How sad that her first kiss occurred in such sordid circumstances. Sad and insidiously shameful. Because she hadn’t hated his kiss, even though she should. Merrick’s kiss had left her intrigued rather than outraged. What would it be like when he took liberties beyond mere kissing?
No, she wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t…
Easier said than done when she lay in Merrick’s bed.
Although her host had long ago lost any legal right to use the Merrick name. He should by rights employ his mother’s surname. Jonas Merrick was son to Anthony, the late Viscount Hillbrook, and the Spanish mistress purporting to be his wife. When the viscount’s younger brother successfully challenged the supposed marriage, Jonas was declared bastard. Upon Anthony’s death, his nephew William inherited the Hillbrook title and the feud between Jonas and his cousin, stemming from boyhood, had only become more vicious.
Sidonie shivered. William’s reaction when he learned his bastard cousin had tumbled his wife—surely this scheme’s object was that William would find out—was unthinkable. Remembering that Roberta’s very life depended on what happened in this bed bolstered Sidonie’s purpose. Until the heavy door opened and Merrick prowled into the candlelit room.
A deeply feminine fear, thick and heavy as tar, coalesced in Sidonie’s stomach as she surged up against the headboard. Merrick appeared impossibly large lounging against the door, arms folded across his lean chest. Candlelight flickered over his ruined face, lending him a devilish mien.
Wearing nothing more than shirt and breeches, he should be freezing. He must have a superhuman resistance to cold. Even with the fire blazing in the grate, Sidonie was grateful to have the covers to keep her warm. And to conceal her from his gaze. Which was daft. He’d do considerably more than look at her before the night was out.
He regarded her with the same searching curiosity she’d noticed downstairs. She had no idea what went on behind those deep-set eyes. He tilted his chin toward the tray on the dressing table. “You didn’t eat much.”
“No.” Nerves killed appetite. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, when she’d choked down a piece of toast and some tea. She swallowed to moisten a dry mouth and forced a calmness she didn’t feel into her voice. “You were kind to send it up.”
He shrugged as if it was nothing. During recent years Sidonie had seen little evidence of kindness and she knew to value it. He’d sent up hot water, too. After travelling all day, she’d felt tired and worn. Ridiculous how a wash restored her spirit.
“Don’t interpret my remark as a complaint, but this is a nonsensical thing for you to do.” He studied her as if he meant to winkle out her deepest secrets. One of those secrets gave her more power over him than he’d ever guess. Foreboding flooded her, knotted a belly already tight with fear. The knowledge she possessed was dangerous and she knew to her bones that Merrick made a bad enemy.
She pushed upright, clutching the gold covers to her chest. “By nonsensical thing, you mean sleeping with you?” she asked acidly.
A wry smile rewarded her sharpness. He had a nice mouth, expressive, generous enough to hint at sensual expertise way beyond her ken. “What happens when you marry? How will you set your lack of maidenhead right with your husband?”
Her jaw firmed and she spoke with absolute certainty. “I’ll never marry.” She braced for protest. Most people found it inconceivable that a woman would choose spinsterhood.
“I see.” His expression remained neutral. “I imagine Roberta’s experience has put you off the idea. In the interests of justice, I must point out that William is a poor example of my sex.”
She raised her chin. “Most of the men I’ve met have been poor examples. Selfishness, arrogance, and bullying appear inalienable elements of the masculine character.”
“Tut. I blush for my gender,” he said lightly.
“You’re hardly an exception,” she said bitterly.
“Sadly true, dear lady.” He straightened and strolled across to the tray. “Now what have we here?”
She frowned after him in confusion. His manner expressed no urgency. She’d been sure he’d insist upon having his wicked way the instant he arrived. That couldn’t be chagrin she felt at his lack of dispatch. But there was something lowering in rendering one’s virtue to an unrepentant rake, only to find him reluctant to do his worst.
Merrick wasn’t living up to lurid expectations. Roberta had described a fiendish seducer, a man of surpassing hideousness. When she first saw his face, Sidonie had been appalled, mostly because such scarring could only result from excruciating injury. Now, even after their short acquaintance, she saw past the scarring to the man beneath. That man was no monster. His features intrigued more than mere handsomeness. His was an interesting face, full of vitality and intelligence. Striking.
Just as the man himself was striking.
Nervously wondering what game he played, she watched him cut a couple of slices of hard yellow cheese and place them on some crackers. For such a large man, he had surprisingly elegant hands. In the uncertain light, the ruby ring flashed sullenly like a warning. She’d expected to feel hostility and fear. And she did. But other emotions pulsing between them were less defined. Curiosity, certainly. Wary rapprochement. Something electric and unfamiliar.
The prickly interest was more disturbing than terror or dislike. She was aware of Merrick with an animal intensity she’d never felt before.
He extended the plate toward her. Without thinking, she lifted a cracker and nibbled at it as he wandered away to lean against the carved post at the base of the bed. A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. Her eyes traced the sharply defined cut of his upper lip, the full sweep of his lower one. The disturbing mixture of fear and fascination he aroused left her restless, unsettled.
“I thought you’d be—” she began, then wondered if it was wise to mention his plans to ruin her.
“I can imagine.” He offered the plate again.
She took another two crackers. “Why are you here?”
“In this bedroom? Fie, Miss Forsythe, you’re too coy.”
She blushed with mortification. “No.”