Ruthless (The House of Rohan 1)

And then he yanked her after him, down the hallways that grew narrower, darker. He wasn’t returning her to her rooms, nor was he taking her to his, a small consolation. But there were no lights, only the candelabrum he’d taken from a waiting footman, and the Revels hadn’t penetrated this deep into the house. They were alone, beyond sight, beyond hearing.

It wasn’t until he kicked open a door that she realized how very dangerous things were. Imperturbable, elegant Lord Rohan had never evinced emotion in her presence, and his anger at his servants had been cold and remote. His rage right now was hot and wicked.

He set the candelabrum down, kicking the door shut behind him, and thi

s time when she tried to pull away he released her, so that she sprawled on the floor. He made no effort to help her up; he simply stood there looking at her out of hooded eyes.

“Oblige me by removing your clothes, Miss Harriman,” he said, his voice cool and clipped, at odds with the wildness in his face.

She could see him clearly now, and the sight shocked her. He was wearing his long waistcoat and billowing shirtsleeves, and he was bleeding. The sleeve was torn and stained bloody red on his arm, and there was a slash on his chest through the layers of clothing, and she stared at him, uncomprehending. What had happened to him?

He moved to stand over her, reached for the cloak and ripped it off her. “And who provided the means for your escape?” he inquired in a silken voice. “This hardly looks like the cloak I provided for you once your house burned down. I tend to have more extravagant taste than this. ” He pulled it from beneath her and tossed it away. The purse that had been tucked in one of the pockets spilled on the floor, the gold and silver coins bright in the candlelight. He looked at it contemptuously. “That’s your price, Miss Harriman? It seems fairly paltry to me—I would have been willing to pay a great deal more for your relatively untried favors. Assuming you haven’t been lying to me the entire time you’ve been here. ” An expression crossed his face, so dark and bleak that it shocked her. A moment later it was gone, leaving him calm and cold. “You had best hope you haven’t been,” he said. “I couldn’t answer for the consequences. Who gave you the cloak and the money?”

She started to pull herself together—she wasn’t going to stay sprawled at his feet like a harem girl. “I don’t know,” she said, starting to rise.

“Did I give you leave to get up?”

“I don’t need your leave,” she said, anger overriding her fear.

“Yes. You do. ” And with one strong, pale hand he pushed her down onto the rug again. “I would recommend you stay there until I tell you otherwise. I’m not ready to touch you, and you would only have yourself to blame if you anger me more than you have already. ”

Author: Anne Stuart

“What have I done?” she cried. “You should have known I’d try to escape if I had the means. I have no idea who helped me, but I would have been mad not to take the chance. ”

He moved then, walking around her in a slow, deliberate circle, and his eyes were hard and merciless in the shadows. He reached up and began unfastening the heavy silver buttons of his vest, using his left hand. “Did I not tell you to remove your clothes?”

For a moment she watched, almost in a dream, as his strong, pale hand moved down the buttons of his waistcoat. “You told me you hadn’t raped in decades, my lord,” she said in a measured voice. “Are you so devoid of novelty that you want to experience that particular unpleasantness?”

“Unpleasantness for you, Miss Harriman, not for me,” he said smoothly. He shrugged out of the waistcoat. The blood on his chest was darker, and it looked as if it had slowed or even stopped. His arm was still dripping blood, soaking into the linen sleeve. “But no, I’m not going to rape you. ”

She stared at him for a long, indecisive moment. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because unlike you, Miss Harriman, in matters like these I keep my word. ”

She was beginning to hate the sound of her own name, particularly when spoken in that contemptuous voice. But she knew he’d spoken the truth.

He took a seat, still watching her. “Your clothes, Miss Harriman,” he said again, in that silky voice that still made her uneasy.

She was wearing a high-necked demimourning gown of pale gray, with narrow hoops and lacing up the back. “Then I assume you simply want to make certain I don’t attempt to leave again, and leaving me in my undergarments should ensure that. Not that half your household doesn’t wander around in undergarments or even less, but they don’t attempt to leave the house. ”

“Your assumptions don’t interest me, Miss Harriman. ”

“Then what does?”

“Your obedience. ”

As nervous as she was, she laughed. “Never one of my strong points. And I’m afraid I can’t take my clothes off. I need a maid to unlace me. ”

“You forget the vast amount of experience I have divesting women of their most elaborate toilettes,” he said. “Come over here and I’ll unlace you. ”

The very idea was repugnant to her, but she wanted this horrible nightmare to be over quickly, so she nodded, starting to get to her feet.

“On your knees, Miss Harriman. ” His voice was calm, almost bored.

Her choices were not many, and they were all unappealing. She could move on her knees like some kind of supplicant. She could rise and run—he’d left the door unlocked and in this deserted corridor she ought to be able to find a hiding place, at least for a while. Or she could gather her lost dignity around her, rise and let him decide what he was going to do with her. Surely his fury must be fading. But his eyes still looked empty, as if someone else inhabited his body.

She made the calm, sensible decision not to incite him further. She slid across the floor, turning her back and presenting it for his hands, pulling her thick braid out of the way.