Free The Legend of the Werestag by Tessa Dare

isn’t a matter of can or can’t.” She pulled again, but the door would not budge. “It’s a matter of do or don’t. Either you do love me, and damn the consequences”—she tugged again, to no avail—“or you don’t, and we go our separate ways.”
    She let go the door handle and released an exasperated huff.
    Slowly, he walked to her side. “There’s a little latch,” he said, pulling on the string above her head. “Just here.”
    The door swung open with a rusty creak. Together they stood on the threshold, peering into the cottage’s dimly lit interior.
    “After you,” Cecily said wryly. “By all means.”
    “The light’s fading. We should return to the manor.”
    “Not yet,” she said, pushing him forward into the dirt-floored gloom. “Strip off your shirt.” Chapter Six
    “What?” Luke crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes darted from the cottage’s single window to the straw-tick bed huddled under the sloping corner of the roof. “You can’t be serious.” Cecily found his panic vastly amusing. “Certainly I can.”
    “Cecy, this is hardly the time and place for—”
    “A tryst?” She laughed. “You think I mean to trap you in this secluded cottage and have my wicked way with you? You should be so lucky. No, remove your shirt. I want a look at your arm.”
    “My arm?” His eyes narrowed. “Which one?”
    “Which one do you think?” She crossed to him and began unknotting the cravat at his neck. “The one you injured while wrestling the boar last night.”
    Oh, the look on his face…
    Cecily wanted to kiss him. He was so adorably befuddled. At last, he’d let slip that hard mask of indifference he’d been wearing since his arrival at Swinford Manor. And in its place—there was Luke .
    Engaging green eyes, touchable dark brown hair, those lips so perfectly formed for roguish smiles and tender kisses alike.
    This was the man she’d fallen in love with. The man she still loved now. Yes, he’d changed, but she had too. She was older, wiser, stronger than the girl she’d been. This time, she wouldn’t let him go.
    “You knew?”
    She smiled. “I knew.”

    His breath hitched as she slipped the cravat from his neck. Attempting to ignore the wedge of bare chest it revealed, and the mad pounding of her blood that view inspired, Cecily set to work on his waistcoat buttons.
    “How?” he asked, obeying her silent urgings to shed the garment. “How did you know?”
    “It’s a fortunate thing you weren’t assigned to espionage. You’ve no talent for disguise whatsoever. If I hadn’t suspected already, I would have figured it out this afternoon. My stocking was found in this remote cottage, and you just happen to know the secrets of the door latch? Then there’s the fact that you’ve been favoring your arm since breakfast.” She undid the small closure of his shirtfront before turning her attention to his cuffs. “But I knew you last night. I’d know your voice anywhere, not to mention your touch.” She gave a shaky sigh, unable to meet his questioning gaze. “It’s like you said, Luke. You still make me tremble, even after all these years.” His voice was soft. “I don’t even know why I followed you. The way we’d parted so angrily…I just couldn’t let you go, not like that.”
    “And I’m glad of it. You saved my life.” With a brisk snap, she jerked the shirt’s hem from the waistband of his trousers, gathering the fine linen in both hands. “Arms up, head down.” She made a move to lift the shirt over his head, but he stopped her.
    “I caught a bayonet at Vitoria. I’ve scars. They’re not pretty.”
    “I’ve been tending wounded soldiers for a year. I’m certain I’ve seen worse.” And she had seen worse, Cecily reminded herself as she surveyed the pink, rippling scar slanting from his collarbone to his ribs. She had seen worse, but not on anyone she loved. It was so difficult to contain all the silly feminine impulses welling up inside