Roman's hand was stiff, fingers drumming on the hilt of his Peacemaker revolver with the desire to kill. "If he touches her hair, he'll wind up with a bullet in his skull."
"Keep your hands on the table, Roman. I can't have you killing Dorian just because he finds your wife pretty." August gave a grunt snort, a rare smile forming on his lips. "To think I'd ever utter those words to you."
Roman shifted in his seat, elbows resting on the table, hands lacing in front of his mouth as he leaned over, glaring at the scrawny man who was about the same age as Sera. He saw it, lustful eyes lingering too long on his little wife and one thing in particular.
Dorian wanted to touch Sera's curl, push it back and over her shoulder, tracing his fingers along the delicate curve. That was the thing about her ringlets-- they were natural and soft, not the tight, fake kind like Lydia had. But most of all, they were tantalizing. Most of Sera's hair was pinned up in twists and braids with one large, soft curl laying on her collarbone. It gleamed under the blazing flames surrounding the night and lighting up the town square for the party. A breeze sifted through, catching that delicate ringlet, torturing the man and practically begging to be swiped back.
His little mouse didn't help the situation when she laughed at something Dorian had said. Her head fell back, those dimples on full display, and her eyes lighting up. The affect was as if bits of ice were dropped into those usually straight whiskey-colored eyes and making them gleam like the drink on the rocks.
Sera shone with regal beauty and Roman marveled at how he had been able to obtain such a creature. The whole air around her was alive and breathing as if even the atmosphere was entrance, magnetizing to her. She was the most alive woman he had ever met. Her expression changed so drastically and so quickly it was astonishing to observe. One minute her brow was crinkled in disdain and the next, she was laughing in delight with her cohort, which was irritatingly-- not Roman.
Dorian-- with clever and insolent fingers-- reached up with a glass of gin in his hand. One long, and thin finger inched closer until it was too close. Roman had, had enough. A loud shot rang out, causing everyone to scream as Dorian's glass shattered. Sera jumped up and away from the fiendish, gangly man.
Roman held his revolver with pride as smoke residue billowed out of the chamber. Sera's soft ringlets bounced, indicating her irritation when she spun around, her eyes narrowing at Roman in fiery heat. That lovely body was draped in a gown of the darkest red, suctioned to her figure that was causing every man's eye to glue to her. Too bad for her, the last male courageous enough to talk with her-- and possibly ask her to dance-- was now scampering away in terror.
"That was a little bit of an overreaction, wouldn't you say?" August chuckled, smirking at Roman as he leaned back in his chair.
"She's my wife." Roman stated, taking a sip of his whiskey, eyes not leaving his mouse's. Every man around kept peering over at her. At first, it had been out of curiosity but then their gazes kept shifting back and Remington could feel himself going feral.
"You know, if you dance with her, it will probably stop the men from wanting to ask her."
"My bullet shattering Dorian's glass seemed to do the trick," Roman replied, then noticed his friend's eyes scouring the dancing crowd until they landed on the other Livingston beauty, who was busy laughing and dancing with Old John. "Maybe you should take your own advice? Or you can continue to be a hypocrite."
August cut his gaze to Roman, and the permanent scowl was back on his face. "I'm no hypocrite."
Roman chuckled, holstering his gun. "Sure, you're not."
"Remington!" The waft of Sera's fresh, sweat scent caused Roman to glance up at his wife. "Who do you think you are?!"
"Omeo needs my attention," August mumbled, practically darting away.
"Your husband," Roman replied coolly.
"I am allowed to dance!"
"Not with men who want to ravage you."
Sera whipped the skirts of her dress over with fisted hands, her pretty calves flashing for a second, as she sat in the chair August had vacated. "Don't be ridiculous! None of those men wanted to ravage me. They simply wanted to dance."
"You are being naive."
Sera scoffed, rolling her eyes and waving her hand up toward some of the men. "It is the truth. They wanted a dance. Most of them have been either asking my sister or Lydia. Only a select few have approached me."
"And those select few have looked at you with eyes I do not like."
"They wanted to dance! Those men did not desire what you are claiming. I am a married woman, to you! There is no way they would cross that line and face your wrath. But that is most likely not even a thought in their mind when Ana and Lydia are here."
Roman's finger lazily traveled along the circular edge of his glass, staring at his wife's obscured reflection as she asked, "So are you just going to sit here and continue to play target practice with every man that hopes to dance with me?"
He leaned in with a rakish smile splashed across his face. "Have to keep my senses sharp."
"You are unbelievable."
"Thank you."
"I didn't mean it as a compliment."
"I am taking it as one."
Sera let out an irritated sigh "Then you must dance with me because I am getting restless. Of course, I fully expect for you to reject the--"
"I will not pass up the invitation to put my hands on you," Roman cut off and ended with a wink.
"Never mind." Sera's eyes turned an irate shade. "I take back my invite."
"You don't want my hands on you?"
Starting from her delectable collarbone and rising to her hairline, Sera reddened and Roman enjoyed the sight. "We both are aware that I become horridly distracted and unlike myself."
Everyone continues to dance, chatter, and mingle, not minding the married couple having a private conversation. Ladies frolicked and lifted their skirts in seduction, men had wandering eyes and quick hands.
