Heartless (The House of Rohan 5)

The tunnel was unlit, and she’d forgotten to bring a lantern. She was a strong woman, impatient with her own weaknesses, but truth be told she’d never liked darkness much, and the pitch black of the corridor made her heart start pounding. She knew she was being ridiculous, and she sped up, determined to escape from the impenetrable shadows.

It was like running into a brick wall, something so hard it almost knocked the breath out of her, and she started to fall back when an arm reached out to catch her, pulling her back. Against him.

For a moment she couldn’t move. She hadn’t been pressed against a man’s body in years, and never one so tall and strong and muscled. She knew who it was. There were any number of tall, strong men at Melisande’s house party, as well as in the stables, but the way her luck had been running it could only be but one. Damn it.

And he wasn’t letting go of her. She squirmed but he didn’t release her and for one insane moment she wanted to close her eyes and lean into him, rest her head against his shoulder, put her arms around his waist.

Fortunately, she was of sound mind. “Would you please let me go, Lord Brandon?” she demanded in a frosty voice.

She heard an unexpected laugh and after an infinitesimal delay he released her. Stepping back, she suddenly felt the damp chill of the place when a moment ago she’d been so warm.

“What are you doing skulking around here, Miss Cadbury?”

“I am Mrs. Cadbury,” she said stiffly, “not miss.” She’d never been a miss.

“And I told you I didn’t use my title, yet you persist in calling me Lord Brandon. Why don’t we just dispense with honorifics entirely—you can be Emma and I’ll be Brandon.”

“I don’t think so,” she said tartly. “Our stations are so far removed that my mind can’t even comprehend it.”

“Oh, I think your mind can comprehend a great deal.” His words seemed like a challenge, but she refused to consider it any further.

“Lord Brandon,” she said with deliberate emphasis, “would you please allow me to pass?”

“Certainly,

Miss Cadbury . . .”

“Mrs. Cadbury,” she corrected in a repressive tone. Why was her heart hammering? Surely it wasn’t as loud as it felt in this dank, tomb-like atmosphere?

“Miss Cadbury. I’ll be happy to let you pass, I’ll even escort you to your destination. As soon as you tell me why you’re down here at the crack of dawn.”

Blast the man! “I would think that would be obvious. I must return to the city.”

“You must, must you? And what has caused this sudden emergency? Benedick informed me that you were staying for the week. What are you running away from?”

It was anger rushing through her body, she told herself, a sudden surge of emotion that was making her feel light-headed and shaky. “I do not run.”

He gave a disbelieving snort. “You most certainly do. You ran out of the library early this morning as if the hounds of hell were after you. I promise you, I had no intention of following you.”

It was a good thing they were having this totally inappropriate discussion in the dark—he wouldn’t be able to see the way her face flushed. She took a deep breath, calming herself. “I’m sure you didn’t. I was merely in a hurry to see if I could get some rest before I had to leave.”

“Hurrying seldom leads to a good night’s sleep, which I presume continued to elude you. That’s something we have in common. I don’t sleep when I’m around my family. The Highlands are a different matter—I sleep like a baby up there in the clean, cool air. You ought to try it.”

Was he being deliberately cruel? “I don’t foresee a trip to Scotland in my future, Lord Brandon.”

“Why not, Miss Cadbury?” His voice caressed her name, and she wanted to smack him.

She didn’t even have to force a polite smile—he couldn’t see her. “I’m far too busy for frivolous jaunts. In fact, it’s imperative that I return to London immediately, so if you would please get out of my way I’d be most grateful.”

“I doubt that you have suddenly been called back to London. You seem to have taken me in dislike. I presume it’s my ugly mug that’s put you off.”

“Don’t be absurd!” she said, shocked.

“No? Well, you’ve probably heard dark tales of my degenerate behavior in years past. If you’re as close a friend to Melisande as you appear to be then I imagine you know the full breadth of my wickedness.” His voice was light, uncaring.

“Lord. . . Lord Brandon, I have not taken you in dislike,” she stammered, appalled. “As far as I can tell you are a pleasant young man with an admirable record in the war that left you with battle scars of honor.”

His laugh was both cynical and unsettling. “Really? I must assure you that I am most definitely not very pleasant, and I’m no longer young, and any claim I had to honor is long gone.”