He looked at her as all sorts of erotic thoughts danced in his head. "Why, I'll let you go, my pet. Once I've had you. "
How many women had he brought to this place? Charlotte wondered. There was no doubt they'd all been willing—she couldn't imagine a woman resisting that long, elegant body, those beautiful hands, (he hypnotic gaze and rich mouth. They would have to be mad to say no.
What would happen if she said yes? He would strip the clothes off her and she'd lie naked with him, skin to skin. He'd climb on top of her and put his penis inside her, and it would hurt, according to her parents' old cook, the only one who'd bothered to explain the facts of men and women to her. Would he kiss her again? Her mouth still felt tender from his first kiss, when he'd tricked her into coming into this. . . this prison. If she lay naked in the bed with him would he kiss her again? Stroke her? Hold her? Would it be worth it?
But she wasn't going to find out, she reminded herself stoutly. Because afterward he would let her go, and that would be the most painful of all.
She didn't believe him about the lock. If she had enough time she could figure out a way to make it open—her mother had had a habit of locking her chronically misbehaving daughter into her room, and Charlotte had never accepted imprisonment. A hairpin, judiciously applied, could spring most locks. She doubted this was any different.
First, however, she'd have to render the viscount unconscious. Maybe he'd simply fall asleep—she suspected he'd had quite a bit to drink, though of course he didn't show it. If she stayed quiet he might even forget she was there.
She looked around her for a weapon, just in case. There was the unopened bottle of wine—that could produce a respectable lump on his lordship's fine head. In fact, it might crush his skull and kill him, despite that thick, lovely hair.
While the idea of murder was a fond one as payback for this mess, in truth she was far too squeamish. And as angry as she was, she didn't want Adrian Rohan dead. Just living on a separate continent so she could get over him.
Which was ridiculous—she was over him. How could she not be, when he'd practically abducted her, all for wicked purposes?
It didn't matter that it smacked of some of the gothic novels Lina had lent her. Or that being abducted by the most beautiful man in England, simply because he wanted her, was desperately romantic. They both knew all he had to do was snap his fingers and he could have someone else. Anyone else. If she were an idiot she'd be flattered.
But she wasn't an idiot.
The candelabrum sat on the table. If she clubbed him with it, it wouldn't kill him; silver was a soft metal. It might simply bend over his hard head, and then what would she do?
She could pick up the sturdy wooden chair she sat on and clobber him with it. But that wouldn't slow him down much. Maybe her best bet was to get him to drink the bottle of wine—surely that would make pass out.
"Are you looking at that bottle of wine so lovingly because you want a glass, or were you considering its efficacy as a weapon?"
She could feel color stain her cheeks. He saw far more than she would have liked. Stay calm, stay focused, Charlotte, she told herself. Maybe she'd consider bashing him with it after all.
"I decided I didn't want to risk crushing your skull and killing you," she said in an admirably even voice. "Not that I wouldn't like to kill you, but the practicalities convince me it's a bad idea. No matter how much you might deserve it, the Crown would look askance at the righteous execution of a peer. And, besides, blood makes me squeamish. "
"You, squeamish? I find that hard to believe. And you'd be surprised what wouldn't kill me. I'm possessed of a very hard head. "
She picked up the wine bottle then, annoyed. "I'm perfectly willing to see. . . "
"Put it down. " His silken voice held a cool note that would have terrorized a more fragile soul.
She turned it in her hand, reading the label, determined not to do as he ordered. And then, when she was good and ready, she set the bottle back on the table, turning to look at him.
His eyes glittered in the semidarkness. "You're determined to fight me on every level, aren't you?" he murmured.
“Yes. "
"Then you're right, we'll have to find a way to compromise. " He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm not going to rape you, you know. "
"No, I don't know. "
His smile was devastating. "I have many crimes to my soul, but I'm not a rapist. I've never forced a woman in my life and I have no particular interest
"That's because no one has ever told you no, before. "
His eyes lit up. "You think I'm that irresistible? How flattering, my pet. Occasionally misguided women have been able to resist me, but they've been few and far between. And you're not one of them. "
"No," she said. "Force is the only way you'll
His soft laugh was low and impossibly sexual. "No, my pet, it isn't. But I'll indulge you for the time being. If you come and lie down with me I promise not to touch you below the neck. "
"I'd prefer you didn't touch me at all. " "Of course you would. And I'd prefer to push your skirts up to your waist and bury my cock in your body, right now, but we're not going to do that either. Not until you tell me to. You see, we’re compromising already. "