smiling. “Wesley, dear boy, would you escort your queen to the dais?”

“Be my great honor,” said Wesley, his cheeks flushed red as he offered his arm.

Annoyed at how easily his mother had out-maneuvered him, Alaric reluctantly held out his own arm. “Princess?”

“Thank you,” Evaine said softly, curling her hand around it.

Even through a few layers of clothing, he felt her touch like a brand.

Alaric cursed under his breath as his cock began throbbing.

Calm. Cool. Composed . Remember, none of these feelings are real.

He gestured to the guards, who bowed and opened the doors to the Great Hall. A loud trumpet fanfare from the gallery soared to the high-beamed roof, then the massive crowd parted to allow the four of them a clear path to the raised dais at the north end of the hall. All eyes were upon them, yet most seemed to be gazing at Evaine with fond smiles, as happy as he’d been to know a de Wynter heir was alive and the murderer Guy Saville hadn’t won a total victory.

Yet before he could seat Evaine at the far end of the table, his mother took the chair, smiling sweetly as she did so. Now only two places remained, his chair in the middle, and the chair to his left…where the queen always sat.

“Princess,” Alaric said curtly as he pulled the left chair out for her, now acutely aware that the collective pack gaze had turned first shocked then speculative. Queen Sian had held that seat for over one hundred and eighty years, first as queen, then as elder queen—only Theda had temporarily displaced her. For her to concede it once again so publicly and cheerfully…

He turned and glared at his mother. “We shall speak later.”

“As you wish,” she replied, inclining her head, utterly unrepentant.

Alaric clenched his jaw, but turned to his pack and began a brief speech, informing them of Henry’s dukedom gift—which caused prolonged and very loud outrage in the hall—and that Princess Evaine would remain as an honored guest at Blackstone indefinitely, but for her protection, and that of the pack, the news must remain within the castle walls for now.

Once he’d finished, Alaric rang a gold bell and the hall became a hive of activity as servants rushed to set up trestle tables and long wooden benches for everyone attending the feast. All those on guard duty, or with important tasks away from the Great Hall, had already received their supper; no one under Beaumont protection ever went hungry, not here in the castle, nor anywhere on his lands.

About a quarter hour later, two large spun sugar sculptures were carried out, one of the Beaumont coat of arms, and another of the de Wynters…which were then placed side by side in front of him on the high table.

Alaric groaned inwardly. Was every bloody soul he knew matching him with Evaine? This was far beyond the realm of mere courtesy.

Impatiently, he beckoned the procession of food to begin, and countless servants moved into the hall with platters of beef, pork, venison, chicken, stuffed goose, an array of vegetables, pasties and pies, salted fish, and honey cakes. Wolves preferred savory dishes; the kitchens rarely served tarts, comfits or sweetmeats like the humans enjoyed, but no one could resist a honey cake. As per protocol, the procession halted first in front of the high table so they could make their selections.

Alaric gestured for Evaine to be served, and after licking her lips in a way that made his toes curl, she chose beef, venison, a serving of vegetables and several honey cakes. A servant nodded politely, then began skillfully cutting neat slices of meat.

Fury blasted through Alaric. Evaine wasn’t being served the juiciest, rarest, most tender parts!

“What are you doing?” Alaric bit out.

The servant looked at him in confusion. “Beg pardon, my king, I’m carving Her Highness’s preferences.”

“But not the best!” Alaric snarled. “Anyone who dares to serve Princess Evaine less than the very finest food and wine on the best gold dishes…the freshest herbed water to wash her hands and the crispest linen napkin for her shoulder…will not survive the night!”

Absolute silence reigned in the Great Hall. In truth it was astonishing how quiet five hundred hungry wolves could be, but not a foot or finger tapped, not a spoon dipped or eating dagger sliced as pack members stared at him, their eyes wide and mouths agape. They were stunned at their king’s unprecedented show of temper, but not nearly as stunned as he was.

His mother cleared her throat, but her eyes positively twinkled . “Now that you understand the importance, do carve as your king has instructed.”

The fright cleared from the servant’s face and he bowed, abruptly appearing almost… jaunty ? “Forgive the misstep, my king. I did not know, but now I do. We all do. Of course I will carve the choicest slices for Her Highness. It is my honor.”

Alaric scowled. Everyone in the whole damned castle, including him, had run mad.

The sooner this banquet was over, the better.

