Page 55 of Garden of Lies

“Before we discuss Rosemont and his very interesting laboratory, I would like to ask you a question,” Slater said.

Ursula stopped and looked at him, a stern frown knitting her brows. “What is that?”

He gestured at the crumpled towel on the floor. Ursula had used it to wipe all traces of him off her thighs.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened here in this room?” he asked.

A visible jolt went through her. But she quickly composed herself.

“What is there to discuss?” she asked warily.

His spirits, which had been in fine form a moment ago, were suddenly plunged into the depths. He exhaled deeply. What had he expected from her? A declaration of undying passion? She’d been through hell that afternoon. Her nerves were no doubt in a fragile state and he had taken advantage of her while she was vulnerable. He should have consoled her, not engaged in an intense bout of heated intercourse.

He rose slowly. She flushed and quickly turned away when he set about the business of refastening the front of his trousers and his shirt. So much for the air of intimacy he thought existed between them. He braced himself for the apology he knew he owed her.

“I’m sorry, Ursula,” he said.

She turned back to face him, startled. “What?”

“I know an apology is hardly sufficient under the circumstances but there is nothing else I can offer.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What, exactly, are you apologizing for, sir?”

He glanced at the towel and then met her eyes. “For what happened between us. It was my fault.”

“Was it, indeed?”

He wasn’t sure what to make of her tone. She sounded angry. He probably deserved that.

“You were very nearly murdered this afternoon,” he said. He flexed the fingers of one hand, thinking about Rosemont. “Your nerves are still in a delicate state. I should have realized you were not yourself. I took advantage of your fragile condition—”

“Bloody hell, sir, how dare you apologize to me?”

Shewasfurious. He looked at her, uncertain how to deal with the situation.

“Ursula, I’m trying to explain—”

“Yes, I know.” She watched him with fierce eyes. “You wish to explain that you think I’m such a silly goose that I did not understand what I was doing when we... when we...” She broke off, waving a hand at the chair and the towel.

“Your nerves—”

“There is nothing wrong with my nerves. It’s my temper that should concern you. Are you implying that I don’t know my own mind?”

“No, absolutely not,” he said. He was starting to feel cornered. That, too, was an unfamiliar experience.

“Then what are you trying to say? That you regret our recent encounter?”

“No, damn it.” His own temper started to surface. “I found the experience quite satisfying.”

She folded her arms very tightly beneath her breasts. “Then there is nothing more to be said.”

Something was inciting her outrage but damned if he could reason out what the problem was.

“Do you regret it?” He watched her, trying to read her eyes. “Because if so, I’d rather you told me now so that I can ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“For the last time, I knew what I was doing and I do not regret it. Is that enough for you to be certain that my nerves have not been completely shattered?”

“Thank you,” he said.

---