After a time, she started to become aware of the man standing close to her, and the memory of their interlude swept into her consciousness. “I think it’s fine now,” she said and slowly removed her arm from his grip.
Rather than appear appeased, he looked at her with a darker scowl than before. “What were you thinking?”
She set her jaw, irritated at his tone. “I was hungry, so Ithoughtto make myself something to eat. I have baked before.”
He blinked, as if confused, and then he took a step back as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Blast. I didn’t consider—” He stopped and attempted to speak again. “I’m not used to having guests.”
Some of her anger dissipated. “This is a new situation for both of us,” she noted.
That silver stare was intent when he said, “Leave this mess. I’ll have a cook here by this evening.”
Fleur’s mouth fell open. “I can’t ask someone to clean up after me!”
“Then I’ll add to the housekeeper’s duties as well.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need servants. I’ve lived my entire life without them. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “That may be, but as long as you are under my roof, I have the final word and I say you are not to cook for yourself anymore.”
“Regardless if I enjoy it?” she asked primly.
He hesitated, and then moved forward. Reaching up a hand, he used his thumb to wipe away a coating of white on her cheek. He held it up for her to see. “You mean you enjoy coating my entire house with your efforts?”
She gritted her teeth. “You don’t have to be so condescending,” she snapped, throwing down the linen on the counter, causing a flurry of white to fly up into the air. “It’s demeaning enough that you won’t allow me to dress properly, and now I must lay back and accept the efforts of others when I am more than capable. What am I supposed to do here if you won’t?—?”
She quickly dropped the rest of that sentence, but not quickly enough. His voice dropped an octave when he prompted, “If I won’t…what.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question and suddenly, Fleur was feeling very out of sorts. “It doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand and attempted to brush past him, but he stopped her with an arm out to the side.
Standing next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, his face so close to hers that as she turned to face him, it wouldn’t have taken much effort for them to come together for a kiss. “I won’t ask again,” he warned softly.
Knowing she was trapped, Fleur took a deep breath and forged ahead. With the memory of her body’s response to him flashing in the forefront of her mind, she said boldly, “I was in that auction to be a courtesan, and thus far, I’ve failed in that task.”
She saw his nostrils flare slightly. “You wish to be ruined?”
“No. I wish to know my purpose for being here other than your prisoner.”
“You’re not my prisoner.”
“Am I not?” she countered, and then added a heavy sigh, she said, “I wish I knew why I was really here if it wasn’t your purpose to punish me.”
His eyes flashed with something primal, something dangerous, before it was quickly banked. She held her breath, wondering if he would say something, or act on the desire that was pulsing behind his calm demeanor, but instead he stepped away from her. “I will see that some gowns are procured for you.”
With that statement, he turned on his heel and left.
CHAPTER9
As Drake stood near the bridge overlooking the boundary between the Serpentine and the Long Water, he was alert for any movement or shadow that might be lurking around. He wasn’t taking any chances on this meeting, because he had yet to learn who he was supposed to encounter. The note he’d received had not been signed and could have come from anyone at that auction. Not only that, but word traveled fast in London considering the size of the city. It wouldn’t have taken long for anyone to learn that he had gained a paramour at an exclusive gentleman’s club.
The question that remained was – what did this person want?
Drake was careful not to glance behind him where Amos remained out of site, as well as the other two men who had accompanied him. A third man had remained at the townhouse to watch over things while Fleur was blessedly oblivious to this evening’s activities. He didn’t need to worry about her safety when he couldn’t guarantee his own.
Boldly walking to the middle of the bridge at precisely eleven o’clock, he waited for something to happen. His senses told him that he wouldn’t have to wait long. He had been playing this game long enough to know when someone intended to follow through on their threats. While he waited, he took a cheroot out of his coat pocket and lit it.
He’d exhaled the first plume of white smoke when a feminine purr announced, “Mr. Porter. How good to see you again.”
“Miss Wilson,” he returned curtly as he reluctantly turned around. “I was under the impression that I didn’t have much choice.”