She was eating the most delicious food imaginable, her wine goblet and plate were made of gold, and the most handsome, best-scented king in the entire realm had growled at a servant for not giving her the finest cuts of meat. Was this real? Or would she soon wake up and discover herself still starving and freezing in an abandoned fox den?

Evaine swallowed the last bite of honey cake and sat back in her chair, her stomach pleasantly full. Banquets were truly magnificent, and hopefully no one here had guessed that this was her first time attending one, let alone as a guest of honor. Mother and Father had often hosted banquets and tourneys at Ashcross Castle, but their cubs were only permitted to attend events during the day, as they became too loud and mischievous at night. She, Isabel, Cecily, and Lucan had pleaded to no avail to join in the dancing and feasting. Fortunately the musicians grinned and pretended naught was amiss when four furry cherubs belly-crawled into the gallery overlooking the Great Hall and peeped down at the festivities.

Isabel had admired the pageantry and processions of food, especially the elaborately dressed goose or boar’s head. Cecily hoped to hear conversations from emissaries in French and Gaelic and Latin, so she could attempt to translate a few words. Lucan loved the various weapons on display: the decorative sword sheaths, the deadly pikes held by the guards, the jeweled eating daggers, and his tail would twitch this way and that, as though engaged in a duel. But Evaine enjoyed the music most, the way the notes soared and danced in the air, how everyone laughed and clapped and stomped their feet to the steady beat of the drum, the lilting flute or the rich harp. Music was like food for the soul, but also an excellent way to be close to the one you loved. When Mother and Father had danced, they gazed into each other’s eyes like the rest of the world ceased to exist.

“Princess?”

King Alaric’s gruff voice in her ear sent a sensual shiver through Evaine and made the back of her neck tingle. It was the strangest sensation; sometimes it felt like a little insect crawling on her nape, but when she reached up to swat it away, there was nothing there.

“Er, yes?” Evaine replied, offering a quick smile.

“Is aught amiss? You appear a little saddened.”

Dismay crashed through her. If the Beaumont pack thought her haughty or ungrateful, she would not be welcome at Blackstone very long. A lie reached the tip of Evaine’s tongue…then halted as she stared into the king’s fathomless gold eyes.

I cannot actually lie to him !

Evaine blinked. “I was just remembering,” she blurted. “When we were cubs, my brother and sisters and I would hide in the gallery with the musicians and watch the feasting and dancing below. I loved listening to the harp and flute and drums. Music makes me happy.”

“Do you wish to dance?” asked King Alaric. “I can have the hall cleared at once.”

“No,” she said swiftly. “I…er…”

Once more, his golden gaze compelled the truth.

“I cannot,” Evaine whispered painfully, her cheeks flushing red. “I do not know how. At Ashcross Castle, all wolflings were given lessons, but we were too young when we fled.”

“I understand,” he replied, his hand hovering above hers as if he meant to pat it. “My squire, Wesley, is currently trying to learn. It has reached the point where no she-wolf will partner him, not even Blanche, for he simply cannot stay in time to music and crushes toes like a falling anvil. If a pack warrior is ill-disciplined, their punishment is an hour tutoring Wesley. Nothing could be harsher; he also likes to talk. A lot.”

A giggle bubbled within and escaped before she could swallow it down. “Oh dear. Perhaps if your warriors are so well-versed in toe torture, you might spare one to instruct me?”

“No,” the king growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I will teach you. Everything.”

Evaine bit her lip, inhaling unsteadily as the now-familiar throb began between her thighs. Each day it seemed to grow fiercer, heating her from the inside. Now that she’d moved from the fireside cushions to a feather bed, she kicked away her sheets and quilt at night so the cold winter air might ease her feverish flesh. Last evening had been the worst so far; she’d slid her hand down between her legs and touched the crisp hair, the delicate petals and tender, swollen bud there. But the resulting jolt of sensation had been too overwhelming and she’d ceased at once.

She whimpered. “I…I…”

“Evaine,” he said harshly, his gaze aimed directly at her lap. “No.”

Mortification scorched across her cheekbones. Goddess, she was actually pressing the heel of her hand to her mound! At the high table. At a banquet . Her only saving grace: the rest of the pack were unaware due to the heavy linen tablecloth that draped over the front to the dais floor.

But the king had seen her touch herself.