"I disagree," Roman said, eyes fixing on Sera, "I think your more like yourself then you've ever been and that scares you."
"Nothing scares me," Sera answered, hotly, obviously ruffled by his statement. "Being intimate with you-- is more about going to a level of vulnerability I am not yet prepared to face."
He took a sip of his drink and then discarded the now empty glass onto the table. "Which is why I scare you, because you want it with me despite your reservations. Despite your," he peered at her and leaned in, eyes set on Sera's narrowed gaze and adorably pinched face, "fear."
"You're saying I should act on my shameful and unhealthy impulses."
Roman lounged back, his boot burrowing under Sera's skirt and finding her little foot. "In no way, petite souris, are they shameful or unhealthy."
Sera's eyes held his with a disconcerting gaze. "Did you sleep with her?"
"Once."
"Did you regret it?"
Roman didn't like how the air became stifling, or the memory that resurfaced with the pain it brought on regardless of the years. "Yes," he breathed out.
"Why?"
He licked his lips, this answer being much easier to force out, but still hard to say. "Because-- she wasn't you."
"Was she the only one?"
"No."
"So, you are a rake?"
"After her death, I became one. Thought it would ease the hurt."
"Did it?"
"No."
"Are you still?"
Roman shook his head, eyes searching for something to distract himself from his wife's intuitive gaze. "When a woman was killed because of her connection to me, I ended all my affairs. Sometimes I think..." he trailed off, not knowing if he could utter the words.
"Think what?"
He knew if he said this to Sera, she would stab him with the harsh truth. "That if I didn't indulge myself, bed women I didn't love, she'd still be alive."
Sera's gaze was unwavering, strict, and wildly intelligent with an intuitiveness that put her mind above others. "Yes, she would be."
The blow was worse than Roman expected, and his chest constricted so tightly he thought he would keel over. The aftereffects were worse, the truth a serum that had been forcibly injected into him and killing the lies he had told himself for years to cover up his guilt.
"That is the harsh reality of it," Sera said, that beautiful ringlet finally grazing away from her collarbone as she pushed it back. "But it is not your burden to carry. You learned from your mistake and fixed it. All of us have done things that have harmed people."
"But I caused someone to be murdered."
"Sometimes death is kinder than harm."
"So, her death was a kindness?"
She shrugged. "No, probably not, but it was inevitable. We all die, Roman. Sometimes lives are unjustly cut short. Hers was and it wasn't your fault."
"But you said--"
"I implied it was the reason, I did not say it was your fault. That lies solely on the one who pulled the trigger, they are the killer." She tiled her head, eyes swimming with compassion. "How long has this tortured you for?"
"Years," came his immediate reply.
She nodded. "I'm starting to solve it."
"Solve what?"
A pleased smile lightens Sera's face bringing a challenging gleam to cut across her softened eyes. "The complicated puzzle that is Roman Remington."
Roman's eyes searched her face from the beauty mark situated right above her eyebrow to the each and every freckle splayed over her nose and cheeks. "You, Sera, are an incredible woman."
She raised a suspicious brow, but a confidence sparked through her gaze causing her to lift her chin a little. "I am, aren't I? No wonder these men want to ravage me."
Something was shifting in Roman. It intense yet calming. He loved that what he said to his wife gave her confidence which made him realize... nothing else in the world mattered right now but this woman's happiness.
Not even his revenge.
He was losing grip on his reasoning and allowing feeling to complicate everything. He couldn't repeat a past mistake and had already selfishly put Sera in danger. Now she was in even more danger for being married to him.
A surliness contaminated the desire to whisk her up and dance with her, to bring more pretty smiles to her face, to pull her away from the annual party and tempt her into a night of drowning in each other. Her head would fall back, exposing her pale neck with two other beauty marks, one at the center, the other closer to her shoulder. He would whisper feverish promises against her supple skin, kissing and nibbling.
But he couldn't do any of those things.
Not anymore.
It was one thing to lay with her out of carnal lust and attraction.
It was another to do it out of adoration.
Roman stood up, his chair falling behind him and clanking against the sandy ground. Sera jolted, surprised by his sudden movement. Roman said nothing else, striding away from the party, away from his wife.
He had to gather himself.
As he passed by August, Roman clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Make sure if she dances, they keep their hands to themselves."
"Hard to do when the action is inevitable," August countered.
"Just keep an eye on her."
"You're a coward." Roman paused at the sound of his nephew's voice, shocked by the venom and fury in it.
"What did you say?"
Omeo darted in front of him, disdain yanking down on his brow. "You're a coward!"
Roman glared down at the boy who seemed to be growing taller each and every day. It also meant he needed to learn he couldn't say whatever he wanted. "Why's that, little nephew?"
Omeo stepped back slightly at the deep baritone danger cutting his uncle's voice. "You... you just leave her there, unprotected, and you didn't dance with her."
Roman stepped around him. "Then you dance with her."
"I will!" Omeo yelled at his retreating back.
But Roman's steps didn't falter.
He didn't even look back.
Oh, Roman sometimes you are so exhausting! Do you all really think Sera is going to really just let him get away with this? Warning to you my lovely readers it will be full steam ahead in the next chapters. Prepare yourselves!
Today sooooo many things popped up and got in my way of editing this chapter so I may need to edit again. My power had been out for two days!!!! Not a fun time!