Callie did notwant to have dinner with the beastly Earl of Sinclair.
Nor did she have any inclination to speak with him.
And yet, she found herself seated opposite him at a scarred old table in the kitchens of the ruins where he had taken her. She had watched in amazement as he had filled plates with cold chicken, hunks of bread, and cheese. Simple fare, and yet, somehow, she had not expected a heartless murderer to care enough to make certain her stomach was not empty.
And as she watched him fussing over the meager meal he had somehow acquired in the brief pause in their travels earlier in the day, when he had left her in the carriage, her lips stung. They stung with the reminder of those awful kisses. Who could have anticipated his hated lips would have felt so very right upon hers?
She had never before been kissed in anger. Nor by someone she despised. She had not expected toenjoyit. Indeed, her wits told her she should have abhorred everything about what had transpired between them—his weight upon hers, his big body crushing her, his hot breath fanning over her mouth, and then his wicked assault of her lips.
And yet…she had liked it, much to her shame.
She had liked the kiss of the man who had killed her beloved brother.
What was the matter with her?
She stared down at the plate Sinclair had laid before her, determined she would not eat a bite of it as penance for her sins. Even as her stomach rumbled with the reminder that it had been a long time since she had taken tea and biscuits with her friend, Lady Jo, back in London. It had only been hours ago, and yet seemingly a lifetime had passed.
“Afraid the heartless murderer of wives and brothers has poisoned your supper?” asked Sinclair, his tone dark, angry, and bitter.
“Have you?” she asked.
His lips flattened. “No.”
Did she detect disapproval in his voice? Hurt?
She fiddled with her fork but made no effort to pick it up. “Are there no servants in this ruins to which you have forced me?”
“None, princess. You will have to see to yourself, or you will have to rely upon me.” His smile was insincere.
Yet still beautiful.
He was a dreadfully handsome man, and his sobriquet had never made more sense than it did to her now, in this low light, as she was the beneficiary of all his attention. After his lips had devoured hers.
Sin.
How fitting.
She ground her molars and returned her stare to her plate. Her stomach growled once more, imploring her to eat at least a bite. Her pride would not allow it.
Her captor had no such reservations. He was gustily consuming his chicken and cheese. Strangely, his voraciousness did not disgust her. Rather, it intrigued her. She found herself stealing glances in his direction, only to find his eyes were always upon her.
Almost black, those eyes.
Fathomless.
“You are not hungry?” he asked suddenly.
She cleared her throat at his question. “No.”
His lips twitched. “You will only spite yourself, Lady Calliope. If you do not eat your dinner, you will go to sleep with a hungry belly.”
She doubted very much she would be able to sleep this night. First, she would be far too busy attempting to orchestrate her escape. Second, how could she sleep, knowing she was this man’s captive? She laid down her fork.
He made a low sound of disapproval. “Eat, princess.”
His directive naturally made her balk. “I am not hungry.”
“That is a lie. I heard your stomach rumbling from here,” he said.
