The pillow hit Arabella square in the face before Lizzy could see her look of shock.
Squealing, laughing far louder than a proper girl should, Lizzy exclaimed, “What if Mr. Bosworth proposed and we could all visit town together?”
Shaking off the blow, Arabella rubbed her nose and stammered the only thing she could. “That... would be interesting.”
Whatever further jabber Lizzy shared, Arabella was deaf to it. All she could think of was Gregory's engagement to another. Seeing her friend had grown tired, Lizzy planted a quick kiss, slid from the bed, and scurried to her door, whispering her goodnight.
Contemplation before the fire turned the baroness’s stomach. Arabella knew Gregory’s habits. Lilly, usually the first to complain when fun was cut short, had wanted to go to bed... because she had an appointment with her fiancé. Even at that very moment she might be in Gregory's arms.
The feelings that came on the heels of such thoughts were awful, the sudden misery so consuming at first Arabella thought she imagined the sound of a key in her lock.
A soft scrape of wood and Gregory began to materialize in her periphery. Arabella stood, expression closed, and faced him.
Dark eyes ran over the look of her dressed for bed, enjoying the way the fire turned the soft cotton near translucent. That steady look of possession, the one that had drawn her in each time he leveled black eyes at her, for once only left her numb.
“My love,” Gregory cooed, stepping closer as if pleased to find her waiting. “You knew I would come.”
She would control this, she would not be cowed. Going to him, taking his hand, she pulled him to the chair she had vacated. “Please tell of London?”
She would need to know everything, his truth and lies, to undo the damage she had allowed to be done in trusting a man of no worth. Using his own trick against him, she kneeled before the seated giant and pressed her cheek to the warm, bunched muscle of his thigh.
But he did not speak, simply toyed with the shorter curls free of her braid.
Long minutes of growing frustration and she sighed.
“Do you really think I cannot see how very angry you are right now? That you could hide it from me, Arabella? What game is this?”
Her fingers gripped at his legs, nails clawing through the fabric as he raised her chin.
Gregory absorbed the dispassion he found. “What has come over you?”
Flat, unfeeling, Arabella explained, “Oh nothing but the most passionate love, I assure you.”
“You are angry over how I garnered the key to the women's hall...” He shamelessly grinned, the beauty of his face made sinister by firelight. “You can't have imagined I would have gone to her after she gave it to me? How else was I supposed to learn the location of your room and get in quietly,” he enunciated the last two words in his infuriating way, “my love?”
Arabella offered her lips. “I must admit I am relieved.”
A lingering kiss, and Gregory traced a finger down the soft skin of her throat. “There now.”
Standing to walk away with a chilling smile of her own, as if it were all nothing, she offered in the most condescending tone she could muster. “Relieved to learn you are already engaged to Lilly. Let's not waste more time here, shall we? Please leave. I am tired.”
Out of the chair, with a firm grip on her arm, Gregory forced her to face him.
“Careful.” Offering a snide threat, Arabella hissed, “I do not believe Lilly would take too kindly in learning you were in my room.”
The face of a fallen angel contorted in rage. Voice low and monstrous, he growled, “She assumes, nothing more.”
“Do not lie to me!” Whispering savagely, Arabella argued, “You have had your fun. I will even admit that I almost believed you. Benjamin Iliffe would have called you friend. He might have even held me down so you could shove in.”
Instantaneously stiff, a tick came to Gregory’s jaw. “Sir Statham, Baron Witte, and the Marquise of Glauster. Do those names sound familiar, my love?”
Her dead husband's cohorts. They were the names he had asked for that she had not given. “Add the Harrow bastard to the list.”
The way he could move with such grace was eerie, but Arabella refused to lose her defiance when he pulled her flush and growled. “Your new Baron Iliffe does dearly love the gaming tables. You would be amazed how much he has lost in so short a time. How much he has lost to me, in fact. When it’s late and he is deep in his cups do you know how often your name seeps into conversation? Stories still circulate about how tight you are and how prettily you scream for it.”
There was no helping how her lip shook or the tears running down her cheeks. Every part of her knew better than to ask, but that did not stop her tongue. “Why are you doing this? What have I done to make you hate me so greatly?”
Gregory's palm came to her jaw, Arabella jerking away until he gripped the base of her skull and held her still. With her head held steady, Gregory traced the softness of her lips with his thumb. “I know about the cellar room. I have seen it—your blood still crusts the stones. I know about the dark he kept you in and why you wake in terror at night. He told me everything as he lay dying.”