Seven Nights In A Rogue's Bed. Anna Campbell

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      He regarded her with the same searching curiosity she’d noticed downstairs. She had no idea what went on behind those deep-set eyes. He tilted his chin toward the tray on the dressing table. “You didn’t eat much.”

      “No.” Nerves killed appetite. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, when she’d choked down a piece of toast and some tea. She swallowed to moisten a dry mouth and forced a calmness she didn’t feel into her voice. “You were kind to send it up.”

      He shrugged as if it was nothing. During recent years Sidonie had seen little evidence of kindness and she knew to value it. He’d sent up hot water, too. After travelling all day, she’d felt tired and worn. Ridiculous how a wash restored her spirit.

      “Don’t interpret my remark as a complaint, but this is a nonsensical thing for you to do.” He studied her as if he meant to winkle out her deepest secrets. One of those secrets gave her more power over him than he’d ever guess. Foreboding flooded her, knotted a belly already tight with fear. The knowledge she possessed was dangerous and she knew to her bones that Merrick made a bad enemy.

      She pushed upright, clutching the gold covers to her chest. “By nonsensical thing, you mean sleeping with you?” she asked acidly.

      A wry smile rewarded her sharpness. He had a nice mouth, expressive, generous enough to hint at sensual expertise way beyond her ken. “What happens when you marry? How will you set your lack of maidenhead right with your husband?”

      Her jaw firmed and she spoke with absolute certainty. “I’ll never marry.” She braced for protest. Most people found it inconceivable that a woman would choose spinsterhood.

      “I see.” His expression remained neutral. “I imagine Roberta’s experience has put you off the idea. In the interests of justice, I must point out that William is a poor example of my sex.”

      She raised her chin. “Most of the men I’ve met have been poor examples. Selfishness, arrogance, and bullying appear inalienable elements of the masculine character.”

      “Tut. I blush for my gender,” he said lightly.

      “You’re hardly an exception,” she said bitterly.

      “Sadly true, dear lady.” He straightened and strolled across to the tray. “Now what have we here?”

      She frowned after him in confusion. His manner expressed no urgency. She’d been sure he’d insist upon having his wicked way the instant he arrived. That couldn’t be chagrin she felt at his lack of dispatch. But there was something lowering in rendering one’s virtue to an unrepentant rake, only to find him reluctant to do his worst.

      Merrick wasn’t living up to lurid expectations. Roberta had described a fiendish seducer, a man of surpassing hideousness. When she first saw his face, Sidonie had been appalled, mostly because such scarring could only result from excruciating injury. Now, even after their short acquaintance, she saw past the scarring to the man beneath. That man was no monster. His features intrigued more than mere handsomeness. His was an interesting face, full of vitality and intelligence. Striking.

      Just as the man himself was striking.

      Nervously wondering what game he played, she watched him cut a couple of slices of hard yellow cheese and place them on some crackers. For such a large man, he had surprisingly elegant hands. In the uncertain light, the ruby ring flashed sullenly like a warning. She’d expected to feel hostility and fear. And she did. But other emotions pulsing between them were less defined. Curiosity, certainly. Wary rapprochement. Something electric and unfamiliar.

      The prickly interest was more disturbing than terror or dislike. She was aware of Merrick with an animal intensity she’d never felt before.

      He extended the plate toward her. Without thinking, she lifted a cracker and nibbled at it as he wandered away to lean against the carved post at the base of the bed. A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. Her eyes traced the sharply defined cut of his upper lip, the full sweep of his lower one. The disturbing mixture of fear and fascination he aroused left her restless, unsettled.

      “I thought you’d be—” she began, then wondered if it was wise to mention his plans to ruin her.

      “I can imagine.” He offered the plate again.

      She took another two crackers. “Why are you here?”

      “In this bedroom? Fie, Miss Forsythe, you’re too coy.”

      She blushed with mortification. “No.”

      He returned the plate to the tray and poured two glasses of claret. “You mean at Castle Craven?”

      “Yes.” She accepted the wine and took a sip. Then another. Pleasant warmth eased alarm to a murmur. The hand gripping the sheet relaxed from white-knuckled tension. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient to seduce Roberta at Ferney?”

      A few years ago, Merrick had purchased Ferney, the estate adjoining Barstowe Hall’s dilapidated splendor. He’d then spent a fortune creating a residence fit for a viscount. Goodness, fit for a prince. Sidonie had never ventured beyond the gates, but what she’d seen of the exterior made Chatsworth look like a shanty. The neighbors were always gossiping about the house’s magnificence. Although wisely never within William’s hearing. Sidonie had applauded the unknown Jonas Merrick’s audacity. He made it impossible for her brother-in-law to escape the knowledge that in all ways except inheritance, he was a rank failure compared to his cousin.

      Merrick’s faint smile lingered as he loaded more crackers and offered them to her. “Even the most dilatory of husbands would retrieve an erring wife when he merely needs to cross his estate boundary.”

      She accepted the plate and propped it on upraised knees. The action meant releasing the covers. Merrick didn’t seem to notice how they sagged over her bosom. “You could be right.” She polished off another couple of crackers. “And naturally you enjoy the gothic drama of this setting.”

      “It never crossed my mind.”

      She sent him a skeptical glance and took more wine. The glass was half empty. How had that happened? “Are you trying to get me intoxicated?”

      “No.” He raised his wine in a silent toast.

      “It won’t work, you know.”

      “What won’t work?”

      “Trying to soften me up with liquor.”

      “I’m pleased to hear it. I’d hate to think you so green as to fall for that old trick.” He took her now empty glass, returning it to the table along with his. “Have you finished with that plate?”

      “Yes, thank you.” She passed him the empty plate, which he placed on the tray. She’d expected to be cold and proud when he came to take her virginity. Instead she felt confused and surprisingly in charity toward Mr. Merrick. Not that she wanted him to do…that. But it was difficult to summon the outraged self-righteousness that had sustained her so far.

      Perhaps the alcohol had done its work after all. That and his self-effacing kindness in making sure she ate something. Poor foolish Sidonie Forsythe. Forfeiting her chastity in return for a few scraps of good farm cheddar.

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