“Yes,” he corrected her firmly, “you do. And furthermore, we had a bargain, if you will recall. Each time you refer to me asMr. Arden, you are breaking it.”
“You broke it when you attempted to poison me with port,” she accused, as if she could not possibly wait to flee.
“I made no such attempt.” True, he had known she would be ill this morning. And it had been his intention. Butpoisonwas rather a strong word. “You were in full possession of your faculties, madam. I held not one glass to your lips.”
He should not have uttered the wordlips. Because now, he could not resist looking at hers once more, and this time, God save him, he wondered how they would feel beneath his.
He banished the unworthy thought immediately. There were scores of women in London, and kissing any one of them would be an infinitely better choice than kissing the frowning creature before him. Why then, was he still thinking about it, curse him?
“You may not have held the glass directly to my lips, but you knew what you were about, filling my glass whenever it was nearly empty. I do hope you are ashamed of yourself, though thus far, you have only seemed pleased.” She finished delivering her impassioned chastisement as she worked her way into a sitting position.
Although the color had returned to her cheeks in full—owed to her dudgeon, unless he missed his guess—she was still weak. And she was not going anywhere until she bloody well broke her fast and drank some water.
He placed his hands upon her shoulders, staying her. “You will remain where you are. I have sent for a tray, which should be here shortly.”
“I do not require a tray to be brought to me as if I am an invalid,” she protested, but her voice was weak and tired.
Her mind was at war with her body. He had no qualms deciding the victor on her behalf. It would be her body, and she would eat the damned food he had procured for her.
“Whether or not you require such a thing, you are a guest in my home, and I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to go traipsing about in your weakened state.” He kept his palms where they were, firmly pressed against her clavicles.
Such a position ought not seem intimate or incite any untoward sensations within him, and yet it did. She was warm and supple beneath his touch, and for a brief, maddening beat, he longed to run his hands over her without the barrier of her dress and undergarments between them.
“I do not traipse,” she informed him with a raised brow, because she was the argumentative sort, this strange American conundrum.
“Very well, Miss Montgomery,” he allowed, bending down even farther and lowering his head so they were eye to eye. Also a mistake, he realized at once. But it was too late to turn back now, for the damage had been done. “You do not swoon, and you do not traipse, but what youwilldo is listen to me. You require sustenance and rest, and you will have both.”
She said nothing, her eyes going wide.
His grip on her shoulders tightened. “Do you understand me, Miss Montgomery? I have kept my silence, but I will do everything I have threatened you with, if you do not keep your arse planted upon that seat and eat the food that is brought to you. I will inform Winchelsea that the famed H.E. Montgomery is naught but a drunkard, who tippled so much port, she could not reach our meeting in time because she had spent the morning vomiting into my chamber pot. After she lied to me about her hotel being unsafe, and the Home Office demanding she stay as my guest here at Lark House.”
“Mr. Arden, I am—”
“You are remaining precisely where you are,” he interrupted in the voice he had often used with his headstrong sister, Violet.
Ah, Lettie.He hoped he could one day restore his relationship with her. That it was capable of being restored, after the damage he had inflicted upon it with The Incident. At least he knew she was happy now, and Strathmore, to his credit, seemed a doting and loving husband. Then again, he was required to be, else Lucien would feed him his own ballocks.
“How dare you presume to order me about?” Miss Montgomery demanded, pique making her cheeks flush even further.
Damn it if she wasn’t lovely in her fit of irritation.
“I dare everything, madam,” he informed her.
She was beneath his roof after all, and it was his rule here. Not hers. She struck him as a woman who was well-accustomed to not just being on her own, but to commanding all others in her presence. Perhaps that had worked well enough for her in America as a Pinkerton, but it would not work here at Lark House. These walls were his territory; this country was his to protect.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the tray he had requested at last, along with a reprieve for him from his ruinous, foolish path of thoughts. He accepted the tray from the servant and dismissed her, turning back to Miss Montgomery, who was already standing.
Until her face went ashen once more, and she flopped upon the divan in typical, graceless Miss Montgomery fashion. Somehow, she had ceased to be The Abomination, and this realization disturbed him. She had slipped past his defenses. He would rebuild his turrets, and build them higher.
He stalked toward her with grim intent, the tray outstretched, as if it were a weapon. When he reached the divan, he seated himself alongside her, resting the tray upon her lap.
“Your repast, Miss Montgomery,” he announced.
She stared at him for longer than necessary, her gaze unfathomable. He wondered what her agile mind was thinking. What attempts to overpower and disarm him she was already formulating. Regardless of what they were, no matter how clever, she would never beat him. He would always win.
He was the Duke of Arden.
And the Duke of Arden did not lose.
