And now here he was, with his every dream being handed to him on the proverbial platter, and all he could think was that he needed to find a way to prevent it. He could not live with himself if she was forced into marriage, even if it was his most desperate desire.

“I think he will understand,” Sarah said haltingly. “And he will not force the issue. I don’t want . . .” She looked away, completely now, and he could not see her face. “I don’t want anyone to feel obliged . . .”

She did not finish. Hugh nodded, deciding how best to interpret her words. He’d been planning to ask her to marry him; she knew that. Was this her way of hinting that he should not ask? After all this, she still sought to spare him the humiliation.

“Of course not,” he finally said. Three meaningless words, spoken just to fill the silence. He had no idea what he was about any longer.

She chewed on her lip again, and he could only stare as her tongue flicked gently out to moisten the spot where her teeth had just been. And just like that, his body was set aflame. It was the most inappropriate reaction imaginable, but he could not stop thinking about taking his tongue and sliding it along her lip, across the spot she was worrying and over to the corner. Then he’d move lower, to the curve of her neck, and—

“Please untie me,” he practically croaked.

“But—”

“I can’t feel my hands,” he said, seizing on the first excuse he could think of. It wasn’t remotely true, but his body was leaping to life, and if he did not get free soon, there would be no way to hide his desire.

Sarah hesitated, but only for a moment. She moved toward the head of the bed and got to work on the knot at his right wrist. “Do you think he’s right outside the door?” she whispered.

“Undoubtedly.”

Her face twisted with disgust. “That’s . . .”

“Sick?” he finished for her. “Welcome to my childhood.”

He regretted the words the moment he said them. Her eyes filled with pity, and he felt bile rising up his throat. He didn’t want her pity, not for his leg, or his childhood, or any of the sodding ways he could not hope to protect her. He just wanted to be a man, and he wanted her to know that, to feel it. He wanted to hover over her in bed, nothing between them but heat, and he wanted her to know that she had been claimed, that she was his, and no other man would ever know the warm silk of her skin.

But he was a fool. She deserved someone who could protect her, not a cripple who had been so easily bested. Kicked, drugged, and tied to a bed—how could she possibly respect him after this?