Page 29 of The Devil and the Heiress
“No.” She sounded like a petulant child and immediately regretted her tone.
His gaze swept her face as if he were determining on his own if that were true. The hint of a smile touched his lips when his focus came to rest on her eyes. The color encircling the gray was dark blue. His expression was earnest and searching, as if he were attempting to mine her secrets. As if she had secrets worth foraging for. A flicker, light as a butterfly, quickened in her belly at his attention. “You are an insightful writer,” he said.
She stared at him, completely caught unaware by the compliment. “Why do you say that?”
She regretted the question as soon as it made him look away from her and down at the papers in his lap.“Rose stared in growing horror at the scene before her. The couples twirled, light and gay in their movements, but hollow and numb in their hearts. Did they feel the poignancy of the music, or were they like figures in a music box, set to perform at the turn of a key but deaf to the soul of the melody?”He read her own words back to her.
She knew he had her pages, and yet she still looked to the seat next to her where she had placed them before falling asleep. The black upholstery lay bare. “Give it back.” Louder, she added, “How dare you?”
When he simply stared at her with a puzzled expression, she reached over and tore the manuscript from his grasp. He let it go so easily that she became off-balance and wobbled. His hand came out to steady her, but several loose pages fell to the floor.
“This is my work. My private work. You had no right to take it and read it.” Her whole body felt hot and tight, as if her skin had grown too small for the anger and embarrassment contained within her. No one read her work except for August, and she had shown close friends a few selections, but no one ever read her unedited manuscript. The exposure she felt could only be compared to a stranger storming into her bath unannounced. It was as if she had been laid bare to him.
She couldn’t stay in close confines with him another minute. She needed to have some distance between them. As her cheeks burned, she made for the latch on the door only to belatedly remember they were traveling down the country road at a fast clip. She stopped before she pushed the door open, but not before he asked in a panic, “What are you doing?” as he grasped her shoulder.
“I have to get out. I can’t stay here with you.”
He raised a fist and pounded on the ceiling of the carriage, as she took in gulping breaths. Had he read about Lord Lucifer? Did he know the man was him? Had he read the sinful thoughts Miss Hamilton had about him? Violet had written them too honestly and explicitly for publication. She had intended to go back and edit out some of the more wicked lines. They had been little more than girlish fantasies she had set to paper. Those lines came out to torment her now.
He was depravity and his name was Lord Lucifer, the dark angel himself come to earth to tempt innocents. Rose had never so wanted to be debauched as when he gazed upon her.
And this one:She stared at his mouth, the sensual lips and pink tongue licking at the drop of honey, and she longed to feel him licking at her.
Oh, dear God! Neither of those were ever meant to see the light of day. She had written the last one in a heatedmoment after coming home from a ball where he had eaten a honey-drenched fig.
As soon as the carriage slowed, she pushed the door open and jumped down, holding the papers to her chest. Then she walked as fast as she could down the country lane, heedless of the mud from the previous days of rain. All of her doubts rose to the forefront as she marched away from him. She had been an absolute fool to take this cross-country trip with him and, more specifically, to allow her infatuation with him to fester and grow. He was a spoiled aristocrat, believing himself above everyone and everything.
“Miss Crenshaw!” he called from behind her. She could tell he was outside the carriage because his voice wasn’t muffled. “Miss Crenshaw!” His voice was much closer, prompting her to speed up her steps. “Violet!” This came from right behind her. In the next moment he was in front of her, prompting her to walk around him only to have him step in front of her again.
“Miss Crenshaw to you, my lord. I have never given you leave to address me by my first name. You know it is improper.”
“This whole trip is improper,” he quipped.
“Yes, it is. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Her foot slipped in a slick of mud, and he was there to catch her with his hands at her waist. Holding on to his arm lest she fall, she paused to regain her bearing, while keeping the manuscript tucked against her chest.
“Stop walking... please,” he said when she tensed to step away. His voice was low and graver for it. “My apologies.”
Staring at the serpent engraved on a brass button on his frock coat, she said, “While I appreciate your attempt to placate me, I doubt your ability to understand your transgression.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment and simply continued to hold her in this indecent way. His hands tightened on her rib cage, and while she knew that she should, she couldn’t let go of his forearm. The heat and strength of him beneath her bare hand felt too strong and solid, a part of him that she wanted to explore. She stared at his gloveless fingers, long, graceful, and lightly tanned against the dark blue of her traveling costume. “I know that I have upset you, and for that I apologize.”
His face was difficult to read, but he said the words with meaning. Unfortunately, she also knew that he had no idea how he had violated her privacy. “You are an only child, aren’t you, my lord?”
Twin lines formed between his brows. “Aside from a bastard half brother and two half sisters... yes.”
She tucked that bit of information away to dissect later. “Then you have never had to respect boundaries of privacy?”
The lines deepened. “You are angry that I violated your privacy?”
How could he not realize that? Sucking in a deep breath, she said, “Yes, of course I am. My writing is very private and personal. I am not yet ready to share it with anyone, much less someone I barely know.”
Dropping his arms, he stood quietly before her, and she realized that she had hurt his feelings. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are, but I wasn’t ready to share that with you. August typically reads my work, and even she has not seen this yet. You had no right to assume that I would grant you unfettered access to everything.”
When he didn’t say anything immediately, she added, “You are like every other nobleman who has come to call during our time in London. You assume simply because of the virtue of your birth that I owe you pieces of myself that I am not ready to share. Who I am, my joys and pleasures...I will not be forced to reveal more than I am willing to you or anyone else.”
He let out a rush of air and pushed a hand through his hair. He had discarded his hat as soon as they settled themselves in the carriage earlier. “You are right, Miss Crenshaw. I assumed too much.”
