“What of him?” she asked, her gaze falling to his hand, where the scar reminded him of his father every day.

And then she was watching him. More beautiful than a woman should be. “When I was in school, they made us learn the myths.” Her brow furrowed in beautiful confusion, but he did not give her time to reply. “We were required to translate them from the Greek, and every boy in the course loathed the project. King did all he could to get out of it. He paid me to do the work for him on more than one occasion.”

She smiled, turning on her side, sending the plaid sliding against her, a whisper of wool on skin. “You did not attempt to escape your studies?”

“I did not have the luxury of it.”

She nodded. “Not yet a duke.”

The Scottish Brute.

He shook his head, watching as the fabric clung to the swell of her hip, to the curve of her breast. “Do you know about Selene?”

She smiled, small and sweet. “She was goddess of the moon.”

He nodded. “She was also sister to the sun and the dawn, the daughter of Titans and a beauty beyond words. She was the scandalous child—the one who was changeable and unsettling. She could move the tides and light the heavens and provide cover for the nefarious deeds of the world if she wished. The sun came every day, as did the dusk, but the moon, it was like joy. Purposeful and inconstant. She was queen of the night.”

Lily watched him with rapt attention, and his fingers itched to touch her, but still he kept himself from her.

“One night, as she moved across the sky, her light touched on a sleeping shepherd.”

“Endymion,” Lily said, the name a rapt whisper.

He nodded. “He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen—peaceful and good, and everything she’d ever wanted. Selene fell immediately in love, despite keen awareness of the impossibility of their match. She could not be with him, not every day. Not all day. Her time with him was limited. Ephemeral.”

She sat up then, clutching the fabric to her, covering all the beautiful, secret parts of her—all the parts he would give everything to see. “Alec—” she said, as though if she could stop the myth, she might be able to stop the course of their tale.

“He woke as she stood over him and, witnessing her unbearable beauty, fell instantly in love as well. But he could not bear to be without her, not even for a day. Not even for a moment. Not even for a breath. And so he begged the gods to grant him eternal sleep, so that he might never know what it was to live without her.” Alec lifted one hand, finally, lifting a long auburn curl from the place it draped over her shoulder, watching it slide through his fingers, tempting him with silken promise, making him want to bind his wrists in the stunning stuff and remain her prisoner forever.

“He would take even the smallest part of her if it meant having any of her at all,” he said.

Her lips parted on a little intake of breath, and Alec ached to kiss her. “What happened?”

“Zeus gave him his wish. Endymion slept forever, ageless and deathless. And she came to him at night and watched over him with her beauty.”

“No,” she said, her grey eyes suddenly glistening. “They were never together?”

Alec’s hand moved to her cheek, his thumb capturing the single tear that escaped before it could mar her perfect skin. “They were together for eternity,” he answered, the words coming low and thick with longing. “He dreamed forever . . . always of holding the moon in his arms.”

Silence stretched between them, their gazes tangled, Alec willing himself to learn the lesson he was trying to give her. That love was not always happiness. That it was too often sorrow.

And then she lifted her hand to his, holding his palm to her cheek. “I don’t wish to hold the moon in my arms, Alec,” she whispered, grey eyes unwavering. “I wish to hold you.”

She dropped the plaid and it pooled at her hips, baring her to him, all perfection in the golden candlelight. Alec followed the fabric, sinking to his knees at the side of the bed, desire rendering him unable to stand. He bowed his head and whispered her name, a sacrifice at her temple.

She touched him gloriously, her fingers sliding into his hair. “Alec,” she whispered, “Please. Please choose me.”

As though he could choose anything else.

He lifted his head, reaching for her, taking her in hand, holding her steady. “Be certain, Lily,” he whispered. “Be certain you want me. I am coarse and unrefined and I shall never be worthy of you. But I lack the strength to deny your will.”

Her eyes went wide for a moment before she spoke, the words hot and clear as the sun, “I am not a child. I know my mind. I know the consequences to my thoughts. To my actions. I know myself. I know what is to come. I wish it, Alec.” If the words had not broken him, the movement would have—the way she leaned toward him, her lips a breath away from his.

“I will it.”

And he was hers. For one night. For eternity.

Chapter 17

DILUTED DUKE DAMNED BY DESIRE!

He kissed her like she was air.

Like she was all he’d ever wanted. Like she was temptation and sin and he could not stop himself.

And she reveled in it, running her hands through his hair, then down his shoulders and over his massive arms, aching for him to be closer. To be on the bed with her. She pulled back to tell him that, to beg him nearer, only to find him already watching her, brown eyes turned nearly black, lips stung with the kiss she had happily returned.

“Alec,” she whispered.

“Anything,” he said. “I am yours.”

Mine.

How long had she wanted this? How long had she ached for it? How many nights had she lain awake wishing that someone like this—strong and kind and heroic beyond measure—would find her? Would claim her?

Would love her?

She closed her eyes at the thought, knowing she asked for too much. He might not love her. But tonight, for as long as he was here, with her, she could love him. And it might be enough. “Mine?” she whispered.

He watched her carefully, his gaze lingering over her face, as though he was trying to memorize her, and she did the same, taking in his strong, unbearable beauty and wishing his words true. Forever. “Yours,” he whispered.

He made the word sound filthy. And she wanted it all the more.

She shook her head. “But it is I who is wrapped in your colors.”