‘Will I be safe if I do?’ said Grace.
‘A rogue, I may be, but an utter fiend, I am not,’ he said bluntly, giving her a cold look. ‘I would never force myself on any woman, no matter how delectable.’
‘I did not mean that,’ she said, and his lip curled into a sneer.
‘Can I interest you in some port?’ he said, holding out the bottle.
Grace shook her head.
‘I thought not. Far too virtuous, more’s the pity for me,’ he mumbled. He swigged from the bottle and then narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you not been to bed?’
‘I lay on the bed and must have fallen asleep. Rawden, what was that noise?’ said Grace, stepping closer. ‘I heard a voice.’
‘Stay back,’ he growled. ‘Broken glass.’
He pointed with the bottle to her feet where a glass vase lay smashed. Pieces glittered in the firelight.
‘Did you have an accident?’
‘Something like that,’ he said with a twisted smile. When Grace bent to pick up the pieces, he growled, ‘Leave it. This is my mess to clear up, not yours.’
‘But you might cut yourself.’
‘No more than I deserve.’ He gave a bleak laugh and rose in one smooth movement. Before she could say anything, Rawden picked her up and deposited her in the armchair before the fire. He still held the bottle. Grace could see it was almost empty and wondered how drunk he was.
Rawden stared down at her. ‘Do you know what it says in the Bible? If a man takes his brother’s wife, it is an unclean thing.’
‘I was not William’s wife, Rawden.’
‘No, and I don’t get to take you, do I? So, I suppose God cannot judge us ill. Tell me, truly, are you a virgin, or did my brother take liberties?’
‘No, of course, he did not.’
‘Then he was a fool.’
Treacherous tears pricked the back of her eyes at the bitterness held in Rawden’s words. He took another swig of the bottle and pierced her with his gaze. How dark he was. He had a shadow of stubble on his chin and seemed more animal than man, his face licked by firelight, eyes glaring, the scar, a shiny blemish on his fiercely beautiful countenance.
He leant forward. ‘Do you want to stay innocent, or have you some smidgeon of curiosity?’
‘I know what men’s appetites are, and I have no wish to satisfy them,’ she said, shrinking back in the armchair.
Rawden’s mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘You know, do you? Ah, you must have been talking to your little friend, Harriet. Is she not happy with her paragon of a husband? Routledge is rich and has the breeding of a thoroughbred, so, surely, suffering him clumsily bedding her is a small sacrifice on her part.’
‘You know nothing of a woman’s feelings and do not speak of Harriet in that sordid way.’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘You are angry that she was not at our wedding, aren’t you, even though you did not go to hers?’
‘I was sorry she was not there. It would have been good to have one friend at church today.’
‘She resents you, Grace.’
Rawden’s words hit like punches and were all the more painful for her having suspected as much. ‘That is ridiculous,’ she retorted. ‘Why should Harriet resent me?’
‘Because you are more beautiful than her, cleverer, and now you have caught a better husband.’
‘I would soundly dispute that at this moment.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, this little kitten has claws, I see. Tell me, then. Do you favour Gilbert Routledge over me?’