“Forgive me,” Evaine whispered, deliberately placing her hands on the table. “I seem to have forgotten all proper graces since I arrived here. Are you overwarm? I feel flushed. Perhaps I need some air. You have four fireplaces in this hall—it is certainly not cold!”

Even hearing her own prattle, words she simply could not halt herself from saying, was embarrassing. Why couldn’t she behave like a normal she-wolf around him? Be witty and graceful and elegant like Queen Sian?

As though the other female heard her silent cry, the queen abruptly rose from her chair and walked around the back of the table toward her. “Evaine, will you stroll with me? I would adore to show you the tapestries on the far wall.”

“Yes!” said Evaine, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste to stand. “A stroll. Yes. Will you excuse me, King Alaric?”

The king’s jaw visibly clenched like he might refuse, yet a moment later, his face smoothed and cleared into a diplomat’s mask. “Of course, princess. My Lady Mother is a skilled embroiderer and her great talent is evidenced all over the castle. Go on, there are other conversations I must have.”

Both Evaine and Queen Sian curtsied, then ambled from the dais toward a row of large and intricately embroidered tapestries decorating the entire west wall. While many of the pack were still eating, a few tables had already been cleared and put away in anticipation of the dancing to come.

“You know,” said the queen, as she linked her arm with Evaine’s, “After I met King Cyrus at the joust, may Leto bless his star-soul, I stalked him relentlessly . Or perhaps we stalked each other, for we kept meeting. I think I waited, hmmm, two days before I succumbed to my carnal urges and pounced on him. In a stable . Do you know how long it takes to remove straw from clothing?”

Evaine almost tripped on her gown at the startlingly frank admission. “Er…I…ah…no?”

Queen Sian laughed merrily. “A very long time. I certainly hope you make a far better location choice when you pounce.”

Goddess. Her cheeks might actually warm the entire castle now. “When I… pounce ?” Evaine mumbled, as though she’d not considered kissing King Alaric about one thousand times.

The queen’s amusement faded. She gently guided Evaine closer to the wall so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Oh, my poor dear, I fear you have spent far too long alone or observing the ways of humans rather than our own. While we have a human form, we are not human and do not follow their priest-led beliefs about piety, chastity and modesty. Wolves are carnal creatures and sating lust with a consenting partner is entirely natural. This is especially true when we find our fated mate and crave release anytime, anywhere, in all ways possible. Otherwise…we will run mad.”

“But how do you know when you’ve found your fated mate?” asked Evaine, her heart aching. Such conversations were usually held between parent and wolfling, and right now she missed her mother and father more than ever. Although she greatly liked and admired the elder queen, it was rather awkward asking the mother of the male she wished to pounce on…about pouncing.

Queen Sian nodded thoughtfully. “I think you know in your soul, but your body offers clues. Firstly, that delectable scent you want to roll in; no one else can smell your mate’s particular blend. Your neck tingling is another…when they pleasure you, the mark will fully appear and cannot be removed. When you are intimate and they bite that mark as you each spend, it unlocks your bonded mind link. Here, look at my neck.”

The elder queen lifted her hair, and Evaine studied the pristine, celestial-blue grouping of two stars with a crown above it. Just as beautiful as Mother’s had been.

Evaine then glanced back at the huge crowd of wolves around them. How many were bonded mates? Were there any still searching? Wait. Had that male just kissed the male next to him on the cheek?

She turned back to the queen. “Er…”

“Just ask, my dear. The only bad question is the one that remains in your head.”

“Are all mates a male and female pair? Or can it be something else?”

Queen Sian smiled. “Oh no, every pack has pairs of males and pairs of females. When matching hearts and souls, Leto cares not for the body they are in. Have you met Bardolf, my son’s captain of the guard, and Willie, the castle marshal? They are bonded mates, and foster two cubs who lost their birth parents in battle. You’ll not see a more loving family.”

I want my own family. To be Alaric’s bonded mate and mother of his cubs.

The thought crashed into Evaine’s mind, so unexpected yet so powerful, that she actually gasped. The back of her neck burned, and she turned her head to see the king looking at her, his gaze intense.

Evaine bit her lip. He was simply too far away. This would not do. “Queen Sian, would you excuse me?”

The older wolf grinned. “Of course. Go and pounce. Just remember, straw is bad, beds and desks are good.”

Was he actually losing his wits?

Alaric rubbed his jaw, when he actually wanted to slap his own cheeks. Perhaps submerge his head in a bucket of icy water.

