LORD RONAN

I lay against the wall with Red, one of the town's prostitutes. She has been eyeing me for a while, knowing I have money. I'm finally giving her the attention she wants because she has information about an arms dealer essential to my investigation.

"I normally don't bring customers to my bedroom. But I can make an exception for you." She's digging her polished nails into my chest, trying to peer under my hoodie. But her heels make her a tad too tall, and I'm not giving her the angle she's looking for.

I wrap my arms around her, playing the part. "I know how you can make easy money. Answer a few of my questions, and I'll pay you as if you were the best lay I ever had."

"Hmm... You know I've been really into you for months. I—"

My eyes lock on Hazel. She's retreating, her short legs stomping away.

I curse as I run after her. Why do I feel an outrageous amount of guilt? We owe nothing to each other.

She wasn't supposed to see me in that compromising position. Especially since I know it hurt her. The girl considers me a friend, perhaps more. This attachment wasn't supposed to happen.

Her bag is stuffed full, likely with the damn hoodie she insists on giving me.

I latch onto her arm, stopping her. "Girl," I growl. "Why do you keep returning to this town?"

She rips her arm away. "Don't worry," she grits. "You won't see me ever again."

Those are the words I've been dying to hear from her. I want her safe and protected in the estate, away from this callous, greedy world that could devour her. But her defeat brings me no joy. She's most loyal to this hooded character of mine, not to Lord Ronan. If she stays in the estate, she won't ever see this version of me again.

"I wasn't going to fuck her," I say, shifting my weight from one leg to another. Discomfort swirls in my gut. I'm not used to explaining my actions to anyone, much less a slip of a maid with a knack for breaking the rules. A maid that I can't bring myself to punish because her eyes are full of hope and innocent curiosity that can't be found anywhere else in this damned world.

It's impossible to hate her.

"She had information I needed, and I was trying to seduce it out of her."

She trembles, her fury remaining true. "Is seducing women one of your pastimes?"

I groan. She's jealous. This isn't good.

"I didn't try to seduce you when I kissed you. I was trying to scare you away. Show you that the men outside your estate are cruel and only want your body. There was nothing else to that kiss."

She digs into her bag and pulls out the hoodie. It's dark brown and thin–likely because she lacked fabric and materials. But she still made the effort. She thrusts it into my arms. "I thought you were kind for not reporting me to the estate. I didn't think you were a liar, too."

Although I wear a hoodie that covers most of my body, she sees right through me. She knows there was more to that fucking kiss than intimidation. It started calculated, but I quickly lost sight of the goal. I enjoyed her lips. I swept in like a criminal, ready to turn her into a victim, but I underestimated her power.

She turns away and walks off. Instead of sending my bodyguard after her this time, I follow her discreetly.

She's so disoriented by her anger that she's more vulnerable than usual. I can't trust anyone but myself to ensure she gets home.

She mutters and clutches her bag as she walks to the estate. When she reaches the wall, she lies against a tree. She rests her head on her knees and draws on the soil with her index finger. She's waiting for the guard change to slip back into the estate.

After some time, she lays on her back and goes limp. She must have fallen asleep. Unable to help myself, I lurk forward and kneel beside her sleeping form. I touch her soft cheek, brushing her dark locks away. Her breathing is even, and her lips slightly parted. I'm angry at her for foolishly sleeping in the middle of nowhere. I'm angry at myself for setting my hoodie over her when she shudders. I shouldn't be here. I have business to tend to.

I stare at the hoodie. It's not thick enough. The sky is dark, and it's getting colder.

With a growl of irritation, I pull off my hoodie and set it on top of her. My face and arms are now revealed. The cool wind caresses my skin. I haven't relieved this much skin outside in years. But here I am, bare before Hazel's sleeping figure.

I sigh and retreat to my hiding spot. It takes thirty minutes for Hazel to stir awake. She gasps as if surprised that she lost track of time. Then she sits up and turns on a small flashlight.

"Are you there?" she whispers, clutching both hoodies.

I don't reply. I only watch closely as her shoulders slump in defeat, and she rises. She turns the flashlight off, collects her things, and approaches the estate wall.

She waits a few minutes for the guard switch before sneaking under the wall.

I'm going to patch that hole as soon as possible.

Once she's gone, I take the private entrance at the back of the estate to my office. I sit on my chair and roll my head back. I sigh into the darkness, rubbing my fingers together to remember the feeling of her skin.

Being in my private, silent, dark office brings me no peace. My body is rocking with unspent frustration. I could easily walk the halls and find one of the many maids willing to please me. But that no longer seems appealing.

I rise from my seat and go for a walk. I take the private channels that not even the mistresses have access to. These rooms are for my personal and business use–my library, bedroom, and torture room.

I haven't been to my library in a while. There's never much time for leisure reading because of work. I work like a beast, but today, I feel mortal. Distracted by feelings I've never bothered with.

To reach the library, I must cross the whipping room. I walk down the dark, narrow pathways, my shoulders brushing them ever so often.

I open the door to the whipping room and am shocked to find a lit lantern. Hazel sits on the floor with a book in her hands.

What the fuck is she doing here?!

She scrambles to her feet, and I turn around to hide my face. There's too much light in here. She has never seen Lord Ronan in detail.

"L-lord..."

"What are you doing here? This is forbidden!" I grit, changing my voice so she can't recognize it.

"I didn't know you would come..."

How long has she been coming here, using this room as her private study?

I glance at the walls lined with whips and chains. "You can't be in here. It's not for people like you."

"I know," she says. "Sorry. I didn't think you would come here tonight. Please forgive me. Does–does your mistress know I'm here?"

"What mistress?"

"Well, the woman you were going to bring in here to..."

My mind reels. Why would I bring a woman in here? It takes me a long minute to connect the dots.

"You think this is some sex dungeon? It's a torture chamber. I don't hurt the women I fuck. At least not with whips and chains."

She gasps, and I can practically hear her mind running as she tries to picture what I mean. I'm sure she's drawing up blanks. Her innocent mind and inexperience aren't helping her imagination.

"Goddamn it, just ask me already," I growl.

"Um... could you explain other ways you could cause pain?"

Fuck. My cock hardens as if summoned, willing to answer all her questions.

"Have you ever been stuffed full with a girthy, long cock? It's not all pleasure. There will be sparks of pain."

She's stunned into silence. But then I hear a footstep, followed by another.

"Don't you fucking dare," I snarl at her. But she has never listened to me and won't start now.

I'm rooted to the hardwood floors, staring at the dark pathway and considering running like a coward. Run away in my own estate.

Her hand touches my back, and she whispers, "Lord Ronan..."

I spin around and dive in, clashing my lips against hers and wrapping my arms around her waist to lift her off the ground.