The conceited devil!
“Not any woman,” she challenged.
His eyes grew warm and wide, and he laughed. “You think you’re immune to my charms, Widow?”
“When it comes to me, arrogance is your downfall.”
He sat up, rose to his feet with predatory grace and closed the gap between them. Capturing her chin between his fingers, he stared into her eyes.
“What would it take to seduce the Scarlet Widow?” His sinful mouth was but an inch from hers, his muscular thighs pressing her back against the wall. “I imagine an ounce of tenderness, a kind gesture, a slow, passionate melding of mouths and you would fall into bed as easily as any jaded member of the demi-monde. Am I right?”
He was so right it pained her to admit it.
Craving love would always be her weakness. That’s what happened when one sat at the window waiting for a father who never came. One genuine act of kindness meant more than a chest of priceless gems.
“Your plan to seduce me has one major flaw,” she said, for she had learnt to rely on nothing but her steely defences.
“Do you think I give a damn about your scars?” His rich, liquid tone washed over her, threatened her resolve. A man could not look upon her body without staring at the savage lines. The fact he had mentioned the ugly marks supported her theory.
“You forgot the first rule in battle, Mr Wycliff.” Scarlett stroked her hand down her red pelisse, drawing strength from her costume. “In planning your attack, you have failed to consider your defence.”
Perhaps he had forgotten that she’d glimpsed him at his most vulnerable. Affection had flashed in his eyes when reunited with the lowly actress who had saved him from death’s door. Disdain quickly replaced it upon discovering she was the scandalous Scarlet Widow.
He released her chin and braced his hands on the wall above her head, trapping her in his masculine cage. With his broad shoulders and muscular arms blocking her view, she wasn’t sure if it was a move to entice or intimidate.
He bent his head. “Why would I need to form a defence when you are desperate to surrender?”
“Surrender? Are you so certain? Might a sign of weakness not be a planned tactic?” She gave a mocking snort as she was beginning to enjoy this game. “In that first tender touch, I would have you on your knees. The real you—the man who longs for affection just as much as I do—not the fake construction used to create mischief and mayhem. Your kind gesture would leave your heart as open and as exposed as mine. And as for your passionate kiss, well, there is every chance you might taste the truth.”
“The truth?” His dark eyes looked almost black as he pinned her to the wall. All she need do was raise her lips to feel that hungry mouth on hers.
Scarlett smiled. “That you wore red today because your persona is as fake as the Scarlet Widow’s.”
He pushed away from the wall as if the plaster had burnt his hands. “You think you know me. You don’t.”
Perhaps not, but she fought the desire to know him in every way a woman could know a man.
In the blink of an eye he was sitting on the bed, thrusting his feet into his boots with such force he was likely to cause himself an injury. “But rest assured, Widow, we will rectify the situation tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“When you accompany me to the Marquis of Blackbeck’s ball.”
“A ball? I heard you refuse to speak to your father let alone attend functions at his house.” She’d heard that Damian Wycliff avoided respectable gatherings.
He stood, snatched his coat from the hook on the door and shrugged into the garment with some impatience. “Perhaps I am willing to make an exception in light of the fact Joshua and Jemima Steele are attending. They think you are somehow responsible for their father’s untimely death and are, no doubt, eager for revenge.”
Anger surfaced. “I did not secretly administer medicine that might make his heart give out.” Jemima openly conveyed such suspicions. But she was too weak to plan the numerous attacks on Scarlett’s person. Mr Wycliff would know that if he bothered to ask more questions. “While you know about the intruder, you know nothing about the other attacks.”
“Don’t I?” He folded his arms across his chest in a display of superiority. “Something spooked your horse in Hyde Park forcing the beast to rear and cast you from your saddle. Word is you should have broken your neck.”
“Through my many trials and tribulations whilst married to Lord Steele, I have learnt how to fall.”
His arrogant grin faltered, but only long enough for him to mutter a curse. “A carriage mounted the pavement in Piccadilly and almost took you under its wheels.”
“Thankfully, I have developed quick reflexes.”
“There was the wild dog incident in Green Park.”