“You arrogant…”
“Not arrogant, determined.”
“Arrogant,” she fiercely repeated. “And no better than Sir Charles.”
Stefan sucked in a sharp breath, abruptly pulling back to regard her with an insulted expression.
“You would compare me to that bastard?”
She ignored her prick of guilt. She had allowed this man to beguile her too many times. She could not risk being lured back to England and disaster.
“Sir Charles was just as eager to hold me against my will and force me to obey his commands. How are you different?”
“The madman was prepared to blackmail your mother and slice open your throat,” he gritted.
“My point is that I am not a bit of property to be claimed by some man. I am perfectly capable of deciding what I desire for my future.”
He held himself unnaturally still, his elegant features rigid in the flickering firelight.
“So you are prepared to walk away from me without regret?”
Without regret. She swallowed the near hysterical laugh.
“It is for the best.”
“The best for you or me?” he rasped.
“Both.”
He leaned so close she could feel the brush of his breath on her face, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.
Sensing that he was caught between the urge to kiss her into compliance and the more uncomplicated choice of tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her off, Leonida breathed a small sigh of relief when the door was shoved open and Sophy entered bearing a wooden tray.
“Here we are. Freshly baked bread and rabbit stew.”
With a muttered curse, Stefan rose to his feet, regarding Leonida with a glare that made her stomach clench with unease.
“I will stand guard so Pyotr can eat his dinner,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “This conversation is not finished.”
He brushed past the startled maid, slamming the door behind his retreating form.
With an unfathomable smile, Sophy continued her path to the bed, waiting for Leonida to scoot to a sitting position before laying the tray across her legs.
“Dare I ask what conversation I interrupted?”
Leonida tore apart the warm bread with more force than absolutely necessary.
“The Duke of Huntley is insufferable.”
“And what man is not?” Sophy asked. “They always believe they know what is best and find it impossible to accept a woman might be capable of thinking for herself.”
“Exactly,” Leonida muttered, suddenly realizing just how hungry she was as she swallowed a large spoonful of the savory stew.
“And even more insufferable when they are obviously in the wrong, and yet refuse to admit as much.”
“I do not believe they ever accept the notion they might be wrong.”
With a chuckle, Sophy busied herself with straightening the blanket covering Leonida and arranging the pillows.