fingers, tentative at first, before they moved more purposefully. They opened her, slipped inside, then suddenly went still. He, too, seemed to stop breathing. Then, slowly, a finger moved, and an aching pain made her gasp and cry out.
Snatching his hand back as if it had been burnt, Vexford leapt to his feet. “Good God, you’re still a virgin!”
She sat up, bewildered. “Well, of course I am.”
“There’s no of course about it,” he snapped, pushing his left hand through his hair to the back of his neck and glaring down at her. “Hell and the devil confound it! What am I going to do with you now?”
Six
Melissa Fails to Calculate the Odds
Q UICKLY REFASTENING HIS BREECHES , Nick stared down at the disheveled Miss Seacourt, trying to collect wits still fogged by brandy, and swearing to himself that he would never touch the stuff again. He had been feeling its effects more and more ever since he had entered the warm room.
Looking up at him, wide-eyed, her lower lip trembling, her clothing still rucked up around her waist, she seemed to realize that she was partially bared to his view, for she reached quickly to cover herself, wincing as she did.
He said gruffly, defensively, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, you didn’t, not really.”
The emphasis bolstered his suspicion that she was in pain, and he remembered the way she had winced and nearly cried out when he had put her on the bed. He had thought at the time that she was merely playing more games, but now he wondered if it might not have been something else.
“Who did hurt you?” he demanded.
“That is not important now.”
“I’ll decide what’s important. If you’ve been hurt, I want to know.”
“It’s none of your affair,” she said, wincing again when she sat up and tried to arrange her clothing.
“Everything about you is now my affair,” he said grimly. “I just bought you at auction, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You said that before. You can’t really own me, you know.”
“The devil I can’t. I’ve just paid twenty thousand guineas for the privilege.”
“I don’t believe you. Did you really pay that much?”
“Of course I did! You were right there. You heard the whole thing. By heaven, you begin to make me think you must be demented.”
“Perhaps I am,” she said, moving cautiously, apparently undecided as to whether to stand or not.
“What the devil do you mean by that,” he demanded, “and why are you squirming about like that if you are not hurt? Come now, let me see.”
“No!” she shrieked, scrambling away on the bed when he reached for her.
With a snort of exasperation, Nick caught her, dragged her off the bed, and stood her upright. “Stand still,” he ordered, giving her a shake. “It will do you no good to fight me, for I mean to know what’s wrong.”
“You’ve no right!”
“We’ve already plucked that crow.” He turned her with one hand and reached down to raise her shift with the other.
Desperately, she yanked the shift from his grasp, dancing back to keep him from catching it again. He still held her arm, and her gyrations were making him dizzy. Straightening in an attempt to regain his equilibrium, he glowered at her.
Quickly she said, “I’ll tell you! Papa was angry when he found me in the stable. H-he had told me to stay in my room, and he … he …” She paused, licked her lips and looked away, then said flatly, “If you must know, he whipped me.”
“Good,” he snapped, releasing her arm. “Stout fellow. Didn’t think much of him before, but now I make him my compliments. You undoubtedly deserved it.”
“Well, it was your fault,” she retorted, pushing a loose strand of hair from her face and glaring back at him.
“It was no such thing.”
“It was. If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d have been safely in Cambridge by the time he returned, instead of still standing there in the stable with you.”
“You have an exaggerated notion of how fast
Snatching his hand back as if it had been burnt, Vexford leapt to his feet. “Good God, you’re still a virgin!”
She sat up, bewildered. “Well, of course I am.”
“There’s no of course about it,” he snapped, pushing his left hand through his hair to the back of his neck and glaring down at her. “Hell and the devil confound it! What am I going to do with you now?”
Six
Melissa Fails to Calculate the Odds
Q UICKLY REFASTENING HIS BREECHES , Nick stared down at the disheveled Miss Seacourt, trying to collect wits still fogged by brandy, and swearing to himself that he would never touch the stuff again. He had been feeling its effects more and more ever since he had entered the warm room.
Looking up at him, wide-eyed, her lower lip trembling, her clothing still rucked up around her waist, she seemed to realize that she was partially bared to his view, for she reached quickly to cover herself, wincing as she did.
He said gruffly, defensively, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, you didn’t, not really.”
The emphasis bolstered his suspicion that she was in pain, and he remembered the way she had winced and nearly cried out when he had put her on the bed. He had thought at the time that she was merely playing more games, but now he wondered if it might not have been something else.
“Who did hurt you?” he demanded.
“That is not important now.”
“I’ll decide what’s important. If you’ve been hurt, I want to know.”
“It’s none of your affair,” she said, wincing again when she sat up and tried to arrange her clothing.
“Everything about you is now my affair,” he said grimly. “I just bought you at auction, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You said that before. You can’t really own me, you know.”
“The devil I can’t. I’ve just paid twenty thousand guineas for the privilege.”
“I don’t believe you. Did you really pay that much?”
“Of course I did! You were right there. You heard the whole thing. By heaven, you begin to make me think you must be demented.”
“Perhaps I am,” she said, moving cautiously, apparently undecided as to whether to stand or not.
“What the devil do you mean by that,” he demanded, “and why are you squirming about like that if you are not hurt? Come now, let me see.”
“No!” she shrieked, scrambling away on the bed when he reached for her.
With a snort of exasperation, Nick caught her, dragged her off the bed, and stood her upright. “Stand still,” he ordered, giving her a shake. “It will do you no good to fight me, for I mean to know what’s wrong.”
“You’ve no right!”
“We’ve already plucked that crow.” He turned her with one hand and reached down to raise her shift with the other.
Desperately, she yanked the shift from his grasp, dancing back to keep him from catching it again. He still held her arm, and her gyrations were making him dizzy. Straightening in an attempt to regain his equilibrium, he glowered at her.
Quickly she said, “I’ll tell you! Papa was angry when he found me in the stable. H-he had told me to stay in my room, and he … he …” She paused, licked her lips and looked away, then said flatly, “If you must know, he whipped me.”
“Good,” he snapped, releasing her arm. “Stout fellow. Didn’t think much of him before, but now I make him my compliments. You undoubtedly deserved it.”
“Well, it was your fault,” she retorted, pushing a loose strand of hair from her face and glaring back at him.
“It was no such thing.”
“It was. If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d have been safely in Cambridge by the time he returned, instead of still standing there in the stable with you.”
“You have an exaggerated notion of how fast
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