Creak.
No, there it was again, only louder this time. It was the sort of sound a hushed footfall might make.
Her heart pounded as she thought of Ridgely’s admission earlier in his study, that there was a possibility the dead man on the stairs hadn’t been a housebreaker after all. But what he hadn’t said was far more telling than what he had. Although her brother had claimed he wasn’t keeping anything from her, she would wager her meager widow’s portion that he was. Which meant that the dead man on the stairs had intended to do Ridgely harm. The presence of the guards alone was all the evidence she required of that.
Creak.
There it was again. Pamela was not mistaken, and she very much feared that another miscreant was beyond her door, creeping through Hunt House in the bowels of the night, plotting to do further harm. If there was indeed a housebreaker in the hall, she had to do something.
Her mind whirled frantically, searching for a solution.
There was a possibility that it was one of the guards her brother had hired, but it was also entirely likely that something more nefarious was happening just beyond her door. She could scream and bring all the servants raining down upon her, but that would risk the man’s escape. She could run to Ridgely’s chamber, but doing so possessed inherent risk. If whoever was lingering in the hall suspected she was going to inform her brother he was being robbed, he might cause Pamela harm.
The most expedient method would be to dispatch the villain herself.
Swallowing hard against a sudden rush of fear, Pamela slid from her bed, her bare feet carrying her across the chamber to where a banked fire still provided warmth from the grate. The fire iron in its place called to her. The slim, steel tool would have to do as a weapon, for it seemed most likely to cause damage.
Licking lips gone dry, she reached for the fire iron. Her fingers closed over the cool, twisted metal. She could hit the villain over the head with it, if necessary.
Pamela knew a moment of regret, a visceral twinge inside, at the notion of harming someone. But then she reminded herself that the someone in question was possibly a housebreaker intending to steal from Ridgely and cause heaven knew what other manner of mischief. Summoning her courage, she slowly opened her door, holding her breath as it inched wider, revealing the inky shadows of the hall.
There, she paused for a moment, waiting for the sound. For something to alert her to the presence of another. The house was eerily quiet. No sign of the source of the creaking floorboards. Nary a footfall. She had to release the breath she was holding and move forward, into the abyss. Had she been imagining the sound, then? Had she been mistaken?
Hesitantly, she ventured deeper into the hall, clutching the fire poker tightly. There was no sound to be heard but the whisper of her own labored breaths as she moved. But then she heard it suddenly. The soft sweep of footfalls over carpet, warning her she wasn’t alone. Someone was approaching her through the shadows. Striding toward her with sleek haste. She raised the fire iron, preparing to strike, but before she could land a blow, warm fingers caught her wrist in an almost punishing grip, staying forward motion. Another hand clamped on her waist, and then she was being propelled as if she weighed nothing more than a feather.
Forced back across the threshold of her bedchamber and whirled about, the motions so quick and skillful that she almost felt as if she were being guided on the dance floor. But this was no ballroom, and the man in whose clutches she had found herself was no fawning suitor. He held her in a skillful grip, propelling her to where he wanted her. The door of her room closed with a softsnick, confining them together. It happened so fast, she hadn’t had a chance to even scream. Another dizzying spin, and her back was suddenly pinned to the wall, a hard, masculine body pressed firmly against hers from hip to chest, keeping her from moving. Crowding her.
Trapping her.
Hot breath fanned over her lips when her captor spoke. “Exceedingly poor choice of weapon, my lady.”
Pamela recognized that low, faintly accented voice.
It was him.Beast.And he’d caught her. Had forced her into her chamber. Was holding her in place. They were alone. No one but the two of them in the night. Their bodies were scandalously aligned. And she could feel him.Allof him. Part of her liked it. But part of her knew she must not. Didn’t dare trust him. What manner of man, what manner of guard, would treat her thus?
A scream rose in her throat, but it scarcely had a chance to emerge before a mouth settled over hers, muffling her cry. Shocking her. Hislipswere on hers. And they were hot and firm, pressing with the intent, she thought, of silencing her. And something was wrong with her. So very wrong. Because she savored those lips. Sheenjoyedthe way they felt against hers.
Pamela forgot to struggle. In the darkness, she was surrounded by him. His scent, citrus and the sharp cleanness of soap, mingling with a hint of leather. His strength. His height. He was taller, looming over her. Keeping her where he wanted as he gentled the kiss, his lips coasting over hers with hunger instead of brutish force. Teasing a whimper from her.
It wasn’t fear, that sound.
But desire, rising from a part of herself she had banished years ago. How? For this stranger, this man who had dared to push her against a wall and put his mouth on hers?
He lifted his head, ending the kiss.
“Don’t scream.”
He spoke with such authority, this trespasser in her own home. This man who did not belong here. This man who was dangerous to her welfare. To the rest of her as well.
She shouldn’t listen to him. He was a villain. It didn’t matter if Ridgely had hired him, if he was a guard. He had caught her and kissed her and intended to do only heaven knew what with her. Her lips tingled, and her body was humming with awareness she remembered but had done her utmost to forget in her widowhood.
“Unhand me,” she demanded, coming to her senses.
He chuckled, the sound low and somehow pleasing despite the circumstances. “Not until I’m certain you won’t do something both of us will regret.”
Was he threatening her?
It occurred to her then, a place where men were so very vulnerable. She brought her knee up, intending to strike him between the legs, but he was too quick, anticipating her movements and neutralizing her effort by sliding his own knee between hers instead.