No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the words of Oliver, his steward, or Larkin, his chamberlain, his attention kept moving to Evaine. It should be impossible for any scent to be so clear in a Great Hall with five hundred wolves, countless platters of food, four roaring fireplaces, plus a passel of musicians. Yet he could smell her like the headiest of wines, even though Evaine stood with his mother on the other side of the hall, a ridiculously great distance away. She was, quite objectively, the most beautiful female in England. Really, such loveliness couldn’t be improved upon, but his fingers itched to drape her in ermine, or see her naked once more wearing naught but diamonds.

To see her flushed and sated in his bed, her inner thighs sticky with her own honey and his seed…yet already craving him again…

“My king?”

Alaric nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Beg pardon, Oliver?”

His steward peered at him, brow furrowed. “You groaned. Are you ill? I can have Blanche prepare a tonic.”

“No,” Alaric ground out. “I’m quite well, do not trouble your mate. Forgive me, it is overloud in here. You were speaking about an upcoming hunt?’

Oliver graciously repeated all the details regarding a planned fallow deer hunt, and mentioned a few wooden fence repairs that could not be delayed until spring. Yet Alaric was scarcely able to confirm instructions and dismiss the retainer before his attention diverted once again, to Evaine walking toward him. She progressed slowly; now that most tables had been cleared away, many in his pack were stopping to introduce themselves, but each step closer she came, his shoulders relaxed further.

Alaric took a deep breath and turned to his chamberlain. “Now, Larkin. What was your question?”

The younger wolf, whose father had served Alaric’s sire in the same position dedicated solely to the wellbeing of the king and his family, inclined his head. “Did you have any special instructions for this evening, my king? Regarding…linen or refreshments?”

Goddess. Larkin wanted to know if his king would be taking anyone to bed after the banquet so he could prepare the royal bedchamber accordingly. Over the years Alaric had been asked the question countless times in other castles, manors, even inns, because so many she-wolves wished to say they had bedded a king. However, since his great misfortune with Theda, he politely declined or offered vague excuses, the required steps in that blade-edge dance of pleasing or offending a host. Tonight, he yearned to order a complete linen change. And a tray holding supper and wine for two.

No. Evaine is not your mate. She is royalty with a bounty on her head, given sanctuary in your castle. Stop this madness.

Yes. She nearly touched herself at the high table! Now that she is recovering from her ordeal, the princess is awakening to a grown wolf’s lust and requires a discreet tutor. You could be that tutor…

Alaric scowled as the two thoughts warred relentlessly, one factual and rational, the other irrational and foolish. But he had to be the former. That was the lot of a diplomat, even a kingly one.

“No,” Alaric said eventually. “No special instructions. Actually, I might retire to my library soon and leave the elder queen to lead the dancing, for I have a great pile of documents to read. I would appreciate fresh candles in there, the fire stoked, and some wine. I fear it will be a long night.”

Larkin hesitated. “If you change your mind, just send for me. I serve in the best interests of the crown, always.”

The words hardly needed to be said; few positions held as much trust and influence as a chamberlain, due to their close proximity to the royal family. But they were appreciated all the same, and Alaric smiled as Larkin bowed then darted away to complete his tasks.

“You’re leaving?” said Evaine as she approached, her gaze traveling up and down his form as though assessing him for injury.

“I am quite well,” he replied hastily, albeit unsure why the need to reassure her was so important. “Just a small mountain of documents to read, including Henry’s ducal edict.”

She lifted one delicate eyebrow. “And that must be done tonight?”

No .

Just for a moment, Alaric feared he’d said the word aloud. Inexplicably, his much-vaunted skills, such as the ability to speak and reveal nothing at all, vanished when around Princess Evaine de Wynter.

“I merely desire a little peace and quiet,” he said eventually. “In my library.”

Evaine smiled. “I wish to return to my bedchamber. Will you escort me?”

Goddess .

Already he could imagine Evaine, naked in front of the fireplace, attending to an evening sponge bath. The warmed water would trickle down her luscious form, anointing those sweet pink nipples and gather in the tangle of blond hair crowning her mound. But she would linger with the sponge between her legs. Rub it back and forth, moaning softly at the burgeoning pleasure…

“King Alaric?” she repeated, a little impatiently.

Damnation. Clearly, he needed to be slapped out of his lust stupor. Not Wesley, for the squire would roll about the floor laughing if asked. Captain Bardolf? He had meaty fists and would administer a proper skull-shaker.

