“No, you listen t’me, old man.” Finch’s tone turned dangerously ugly, dangerously fast. “I gets what I am promised, or I takes what is mine.” His eyes turned to slits. “So you tell that sweet daughter o’ yers I’ll be back t’morrow, expectin’ she greet me nice an’ pretty. Fer if she don’t”—his eyes glinted maliciously—“I’ll make sure both you an’ she knows it.”
He turned to Elizabeth. “An’ you tell yer fine husband t’ come visit anytime,Lizzie, now that we’re nearly family.”
Elizabeth took great offense but bit her tongue.
“Tell Jasp he’s had his run, but Finch is back fer good.” He bored his eyes into hers. “You tell ’im exactly this, sweet Elizabeth: Tell ’im Master Finch done returned t’ punish his boy.”
The man’s nasty, rasping cackle followed him out and down the hall as Papa’s entire body trembled, glued to his seat.Elizabeth, too, sank into the nearest chair, her thoughts awhirl, churning with assumptions more awful than the next. Was this the man who’d scarred her husband, abused him as a child? And if he was, what horrors might he inflict on Annabelle? She desperately needed to speak with Milton, though she dreaded relaying Mr. Finch’s words.
Harris had secured them lodgings, meal, and stable, for the horses needed rest. Hell,heneeded rest. They’d made good progress on the road and had not been followed, a miracle he attributed to Jasper likely reading Winthrop the riot act. All of which left Harris feeling a measure of relief—except that Annabelle might still steal off if he let the chit out of his sight. Though if he seduced the miss instead…
He disgusted himself. She was not some doxy seeking employment atThe Leaf. She was a respectable young lady—toorespectable for the likes of him.
He watched her polish off her meal, the abrasions on her wrists filling him with guilt. He’d undone her restraints after ensuring their room’s sole window was high enough the minx wouldn’t jump.
She began to undo her hair, piling pins upon a small table before she shook her chestnut locks free. “I should like a bath,” she announced, dropping the last pin to her pile.
“Darlin’,” he drawled, “this ain’t the sort o’ place as evenhasbaths fer guests. You may wash with yon pitcher.” He motioned to the room’s washstand as she wrinkled her nose. “Well, go on then.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll just sit ’ere an’ stare.”
“You will turn around and afford me privacy, sir.”
“I think not.” He knew better. “Yer wrists are unbound an’ me wits are not lulled. If y’ wish t’ wash, do, but I’ll not fall into no trap. Whatever skin y’ show, dearie, I’ve seen before in abundance.” He looked her over in a crass caress.
The lady deliberated, no doubt desperate to wash the grime from their journey. She squared her shoulders and pushed her chair back from the table. “You won’t mind helping me out of my dress then, will you, Arthur?” She turned her back, lifted her hair from the nape of her shapely neck, and let her hips swing.
Temptress.
In two strides Harris began to unhook her, pushing her dress roughly from her shoulders, and then, though she’d not asked him to, he began to unlace her stays.
He peeled them from her midriff and gripped her hips.
She froze.
“Better, miss?” he hissed low in her ear. “Or have you let a man undress you before, let him touch those parts of you”—his hands slid up her hips to brush the undersides of her breasts—“most tender of feeling?” He lingered there a minute too long as she stiffened.
“Or maybe, miss”—his lips nearly nibbled the lobe of her ear—“I’m the first and only man to touch you so.” She shuddered. “Maybe, vixen, you evenwantme to.” His lips hit her cheekbone and traced a line to her mouth as he leaned her back, kissing her until she melted into his arms and pressed her body into his own.
Harris broke free and yanked her dress to the floor, leaving her in naught but her shift. “I’ll be neither fooled nor bewitched.” His heart beat loud in his chest. “Wash up before y’ take yerself to bed.”
His hands shook as he shed clothes on the other side of the room. Yes, she’d tried to seduce him—and had bloody well almost succeeded—but that was not how this would work.Hewas the seducer andshethe innocent, and a rotten corner of his soul whispered that if he took her maidenhead tonight all difficulties would cease, for then she’d have to marry him. Meekly.
It would solve everything. Only he’d promised her, and Jasp, no lasting harm, and if he was one thing, Harris was a man of his word.
Fuck!All thought ceased the moment Miss Winthrop turned about. Titillating enough to watch her wash from behind, but to see her blot dry her damp shift, nipples mocking him like two winking darts…
He wrenched his gaze away and adjusted his straining breeches, then grabbed a blanket from the bed to thrust at her chest. “You’ll take chill. Warm yerself by the fire.” He gruffly guided her to a chair he yanked closer to the flames. Then he walked over to the washbowl, pulled his shirt over his head, and scrubbed his skin until he shivered.
Hell’s bells, what had he gotten himself into?
***
Warm at last beneath a blanket before the fire, Annabelle wondered why she’d ever thought she could seduce a man like Arthur Harris into letting down his guard. Of course he’d seen right through her utterly unschooled attempt. He was a man of the world while she was but a flibbertigibbet, an annoyance foisted on him by her brother-in-law. Besides which, how was she to make her way back to London on her own, in the dead of night, without a penny to her person?
She’d been a fool to even try.
Annabelle left her seat to crawl under rough bedclothes. She again pondered escape, refusing to accept her fate, turning evermore elaborate plans over in her head as if she were a character in one of Lizzie’s dramas. It mortified her to imagine the Baron might even bepayingMr. Harris to abscond with her. And where would her blasted kidnapper sleep now that she rested upon the room’s sole bed?
A minute later he snatched her pillow and curled up like a dog on the floor by her side. She heard him stir, wood boards creaking softly, then still, as if he were asleep.
