“Only if you ask nicely.”
Her breath snagged in her throat at his words, and she shot him a quick glance from the corners of her eyes. His face was hard, his expression intense…the look of a man who meant what he said and was quite willing to bite—and do other things too.
“Help me, then,” she commanded, refusing to give an inch. She felt alive, engaged in a battle of wits and wills, with an undercurrent of sensuality disturbing everything that made her a woman.
“As you wish, Ma’am.” He pushed her hands to her side and untied her belt, abrupt moves that brooked no refusal.
Her robe slid off her shoulders and onto the bed, and he leaned past her to pick it up and move it out of the way. She caught his scent…the wine he’d had at dinner, the touch of sandalwood and musky wool…all of which criedman.
The room was warm but even so, she could feel herself responding to his presence, and her nipples tightened beneath the thin chemise. Disgusted, she chided herself. She was no mare going into heat at the scent of a stallion.
“This comes off,” he said, lifting one ribbon from her shoulder and untying it. The other followed and she found she’d grasped the front to hold it in place.
“Let go,” he ordered.
“Turn your back,” she demanded.
“Not a chance,” he countered. “You are the Lady of Wolfbridge. I am one of your gentlemen and if you tell me to fuck you, I am duty bound to do so. I want to see what lies in store in case you decide to request my services.” His eyes were glued to her face, blazing with some emotion she could not define.
“Blunt words, sir,” she returned his stare with difficulty, since his statment had caught her off guard.
“Would you prefer sweet ones? The intent would be the same.”
“From you? I’d be surprised if you evenknowany sweet words.” She paused. “You like being in charge, in control, don’t you?”
“Who doesn’t?” He raised an eyebrow. “Now are you going to let me take that off the easy way, or shall I rip it from your body?”
An unusual dart of what could possibly be lust pierced her loins, but she fought it, tired though she was. “Go ahead then. Take the damn thing.”
She dropped her hands and looked at him as the flimsy cotton puddled around her ankles, refusing to turn away, blush or avert her eyes. He wanted her naked in front of him? He would have his wish. But damned if she’d ever take him into her bed.
“You need more food,” he said after a few long moments.
“You need better manners,” she flashed back. “I can get food anytime. God knows where you’d find new manners.”
“Point well taken, my Lady.” He slipped her nightgown over her head.
“And what’s this about…about…f-f-fuckingyou?” She stuttered a little. It was not an unfamiliar word, but also not one she’d used very often. If ever.
“Giles will tell you.” He pushed back the covers. “In you go.”
She had no choice, since once again he lifted her as if she were thistledown and deposited her within the linens. “Are you comfortable?” He strolled around snuffing the candles and making sure the fire was banked for the night.
She sighed. “Does it matter?”
He was quiet for a moment, then picked up her hairbrush from the bureau, and came to her side. To her surprise, he ran it gently through what was left of her hair. “There. Better.” He put the brush back. “And yes it does.”
“Uhh…” Astonished by his behaviour, she had no idea how to respond.
“Good night.” He walked from the room, closing the door behind him.
“Well.” She blew out the candle next to her bed.“Thatwas unexpected.”
ChapterThirteen
She is recovering.
The welcome thought flashed through Giles’s mind as Gabriel escorted Gwyneth to his study. He rose with a welcoming smile. She smiled back.
