Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

He let the anger simmer in the pit of his stomach. He’d had mixed feelings about bedding her; he hadn’t decided which would be worse, with or without marriage. He w

anted a warm house, a warm bed and a warm, willing woman, and he was going to find none of those things at Pawlfrey House.

He headed down to his study for a late night glass of brandy. He sat at his desk, telling himself he was annoyed, not worried, when he noticed the doors to the library were slightly ajar. He rose, going over to them, about to close them, when he noticed the faint light over in one corner.

Aha, he thought. He crossed the large room on silent feet, coming to stand over Lady Miranda Rohan.

She was sound asleep. Her hair was loosely braided, and he was astonished to see how long it was. It must go down past her hips. How unexpectedly erotic. She had a racy French novel in her lap, but even the remarkable doings of Mme. Lapine weren’t enough to keep her awake. She’d wrapped herself up in his best throw, and she looked so peaceful he couldn’t bring himself to wake her.

Besides, he reminded himself, his leg was throbbing, he still had a chill running through his body, and his reluctant fiancée looked far too peaceful to disturb. If he did he’d have to get her upstairs, either to his or her bedroom, and have at her.

She looked so innocent, asleep like that. She wasn’t—he knew that. Thanks to him and his elaborate schemes. That first one had failed, due to the idiocy and inadequacies of his representative. He wasn’t so easily distracted.

On impulse he reached out and touched her hair, brushing it back from her smooth, silken cheek. She didn’t stir, deep in slumber, and he found himself smiling. Tomorrow would be time enough. For now she could sleep, thinking she’d outwitted him.

He leaned over and blew out the candle, brushing her skin as he did. She made a sound, a low moan of protest or pleasure, and he was immediately aroused. Which annoyed him—he’d decided to wait until she was really frightened, but his body seemed to have other ideas.

He pulled the curtains around her, closing her into her little nest. The morning sun would wake and warm her.

And the battle would begin again.

14

The library windows faced east, and the first brief glimpse of morning sun awoke Miranda from her delightful slumber. She sat up with a start—she’d slid down onto the seat, curled up under the blanket and had a wonderful, dreamless sleep. She’d left the candle burning—a good thing she hadn’t burned the house down. Not that the house didn’t deserve to be leveled, but she preferred not to be in it when it happened.

Author: Anne Stuart

But when she picked up her candlestick from the small shelf she discovered it was only half burned. Something or someone must have blown it out.

The thought unnerved her. It couldn’t have been Lucien—he’d have woken her up to torment and tease her or even worse. The thought of Mrs. Humber looming over her was even more unnerving. Perhaps she’d blown it out at the last minute and been too sleepy to remember. That, or this drafty house had taken care of it.

She pushed open the curtains, holding her breath so she wouldn’t breathe in the dust. She couldn’t remember closing them, either. How very odd. Perhaps Bridget had come looking for her.

She got to her feet, heading back toward the double doors, not even considering that the study might now be occupied. She took one look at his bowed head and froze.

He was busy writing something, and he didn’t bother to look up. “I hadn’t realized you were quite such a devoted reader, my darling. ” He looked up at her lazily, and his pale eyes were cool and dismissive. “You do realize it’s dangerous to wander around the house in the dark? I think I’d better keep the library locked so you aren’t tempted. ”

It took her a moment to remember that she wasn’t going to hit him. She flashed him a bright smile. “Oh, that’s an excellent idea, my love. When there are books around I never get anything done. Do keep it locked. ”

The look he cast her was sardonic. “It’s not going to work, you know. ”

She came farther into the room, dropping down into the chair opposite the desk. “What isn’t going to work, my love?”

“This cheery acceptance and enthusiasm. You may pretend all you like, though I can’t imagine what you think you’ll gain by it. All I’ll gain is a compliant mistress, which makes things a great deal easier. ”

“I’m a mistress, my love?” she said sweetly. “I thought we were to be married. ”

“I was thinking it might be more effective if I simply made you a kept woman. Marriage vows are damnably eternal, and I’m not convinced you’re worth it. ”

“Delightful! I gather from your servants that you’re easily bored, and it would be so awkward for you if you were tired of me but unable to publicly court another woman. ”

“I don’t publicly court women. They come to me. As you did. ”

“And you’re so good at it, dearest,” she cooed. “Living in sin suits me, as well. After all, I haven’t given up on the idea of true love and happy endings. Once we part ways I might go to the continent if there aren’t any blasted wars going on. Set myself up in Paris. ”

He leaned back in his chair, surveying her out of narrowed eyes. “Do you mean to tell me you’re not in love with me, my angel?” he said in cool tones.

She furrowed her brow, trying to look adorable and presumably failing. “Did you want me to be, my darling? I’m certain I can manage it if you’d like. I thought you preferred a reluctant partner. ”