Page 7 of To Pleasure a Prince
“Now see here, you overgrown oaf, I’ve had enough of your half-baked ideas about me and my ‘sort.’ ” Pivoting on her heel, she headed back toward the little stair. “If you want to force Simon and Louisa to sneak around behind your back, then fine by me. Who cares if they’re caught in some compromising position and tarred by scandal? I shall simply tell my brother to go right ahead setting up their secret meetings—”
“Stop!” he roared.
She halted near the stairs, a smile playing over her face.
He came up behind her. “What the devil are you babbling about?”
“Oh, no, I shan’t trouble you with it—you’re far too busy.” She continued toward the stairs slowly—very slowly. “Clearly I’ve taken up too much of your precious time already. So I’ll be on my way.”
She’d already reached the stairs when he grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “Not until you tell me what’s going on, damn you.”
Fighting a smile, she removed his hand from her arm. “Are you sure you can spare the time?” she said sweetly. “I don’t know if I should impose.”
He marched forward, forcing her to back down the stairs. “Your hints about ‘secret meetings’ had better be more than the figment of your imagination. Because if you think some paltry trick will gain you my attention—”
“Trick? Surely you don’t think a woman who spends her time dithering over which gown to wear could trick a clever gentleman like you.”
He swore under his breath.
Take that, you big lout.She was so busy congratulating herself that she didn’t pay attention and missed a step. She stumbled and was about to tumble backwards to the floor when his lordship snagged her about the waist.
For a moment they stood frozen, with only his broad arm beneath her back preventing her from falling. Thank God he was strong.
And surprisingly clean, for all his mismatched stockings and rough looks. A heady scent of bay rum and soap wafted through her senses, making her wonder if he were not quite the oaf he seemed.
Then his eyes dropped to where her pelisse had fallen open to reveal her low-cut bodice, and his gaze lodged there as if stuck.
Men often stared at her breasts—on occasion she’d even used that to her advantage. But for some reason,hisstaring unsettled her. He looked as if he wanted to devour them…and make her enjoy the devouring.
As her breasts pinkened beneath his gaze, she opened her mouth to rebuke him, then noticed the edge of the scar that crawled above his beard and onto his cheek. She’d heard he had a scar, but no one seemed to know how he’d received it or how bad it was. His heavy beard covered most of it, but the part that showed looked rather nasty.
He lifted his eyes to her face. Catching where her gaze was fixed, he scowled. “Watch your step, madam. You wouldn’t want to go tumbling.”
His thinly veiled threat sent a shiver along her spine. And what had he done to gain such an awful scar anyway? She shuddered to think.
Shifting her in his arms, he lifted her as if she weighed less than nothing and set her firmly on the floor two steps below, then descended to loom over her.
“Now, Lady Regina, you’re going to explain exactly what you mean by my sister and secret meetings. Because you’re not going anywhere until you do.”
His low rumble of a voice sparked a peculiar quivering in her belly. Apparently, she’d awakened the sleeping dragon.
Now she must figure out what to do with him.
Chapter Two
Never trust a young man, whether he be a poor mister or a titled and wealthy gentleman, alone with your charge.
—Miss Cicely Tremaine,The Ideal Chaperone
As Foxmoor’s sister strolled to the center of the library, Marcus followed, trying hard to keep his eyes in his head.
It was impossible. The woman moved as sweetly as a sonata, and it had been too damned long since he’d heard one. He couldn’t take his eyes off her fine bottom, swathed in what was undoubtedly the latest fashion. He’d give half his fortune to have that fashionable ass settled on his lap. To havehersettled on his lap, where he could touch and squeeze and plunder every honey-perfumed, muslin-draped inch.
He scowled. As if a haughty female like her would let him within ten feet. Even after he’d rescued her from a near fall, she’d regarded him as if he meant to ravish her right there.
He’d wanted to. Who wouldn’t, when a woman’s lovely breasts were served up like that, begging him to dive in and enjoy?
And dash his brains out on the rocks. It could be no coincidence that Foxmoor’s pretty sister had come to argue for him, no matter what she claimed. That’s who was always sent to appease a dragon—a beautiful young virgin.