“Of course,” Alaric ground out, offering his arm. “Let us depart before we are waylaid further. Mother will host in my absence; she loves to dance and will still be twirling long after most are exhausted. I think only my father could persuade her from the floor.”

Unexpectedly, Evaine grinned as they strolled toward the hall entrance, nodding at various courtiers in farewell. “I’m sure he had methods of persuasion that others did not.”

“Do not remind me,” he groaned as they proceeded down the wide torchlit hallway. “Those two were insatiable, even as elder wolves. I will remain forever grateful for Blackstone’s thick, sturdy walls, especially in rutting season…”

Alaric’s voice trailed off, his cheeks flushing as once again his mouth formed words his mind had not given permission to express. For someone so experienced in diplomacy, the way his tongue loosened around Evaine was entirely unnerving.

Pressing his lips together as they passed two armed guards and ascended the spiral staircase to the royal apartments, Alaric inwardly vowed to remain silent until Evaine was safely in her chamber.

Except then the she-wolf smiled sweetly, batted her lashes, and said: “Tell me about rutting season .”

Leto have mercy.

Alaric swallowed hard as his cock twitched. “You know that mated she-wolves can only conceive between January and March, and if they do, cubs are born in May?”

Somehow, her smile grew even sweeter. “Of course, but I feel like there are so many other details to share. Interesting details.”

Perspiration broke out on his temples. “Cubs are very precious because so many stars must align. It’s not just the time of year—she-wolves mated with a male must also go into a week-long breeding heat. That doesn’t always happen. But if it does, for seven days they, ah…”

“Rut?” said Evaine, her green eyes glinting. “Anytime, anywhere?”

“Yes,” he growled. “But a she-wolf’s breeding heat is so powerful, it affects the entire castle. Most feel the lust. The need. A king must be lenient, for he is liable to come across rutting in the most unexpected of places. Alcoves. Privy chambers. Staircases. Against tree trunks. Crushing Cook’s herbs in the garden. Dangling over a damned rampart...”

She giggled, then bit her lip. “And you, King Alaric? Do you feel the lust? The need?”

Until you arrived at my castle…no. Now it is the only thing on my mind.

After a thousand-year walk, they finally reached Evaine’s chamber. He’d never been more relieved to see a door in all his life; a few more steps and he’d have confessed all his raw, carnal thoughts. “Here we are, princess. Your chamber. I hope you enjoyed the banquet, and wish you a good evening.”

Evaine stared at him, her gaze searching. Then she dipped into a low curtsy. “Thank you for the escort. Good evening.”

Once the chamber door shut, Alaric took a long, slow breath. Then he hurried to his library, carefully closing the door behind him before marching over to the fireplace and resting both hands on the carved stone mantel. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the flames, desperate to regain control. But in the blink of an eye he’d removed his doublet, unfastened his hose, and gripped his aching cock. The swollen head was already wet with seed and Alaric used it to ease his way, gliding his palm up and down the thick length, squeezing roughly with his fingers.

He groaned, his mind betraying him once more as it offered the portrait of a naked Evaine on her hands and knees in front of him, her thighs spread wide to reveal her glistening center.

“Yes,” Alaric muttered, his hand moving faster. “Show me that sweet cunt. Is it burning to be filled, Evie? Do you need my cock so deep you feel it in your soul?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Horror flooded him at the soft words. Yet as he turned his head, no matter how hard he willed it to be untrue, two facts remained. Evaine stood in his library in a linen nightgown and heavy brocade robe, her hair flowing around her shoulders. And he’d quite literally been caught with his hose around his knees, handling his engorged cock.

“What are you doing in here?” Alaric roared. “My private rooms? Did you not consider knocking?”

Her emerald gaze never leaving his, Evaine untied the sash around her waist and let the robe fall to the floor. “I did consider it, yes. But then I’d have missed a most magnificent sight. As to my purpose…I’m pouncing.”

“ Pouncing ?” Alaric repeated, solely for time to regather his thoughts. His senses demanded he tear the offensively modest nightgown from her exquisite form so he might view her once again.

“Indeed,” she replied, straightening her shoulders, before awkwardly removing the remaining garment and tossing it away, the most erotic disrobing he’d ever witnessed. “Since you so rudely abandoned me in my bedchamber, I decided to invade your library. I’ve waited long enough, Alaric. Pleasure me.”