The Devil's Necklace. Kat Martin

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      “Don’t you touch me!”

      “I believe you’ve made your dislike of touching more than clear.” He rolled to the side of the bed and reached for his breeches, dragged them on over his hips and began to work the buttons up the front.

      She raced over to the desk and began a mad search for the letter opener. He cursed himself as she snatched it up and held it protectively in front of her.

      “You don’t need that. I’m not going to hurt you.”

      “You were…you were…trying to…to…”

      “Take it easy. The way you were curled up against me, I thought we both might enjoy ourselves.” God, she was beautiful. With her auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed with anger…Christ, just looking at her made him hard all over again.

      He moved a little closer but not enough to frighten her. “Actually, I was hoping we could come to some sort of an arrangement.”

      She eyed him warily, the letter opener still gripped in her hand. “What kind of arrangement?”

      “I’m a man, Miss Chastain. Men have certain needs. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

      The letter opener trembled in her fingers. “Are you…are you saying you expect me to service your…your needs?”

      His mouth faintly curved. “I wouldn’t put it exactly that way. As I said, I think it could be pleasurable for both of us. And beneficial for you, as well.”

      Her eyebrows drew warily together. “You’re talking about some sort of deal.”

      “I am. If you agree and I’m satisfied with your performance, I might be willing to intercede on your behalf with the authorities when we get back to London.”

      She swallowed. For the first time he realized she was fighting not to cry. Why that bothered him he could not say.

      She moistened her lips and he noticed that they trembled. “No.”

      “That’s it? Just no?”

      She simply shook her head. She looked innocent and vulnerable, and seeing her that way made his chest feel oddly tight.

      “If you try to force me, I’ll fight you with every ounce of my strength.”

      She would. He could see it in her face. The determination was there, behind the faint shimmer of tears.

      “I won’t force you,” he said softly. “That was never my intention.” But neither would he let her off so easily. She was Harmon Jeffries’s mistress and he wanted her. Badly. Sooner or later, he would have her.

      “How…how do I know you are telling me the truth?”

      “I’m many things, Miss Chastain, but a liar isn’t one of them. Put the letter opener down.”

      Her fingers merely tightened around the handle.

      “I said put it down.” He moved closer, beginning to get annoyed. He wasn’t used to people disobeying his orders. He wasn’t about to tolerate it from Grace Chastain.

      “Stay back—I’m warning you.”

      “And I am warning you. Put the letter opener down or suffer the consequences.”

      She bit her plump bottom lip and it made him want to kiss her. Christ, he couldn’t remember feeling such lust for a woman. That she belonged to Harmon Jeffries made him want her even more.

      He circled to the left and Grace circled right, the blade still gripped in her hand.

      “You are begging for trouble, Miss Chastain.”

      “Perhaps you are the one in trouble.”

      He did smile then. A rare, sincere smile that felt odd on his face. He feigned left, dove right, caught her wrist and snatched the letter opener from her hand. He tossed it across the room at the same instant he hauled her hard against his chest, buried his fingers in her heavy auburn hair, and dragged her mouth up to his for a deep, plundering kiss.

      Heat washed through him in a powerful sweep of lust. He kissed her a moment more, then let her go and stepped away, saw that her wide green eyes were huge with surprise and disbelief. His heart was pumping, his erection throbbing. He was pleased to note from the rise and fall of her breasts and the high color in her cheeks that he wasn’t the only one who had been affected.

      “Think about what I said,” he told her softly. “Perhaps a bargain with the devil wouldn’t be so bad.” Turning away from her, he snatched up the rest of his clothes, picked up the letter opener and headed out the door, closing it softly behind him.

      Grace stared at the door where her captor had disappeared. He was a savage. A barbarian. She didn’t trust him to keep his word, had no reason to believe he would.

      Dear God, how she wished she were back on board the Lady Anne.

      Unconsciously, her fingers came up to her lips. Though his kiss had been brief, it had been extremely thorough, a hard, punishing kiss that should have repulsed her. Instead, her heart pounded and her head swam until she feared she might swoon. There had been no gentleness, nothing sweet or tender. Still, it was a kiss she would never forget.

      How could that be?

      She thought of the bargain the captain had proposed. It was obvious he knew of the escape from Newgate that she had engineered and yet they sailed not toward London but away. She knew she should be frightened—and she was. But there was something inside her that refused to cower before him.

      Her stomach growled. Grace shoved back her tangled mass of hair and walked over to the cheval glass in the corner. Heavy auburn curls hung limply around her shoulders and her aqua gown was a dreary, wrinkled mess. She lifted her gown, tore a length of lace from the hem of her chemise, and used it to tie back her hair. She longed for a bath and something to eat and wondered if Captain Sharpe intended to punish her by starving her to death.

      As if her thoughts had been transported, a soft knock sounded at the door. Thinking of the protection offered by the letter opener, she cast a wishful glance at the desk but the weapon was gone.

      She sighed and started toward the door. If the captain or his men had wanted to hurt her, they could have done so last night. Pausing for an instant, she took a steadying breath and pulled the door open.

      The last thing she expected was the sight of a young blond boy standing in the corridor, holding a breakfast tray in his hands.

      “Mornin’, miss. Capt’n thought ye might be hungry. He sent this down for yer breakfast.” The smell of freshly cooked porridge drifted up from the bowl in the center of the tray. A large round orange, nicely sliced into manageable pieces, sat next to the bowl, along with a steaming mug of tea, a pitcher of cream and a jar of molasses for the porridge. She could hardly believe it.

      Her mouth watered. “Well, the captain was entirely correct—I am hungry. It was generous of him to think of sending the tray.” Generous—unless it was merely a ploy to СКАЧАТЬ