"But that is not safe.... A little—later."
Uncomfortably he tried to infuse his glance with innate innocence and utter lack of understanding.
"I shan't hurt him—if I have the chance," he told her. "I've given you my word—"
"And I trust you—much." Her gaze sought his in a trifle of impatience at such simplicity. "But it is not safe for you now.... Later ... By and by."
"You don't want him to have a chance to make love to her, do you?" said Ryder sharply. "I thought that was the very thing you didn't—"
Her smile was a subtle, confessing caress. "I shall have my revenge," she murmured, and pressed closer to him again, every sensuous, sumptuous line of her a challenge and an enticement.
"I give you life," she whispered, very low in her throat. "You give me, perhaps, an hour—?"
"I haven't an hour," said Ryder very desperately and unhappily. "Not when Aimée is with that devil—"
It took every thought of Aimée to get the words out.
He felt a brute about it, a low, ungrateful dog. She had given him life and every fiber in him clamored to save her pride and champion her caprice.