Seven Nights In A Rogue's Bed. Anna Campbell

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       Chapter Three

      In the cavernous hall, Sidonie Forsythe stood tall and straight in a pool of pale sunshine. She wore her heavy cloak and she clutched her valise at her side.

      “What the hell are you doing?” Jonas strode across the flagstones and stopped a few paces short of her. Thank God he was an early riser or he’d be too late. He’d been flicking through the prospectus for a canal scheme when Mrs. Bevan lumbered into the library to announce the young lady requested use of his carriage.

      At his furious question, Miss Forsythe whipped around. She stared dismayed into his face and he knew they both revisited those blazing moments in his bed. The memory thundered through him like the blast of a thousand cannons. Her lovely eyes darkened with what he could only interpret as humiliation before anger rescued her. “Don’t you ever dress like a Christian?”

      Again, she surprised him. He liked that. He liked it almost as much as he’d liked seeing her unclothed body last night. And he’d liked that very much indeed.

      He released a derisive grunt of laughter. “This is my house. If I want to run around in my shirtsleeves, I will. If I tour the estate stark naked, I daresay it’s my privilege.”

      Delicate color tinged her cheeks at the mention of nakedness. This morning she looked brighter. She must have managed some sleep after he’d stormed from her room.

      He wished to Hades he had.

      “It’s nothing to me what you wear.” Calm determination masked any disquiet. He’d lay money that composure was as false as the canal scheme’s projected profits. “We’ll never see each other again after all.”

      “I wouldn’t place too much store in that particular prediction,” he said drily. “It’s a devilish shabby trick to sneak away without a by-your-leave.”

      “We have nothing to say to one another.”

      “You think not?” He turned to Mrs. Bevan. “Tell Hobbs the carriage isn’t required.”

      “Mr. Merrick—” Miss Forsythe began in a repressive voice.

      He’d be damned if he was squabbling with her out here while his housekeeper stood around with flapping ears. “Perhaps you’d rather continue this discussion in the library.”

      “I’d rather leave your house and pretend these lamentable hours never occurred.”

      “So vehement for daybreak.” He weighted his tone with completely spurious boredom. “It’s a trifle fatiguing.”

      “Only for a man of your advanced years,” she snapped back.

      Brava ancora. He could guess how awkward she felt in his presence after what had happened—and not happened—last night. Still she came back fighting. “At least let me rest my ageing bones on a cushion while you harangue me.”

      No answering humor. She continued to eye him warily. “I’d prefer to go.”

      “I’m sure you would. But I’ve still got Roberta’s vowels. Or had you forgotten?”

      Her magnificent eyes flashed hatred. “I hadn’t forgotten. I paid you last night.”

      He gave her a nasty smile. “That’s a matter of opinion.” He gestured toward the library. “Miss Forsythe?”

      She glowered at him, then glanced at Mrs. Bevan, who watched with avid interest. The girl’s color deepened and she nodded abruptly. “Five minutes.”

      Jonas knew not to push his advantage. Or at least to wait until they were alone before he did. He opened the door and ushered her into the book-lined room.

      Her shoulders tensed into a ruler-straight line when he lifted her cloak away. The white gown beneath was as inappropriate as ever. Although he appreciated the way it strained across her full bosom. As if once more shaping her perfect breasts, his hands curled in the cloak’s rough wool. Yielding to temptation, he leaned in to catch her fresh scent. She didn’t smell like rain this morning. Instead she smelled of lemon soap. Still, the commonplace fragrance stirred turbulent eddies of desire in his blood. He dropped the cloak onto a chair and stepped closer to release the ribbons on her unbecoming bonnet. Whoever chose her clothing should be drawn and quartered.

      She batted his hand away and her breath accelerated—whether with fear or excitement, he wasn’t sure. Probably a mixture of the two. “Stop it.”

      “Just making you comfortable.” The ribbons loosened and he lifted the bonnet, tossing it on top of the cloak.

      “As if you care for my comfort. If you did, you’d let me go.”

      His lips twitched as he wandered away. “But that would have a disagreeable effect on my comfort.” He gestured toward a leather chair. “Please sit down.”

      She remained standing uneasily in the center of the room. “No, thank you. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

      He sauntered to the window and slouched against the frame, basking in the sun’s unseasonal warmth. Last night’s storm had blown itself out and the day outside was pleasant for November. Although he suspected the temperature inside the library was about to drop several degrees.

      He fixed an unwavering stare upon her. “I hadn’t taken you for a cheat, Miss Forsythe.”

      Her expression remained neutral, although she must know what he meant. “I’ve cheated you of nothing, Mr. Merrick.”

      His tone held an edge. “What would you call bilking me of your company after promising…satisfaction?”

      She paled and her gloved hand tightened around the handle of her bag. “You didn’t want me last night,” she said flatly.

      He raised his eyebrows in mocking disbelief, while burgeoning need crooned its alluring song in his ears. “You’re not that innocent.”

      She growled softly and swung away with a flounce of filmy skirts. He caught a glimpse of two well-turned ankles. Interesting that the sight proved so arousing when he’d already seen her naked.

      “You’re in a humor to tease, I see.”

      He tilted his head back against the window frame and surveyed her down the bumpy length of his broken nose. “No, I’m in a humor to have my bargain honored.”

      She stopped and regarded him with a troubled light in her dark eyes. Grown men cringed from his scars. Why the hell didn’t his grotesque appearance daunt this untried girl?

      “I offered my…services; you rejected them.” She set down the bag and stubbornness squared her jaw. “I’m within my rights to leave unmolested.”

      “You’re quite the lawyer, Miss Forsythe. You employed similar sophistry last night when you presented yourself in your beguiling sister’s stead.”

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