What the devil had he done?
Balling the scarf in his fist, he considered his options. He'd been avoiding her since the explosion—so many things to see to, buildings to clear, Balfour to hunt—and that was as good an excuse as any he had available. But the truth was the night of the explosion had affected him greatly, throwing an ungallant truth in his face. Exposing his heart and scraping it raw before he managed to disengage and retreat to shore up the walls that guarded it.
"Should I remove anything breakable?" he asked. "Herbert said you weren't happy about being kept inside."
"I'm not going to throw anything. It's not the sort of thing well-bred ladies do."
Trouble, his instincts warned. Definitely trouble. And it had nothing to do with being contained.
"Did you miss me?" he asked. "I thought you'd prefer to recover here after the situation, and I had many things to see to. I'm sorry if I haven't been around of late. I didn't want your nerves to—"
"Did I look like I was suffering from a bout of nerves? As I recall, it wasn't I who was undone." Those green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Unless that was just another pretense too."
No, she'd been remarkably well-balanced after all of the exhilaration. His gaze strayed to the desk, and he could see himself again, fucking his way into her like a mindless animal. Desperately kissing her, his hand sinking into her hair so he could press his lips to her throat and feel the thready kick of her pulse there.... The one that told him she was alive.
Alive and not burned in the opera attack.
Alive and not a charred mess of bones.
He slammed his way back out of the memories of how he'd felt when he stared into the flames of the opera house and thought she'd been inside. It had woken him last night, a new nightmare to add to the collection.
And the easiest way to deal with nightmares was to ignore them.
Moving slowly, he considered her as he crossed to the decanter and poured himself a brandy, tugging at his cravat. It felt tight.
"No," he said. Her eyes glittered, as if she were daring him to work her out. "No, you didn't succumb to nerves. And I'm not certain what you mean by 'pretense.' You could simply tell me what the matter is."
"It's the game that counts, isn't it?" They sounded like his own words, though he wasn't entirely certain when he'd said them to her. "And you like games. Guess."
"You're angry."
"I would have to care to be angry."
The faint press of her lips together betrayed her, as if something violent wanted to spill over the top of them. Not unflappable, after all. He focused on the faint sign of distress. If he couldn't control himself, then he'd damn well break her down to his level and bring whatever this was to the surface.
Pushing away from the desk at last, he began to tug his cravat free, feeling a little more composed now he wasn't the only one afflicted. "Oh, I think you care. I think you care far too much, Adele."
She flinched a little at the sound of her name, so soft on his lips. "Aren't you tired of the lies?"
"I wasn't aware I'd been lying. Do you have something to confess, my dear?" He wrapped his cravat around one of his knuckles, drawing the material tight.
And her gaze dropped to the silk.
He could almost see the memory strike her, those wicked green eyes warming. Adele sucked in a sharp breath, and Malloryn emphasized the moment, stroking his thumb softly over the tension in the cravat; a sensual rustle he felt inside him as his callused thumb snagged on the silk.
It felt like her skin beneath his touch.
It felt like her surrender.
The last time they'd played this game, it had been her hands bound by the cravat.
Her arms tied above her, pinning her wrists to the bed.
Her pleas soft in the air as he buried his face between her thighs.
And they were both suddenly there in that moment, his cock hardening behind the placket of his breeches.
"You son of a bitch," she whispered, moving in a sharp flurry of skirts.
He stepped between her and the door. "Now that," he said, "is a rather unkind assessment of my mother."
"Assessment?" she hissed, trying to step around him. "That's all you have to say? You think you can come in here and seduce me and I'll forget everything?"
Sometimes it seemed like the only way he could breach the distance between them. "It's never bothered you in the past."
One fist lashed out toward his chest, and he captured her hands, holding her there with minimum force. A storm of anguish broke her cool mask, and his gut clenched, for he'd never, ever seen Adele so undone before. He wanted to take it all back in an instant. Why had he said that?
I don't want to hurt you.
But he didn't know how to say it, not in any way she would understand. All he had was this.
And he captured her face with one hand, his mouth slanting to capture hers. Adele's mouth softened momentarily, and a flood of relief swept through him, his tongue darting out—
Then her hurt was gone, obliterated by rage as she fought him. Malloryn found himself with a wildcat of pure fury in his arms, one that fought only to free herself. Silk ripped as she twisted, and he let her go, unnerved by the maelstrom of emotion on her face. Adele staggered back into the wall, one hand splayed over the wallpaper, her face shocked as their eyes met.
No, her gaze said. And it wasn't in the playful challenging way she sometimes looked at him.
It was in a game over kind of way.
The no echoed through him like a knife. He had this horrible feeling he was losing her, but that made no sense, because had he ever had her? Malloryn moved, but the second he lifted his hand, she scrambled away and he was left frozen and awkward, not quite knowing where to put his hands.
They ended in some sort of stalemate, with her trapped in the corner and Malloryn staring helplessly at her.
"You win," she gasped. "You win. I can't do this anymore."
"Can't do what?"