Her betrothal hadbeen announced.
Dev had done what he had promised he would do. And Lord Ashley, it seemed, was willing to marry her. Not that she would know, because from the moment he had bolted from beneath the fur they had shared earlier that day, she had not even had the opportunity to speak with him alone. All eyes had been upon them at dinner during the announcement, and when the ladies of the company had withdrawn, she had been so aggrieved that she had excused herself and sought her bed early.
Not the actions of a happy future bride, it was certain. But she did not care. Having her life decided for her by others was certainly the sorry fate most ladies found themselves in. It was not, however, the fate she had anticipated for herself. Particularly since Dev had allowed each of her other sisters to agree to their betrothals.
Oh, she knew he was being protective—of her, and of her other sisters as well, especially Christabella, who had yet to become betrothed. Still, she was angry with him. Angry with herself as well. And, most importantly, angry with Lord Ashley, the wickedly handsome, utterly charming, terribly tempting rakehell she was now betrothed to wed.
To that end, she was lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, rolling this way and that, pummeling her pillow, and attempting to get more comfortable. But no matter how many times she rolled to her left side from her right, and regardless of how much fluffing of her pillow she performed, and despite the lateness of the hour and the blackness of the night, Pru still could not sleep. How could she, when her entire future had been decided for her with nary a word of her own acceptance? When she had no inkling of where she stood with Lord Ashley?
He was a rogue, she reminded herself for at least the hundredth time that evening alone. A scoundrel. Not to be trusted. It was entirely possible he had planned for them to be caught. That he had compromised her intentionally. And if he had…
Suddenly, the door to her chamber opened. An all-too-familiar voice cut through the stillness of the night. “Pru?”
She jolted upright in bed, clutching the bedclothes to her. “Lord Ashley?”
“You were not expecting anyone else, I hope,” he murmured, the door clicking shut behind him. “Do you not suppose you might call me Ash by now?”
“I was not expecting anyone.” She kept her voice tart. Pointed.
He was not welcome here, she told herself, and she must remain firm on that. Moreover, calling him Ash still felt far too intimate. And though they had shared a great deal with each other earlier today, so much uncertainty still swirled within her. His footsteps creaked across the floor. Until the unmistakable sound of his foot connecting with a piece of furniture echoed through the chamber.
“Blast,” he muttered.
She bit her lip. “Are you injured, my lord?”
“Desperately,” he said, but his voice was nearer now than before, and followed by the unmistakable depression of her bed. “I fear I may lose the toe.”
“You are bamming me,” she accused without heat, a smile rising to her lips she could not seem to stifle.
“Your lack of faith in my integrity wounds,” he drawled.
“What are you doing in my bedchamber?” she demanded next. “Have you not already caused enough scandal for me today?”
He moved closer on the bed, making it dip more. “As I doubt I can compromise you any further than I already have, I considered the risk of coming here to you worth the reward.”
She scooted nearer to the opposite edge of her bed, putting some necessary distance between them once more. If he was too near, she would lose her ability to resist him. It happened every time.
“You still have not explained why you are here, disrupting my slumber.” Not that she had been sleeping, but he need not know that.
He patted the bedclothes. “Devil take it, where are you, Pru? And how big is this cursed bed?”
“Go away, Lord Ashley,” she ordered, desperate for him to go.
If he touched her, she would melt like snow beneath the heat of a blazing summer sun. The mere thought of the pleasure he had given her earlier that day was enough to make her feel needy and achy, from the points of her hardened nipples to the throbbing flesh between her thighs.
His hand was patting still. In the murky darkness, the curtains drawn tightly. Suddenly, it settled upon her breast, his fingers instantly cupping her. “There you are,” he said, his voice thick.
Her heart beat faster, but she shooed his hand away. “Have you come here to grope me, my lord?”
“I came to speak with you, which I would have done earlier in the drawing room had you not hidden yourself away,” he returned. “I found your breast quite unintentionally.”
She was willing to wager a rakehell like him could find her breast in the darkest, most moonless of nights with ease. “As unintentionally as you found your way into my chamber and spent the last fortnight following me about.”
He sighed. “As we have already established, the following was intentional. For a good cause, or so I believed at the time. It quickly became a personal cause rather than the original intention.”
The bedclothes moved then, and a draft of cool air swept over her, cutting through her night rail. Suddenly, a large, undeniably male body scooted alongside hers. The scoundrel had joined her in bed. Entirely uninvited. Thoroughly improperly.
She ought to evict him at once.
