Outrage lit a fire in Gigi’s belly. Is the bounder tampering with the pipes? I will not allow some saboteur to ruin Miss Letty’s business.
Tightening her grip on the poker, she inhaled for courage. Then she ran over, weapon raised and ready to strike. At her approach, the burglar shot to his feet and spun around. She had an instant to recognize the glittering green eyes before the poker struck home. The impact jarred her…though, obviously, not as much as him.
“Bleeding hell!” Godwin roared.
He grabbed his shin, his face creased with pain. Her initial plan had been to strike the crouching intruder across the shoulders, but since he’d moved and, to be honest, her aim was more enthusiastic than accurate, she’d struck his leg instead.
Rather hard, too. The impact was still singing up her arm.
Uttering oaths that made Gigi’s brows rise even though she’d grown up with brothers, Godwin hopped on one foot, still holding his injured shin. He was dangerously close to the pool’s edge, which was notoriously slippery (look at what had happened to her the last time). Before she could warn him, he slipped, hitting the water with a splash.
Chapter Nine
Swiping water from his brow, Conrad glowered at Gigi with as much dignity as he could muster. Which, given the fact that he’d fallen into the damned pool, wasn’t much. God’s teeth, she was a troublesome female. He couldn’t believe that she’d attacked him. His leg throbbed like the devil; he was lucky that she hadn’t broken his shin bone. He couldn’t blame himself for being snuck up on, however. It was three in the bloody morning: no one should have been at the spa.
“Why in blazes are you here?” he growled.
“I beg your pardon. Allow me to explain.”
He instantly distrusted her honeyed manner, and her next words proved why.
“I have a key, you see, along with permission from Miss Letty to enter her premises. Can you say the same?”
Well, she had him there.
“What, precisely, is the purpose of your trespass?” she said accusingly.
She crossed her arms, and he had to admire her boldness. And her outfit. Damn, she was a sight to behold in men’s clothing. Her graceful throat rose from the open vee of her shirt, her unfettered breasts surging temptingly beneath her waistcoat. And those trousers… He swallowed. They displayed her lower half to perfection. Her hips were slim yet shapely. Her bottom looked perky and firm. Long and slender, her legs would wrap nicely around a man’s hips, and he shuddered, imagining her delicate heels digging into his arse while he plowed her.
The throbbing in his shin gave way to the hotter, stronger pulsing in his groin.
“Well?” Gigi demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself, sir?”
Oh, he had plenty he wanted to say to her. To do to her. Nonetheless, he had to get a handle on the situation. He hadn’t clawed his way up in the world to be stopped in his tracks by some little minx, no matter how alluring she was. He’d sweated and bled for his revenge, and now that he was close to getting what he wanted, he was going to get it.
One way or another, I will get what I am due. No one is going to stop me. Not even a tempting chit who is too big for her britches.
Wading to the steps, he emerged from the pool. He advanced toward Gigi, water sloshing from his coat pockets and his shoes making squishing sounds with every step. He didn’t care if he looked ridiculous. When it came to his personal qualities, determination came second only to ruthlessness, and right now he had one goal in mind.
He stopped mere inches from Gigi, stabbed a finger at her.
“I do not answer to you,” he growled.
She stood her ground. “Would you rather answer to the police? I can summon them, you know.”
“What will you tell them?” he asked acidly. “That you came to the spa alone in the middle of the night and found me here?”
Seeing the rapid flicker of her eyelashes, he realized with grim satisfaction that she was recognizing her own predicament. Compared to most well-bred misses he knew, Gigi seemed rather oblivious to her own fragility—that of her person and her reputation. Recklessness was her Achilles’ heel, and he made note of it.
“Even your papa the marquess couldn’t protect you,” he taunted. “If word got out that you were alone with me. That you met me in the dead of night, wearing trousers…”
He took a step closer, and she retreated an equal distance. What she did not do, however, was back down.
“I did not meet you here.”
While Conrad had had plenty of women scowl at him, he’d never until this moment thought a female could look adorable doing it. Yet Gigi managed to do so, probably because her face was obviously not made for anger. She had the face of a naiad: beautiful, expressive, meant for beaming joy upon the world. Her plump lips were naturally tipped up at the corners, and she had to work to pull them in the opposite direction. Even the twin furrows between her curving brows were cute.
“And what, pray tell,” she said through her perfect, if gritted, teeth, “do my trousers have to do with anything?”
