“Playtime is over, wench.” He was referring to what had just happened out in the other room, amusing for him, certainly, but nothing but frustrating for her, since she’d been unable to stop him. He added, “You can remove your clothes or I will remove them for you.”
Oh, God, she wasn’t expecting to hear that! “Why?! I don’t have any more weapons on me, I swear!”
“You proved more crafty in your concealment than I gave you credit for. Now we will make sure there are no more surprises.” She started to back away from him. “Very well. I don’t mind assisting you.”
Desperately, she tried to dodge around him to the door, but that only put her within reach of his hands sooner. She fought him when he reached for the fastenings on her dress. They were in the front like on most of the clothes she’d brought on this trip, because she wasn’t traveling with a maid. He had to put an arm around her waist to hold her tight to him, so he was working one-handed, but that hand kept brushing against her breasts, deliberately she didn’t doubt. The fear she’d felt was gone, outrage taking precedence. She squirmed and pushed to get loose from his arm, slapped or pulled his hand away, but he just patiently brought it back to continue.
Before long she was panting from the exertion of trying to stop him, which wasn’t working, making her realize she was only prolonging the inevitable. She hadn’t looked at him yet. She was too busy pushing and pulling his hand away. But she didn’t want to see the determination that had to be on his face while she was still hoping for a reprieve, and that he’d stop before she was completely naked.
When her dress finally gaped open, she put her effort into holding it closed, which prompted him to say, “You know, we can do this on the bed instead.” She made a gasping sound. “No? Too bad.”
She looked up at him then. Her breath caught in her throat. No amusement was in his eyes, but something so intense burned there it brought a flush to her skin. He wanted her! That knowledge caused a shiver of excitement to run through her. She had to muster all her anger to fight it down, but all she ended up doing was standing there doing nothing!
Her sleeves slipped down her arms. Several tugs at her waist released her petticoats. Suddenly her dress and petticoats pooled at her feet.
“You’re too beautiful,” he said in wonder, his eyes moving slowly over what he’d revealed. But then abruptly he schooled his expression again when he added, “What a good job the men who put you up to this deception did in choosing you as an imposter. Deliberate? Did they hope you could seduce me from my duty?”
Her? He was the one practicing seduction! But he seemed angry again at the thoughts he’d just expressed. He lifted her off her feet so he could kick the last of her outer garments aside. Then he grabbed the only chair in the cell, set it in the middle of the room, and thrust her down in it.
Sitting there in her chemise, her drawers, her stockings, and her boots, she’d never before been so embarrassed in her life. That brought her own anger back. And the captain’s standing in front of her, still looking down at his handiwork, intensified it.
“What is your guardian’s name?”
She clamped her mouth shut, glaring at him. Did he really expect her to be cooperative now? She was too furious to be afraid again. The way he’d just treated her was utterly barbaric, confirming her negative opinion of this country.
But her silence made him lean down, putting his face near hers, to tell her in a deceptively soft voice, “Do not mistake what is happening here, wench. You are now a prisoner and you will answer my questions. I already regret leaving you these.” He plucked casually at the ties of her chemise. “That can be corrected.”
She drew in her breath. Oh, God, he would, too. The fear she’d been trying to ignore with her anger wouldn’t be ignored any longer.
He stood back to watch her closely, those blue eyes assessing, ready to pounce on the slightest change in her expression. Nothing at all was sensually lambent about them now. Torture was still considered a prime way to extract information from prisoners in many countries, and this country was less enlightened than most. Had that method been used on the imposters when they had shown up? No, surely her father wouldn’t allow that—if he was told.
She asked abruptly, “You are going to inform my father of my presence? Eventually?”
He didn’t answer her, bringing home more clearly than ever that only he could ask the questions in this cell. He did move behind her though. That should have given her some relief, to have his eyes off her scanty attire, but it just made her more nervous. Then she felt his fingers unraveling her disheveled coiffure.
“What are you—?” She raised a hand to brush his away from her head. “Stop it! There is no weapon small enough to hide in my hair!”
He held a long, sharp hairpin between two fingers in front of her face. “No?”
She didn’t blush, just insisted, “I don’t consider that a weapon.”
But she didn’t try to stop him from removing the rest of the pins. She was actually glad to have her long hair tumble down over her chest, because her chemise was so thin it was nearly transparent. But he didn’t remove his hands when he was done. His fingers moved against her scalp in a way that was far too sensual. A shiver moved down her neck that had nothing to do with how cold it was in that cell.
It made her burst out, “My guardian’s name is . . . Mathew Farmer. I call him Poppie because he raised me. I thought he was my uncle, that my parents had died in the wars and he was the only family I had left. I thought we were no different than other foreign aristocrats who fled to England to escape Napoléon’s rampage, that Poppie had even fought in those wars. I knew we were from Lubinia, but I never once suspected that everything else I believed all my life was a lie. And when I turned eighteen, he still wasn’t going to tell me the truth or bring me back yet.”
She had hoped that would get his mind back on track and his hands off her, but his fingers kept stroking her as he asked, “Then why did he?”
“Because he heard about what was happening here. That forced his hand to tell me everything, even though he was sure I’d hate him for it.”
“To end a war before it begins.”
He might as well have just snorted, his tone was so dubious. She tried to turn around to look at him, but his hands on her shoulder and her neck kept her looking straight ahead.
She still demanded, “Why do you doubt such a selfless motive as that? He didn’t want to see his homeland ripped apart by lies that he could disprove. He loves this country for some reason I haven’t figured out yet.” His tightened grip on her shoulders indicated he’d perceived an insult in what she’d just said. She added defensively, “It’s not my fault I don’t share that love. When I was a child, he reviled Lubinia, made it sound completely barbaric.”
“Why?”
“So I’d be too ashamed to tell anyone where we really came from.”
