She looked out the window into the swirling snow and shivered. Somewhere a church bell tolled eight, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was early. Late for a social call, but early enough for her to make her objections clear, insist that Lord Rohan remove what could be taken from the house and desist from bothering them again. Her sister wasn’t for sale.
There was a fire blazing in the hearth, filling the room with almost oppressive heat. She should have agreed to the offer of tea—she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, and she wasn’t, she absolutely wasn’t going to fall asleep in his presence again. She wasn’t in any particular danger from him, despite his banter, but she might not always be able to count on that, and if Rohan was in the mood to humiliate her she’d be fair game.
No, she needed to stay wide-awake, and she stood up, walking back and forth in the room, her long, heavy skirts swinging back and forth. What was keeping Lord Rohan? Surely it didn’t take that long to put on a shirt and breeches? Lord help her, he wasn’t getting dressed in his full glory just to receive her thorough dressing-down?
Her inadvertent play on words amused her for a moment, and she sat back down, leaning against the striped silk of the cushioned seat, closing her eyes, just for a moment. She’d hear him coming, particularly if he wore those ridiculous high-heeled slippers he’d worn when he’d accompanied her back to town this morning. She hadn’t been looking at his shoes, she hadn’t been looking at anything if she could help it, as remembered shame and something else swept over her. Had it only been that morning? It seemed like a week ago—a month since she’d raced off in a stolen coach to find her missing mother. It seemed like forever since she’d first set eyes on the Prince of Darkness himself.
Author: Anne Stuart
She rose and paced back across the room again. What was taking him so long? He’d be ready for a full-court presentation at this rate. She sat down again, then popped up, restless. There was no telling what he might or might not be wearing if she were to go and bang on the door, and in her short acquaintance with him she knew he’d delight in further embarrassing her.
It had already been shocking enough. Not that she hadn’t seen a number of totally naked bodies in any number of acts of depravity the night before. She prided herself on her pragmatism, and some of those things she’d glimpsed still astounded her, but a naked human body was simply that. She of all people shouldn’t be fragile about such things. But for some reason, what was easily dismissed in his motley crew of decadent guests was a little more difficult to deal with when it came to Rohan himself. In particular, nudity.
He had hair on his chest. Not a great deal—a mere dusting. Dark mixed with gray, which surprised her. She was aware of the oddest desire to touch it. He certainly had the body, the musculature of a young man, and…
And why in Christ’s name was she sitting here thinking about his musculature? Perhaps because it was so very different from the only other body she’d seen so intimately. Though thank God she hadn’t really seen it.
And she certainly wasn’t going to be thinking about that either. Granted, it was enough to keep her awake, but some things had too high a price to be paid.
She brought the memory back forcefully, the good one. The one she used when things became unbearable. The wide stretches of fields at her father’s estate in Dorset, the feel of the young mare beneath her as she raced along, the sun bright overhead, her hair in plaits streaming out behind her as she sped ahead of the groom. She had been twelve, just days before her mother had packed her and her sister up and taken her to the continent. The last time she’d been on a horse. All she had to do was recreate that moment in her mind and she was happy, at peace, secure in the joy of the world, that nothing could harm her.
“That’s quite the expression on your face, Miss Harriman,” Rohan’s voice disrupted her dream. “Were you thinking of me, by any chance?”
Her eyes flew open. “Had I been considering your head on a pike, perhaps,” she said coolly. He was dressed, at least partially, in silver cloth breeches, a billowing white shirt and a long black waistcoat laced in silver. His hair was pulled back in a queue, and his hard blue eyes were watching her in amusement.
“I won’t bother asking to what I owe the honor of this visit,” he said, coming into the room. “You’re here to berate me for keeping your sister from freezing and starving to death, are you not?”
Everything inside her froze. “You’re not to come near my sister!” she said, her voice rough with panic.
He rolled his eyes. “Why in the world would you think I’d be lusting after that pretty child? There are scores of lovely girls in this city, possibly hundreds, and I expect I could have them all if I expressed any interest. ”
“Not all of them,” she said fiercely, jumping up.
“My dear Miss Harriman,” he said, pushing her back down in her seat with gentle hands. “I do assure you I could have your sister as well. But I expect that would distress Reading, and I would never think of doing such a thing to my dearest friend. Not that he can have her either. He has to marry an heiress, and despite my wicked influence he’s far too noble to trifle with a girl of good background. ”
There was a soft knock on the door. “Entrez,” Rohan said, and a servant backed his way into the room, carrying a heavy tray. Not the loathsome Cavalle, and the scent of cinnamon-toast strips assailed her.
“I decided I couldn’t tempt you with wine and grapes, but hot tea and toast might be acceptable. ” He lifted one of the lids. “Ah, and eggs. Just the thing. That’s all right, Willis, you may leave us. ”
“I’m not hungry,” Elinor said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you are. You practically wept when I said there were eggs. Allow me to serve you. ”
“I’m not going to eat your food. ”
“Why? Are you afraid if you eat six pomegranate seeds you’ll be trapped here for the winter?”
She glared at him. “You might fancy yourself the king of the underworld, my lord, but you’re nothing more than a spoiled aristocrat who’s used to getting his own way. ”
“I’m hardly likely to argue with that, child,” he said, setting the plate in her lap. “Indeed, you see me quite clearly, flaws and all. I’m nothing but a decadent, useless fribble. In which case, why should you be so incensed about a small act of charity? And don’t get all fired up again. Eat your eggs before they get cold. I know you want to tell me you have no need of charity, but you’re much too virtuous a soul to lie. You have no money, I have more than I know what to do with and I happen to know that there’s been no time for you to apply to your new cousin, the baron, for assistance. You simply have nowhere else to turn. Consider this—if I’d kept my house in better order your mother would have never gotten inside to gamble away what must have been the last bit your pathetic family possessed. Consider that I’m simply repaying a debt. ”
If she were the woman of principle she wished she were she never would have touched the eggs. But the scent of them, just under her nose, was unbearable. It had been weeks since she’d had an egg. Besides, her principles had been smashed beyond recognition several years ago. She could sell her own soul for a plate of shirred eggs. Just not that of her sister.
After the first bite she had to look away so that he wouldn’t see the sheen of tears in her eyes. How absurd to weep over eggs. There had been times when she would have willingly traded what was laughingly called her virtue for a roasted beef. Sad to think her price had dropped so low.
She blinked the momentary dampness away and fixed her stern gaze on Rohan. He was nibbling one of the toast strips, her toast strips, seemingly at ease. “So, my very dear Miss Harriman, why don’t you explain to me in that cool, collected voice of yours just why it is so wrong for me to decide to spread some of my largesse in your direction. ”
“Who shot you?”