Dangerous to Kiss by Elizabeth Thornton Page A

peril, and every muscle tensed.
    “To bed,” he answered succinctly, and reached for the lantern.
    Fear and rage unfurled inside her. That’s why he had sent Nick and Hart away. He was going to put her to the test, just as he said he would, to prove that she could not possibly be a married woman. Then, when he had his answer, he would question her in earnest. Everynerve straining, she reached for her half-empty glass of wine.
    “What the—” Gray straightened.
    “Monster!” she shrieked, and flung the glass at him. She had a gratifying glimpse of red droplets of wine spilling over his immaculate shirtfront, then she bolted for the door.
    He caught her in the hallway. She was lifted off her feet and hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of coal. Bucking, beating at him with her fists, she tried desperately to free herself. Her struggles were rewarded by several ferocious swats to her backside. A couple of those swats landed on her sore hip, and pain exploded through her in waves. She hadn’t the strength to fight him. Blackness hovered at the edge of her consciousness. When he returned to the kitchen and picked up the lantern, she was hardly aware of it.
    The chamber was at the top of a steep flight of stairs. There was one window, boarded up like those on the ground floor, and a couple of straw pallets on the bare floorboards. In one corner, nestled under the eaves, was a washstand with a pitcher and basin and an assortment of towels. The fire was unlit.
    Setting the lantern on the floor, he dumped her none too gently on one of the straw pallets, then stood over her, feet splayed, hands on hips.
    “You little fool,” he bit out. “Don’t you know when you are beaten? Are you determined to make me hurt you?”
    She stared at him with huge, frightened eyes.
    His brows slashed together, then, as comprehension dawned, he threw back his head and laughed. Shaking his head, he said, “You can’t believe I meant to ravish you?”
    Pride dictated only one answer. “It never even entered my head.”
    His look was skeptical. “In the first place, you look like a scarecrow.”
    “Thank you,” she snapped.
    “And you smell … rank. My dear Miss Weyman, I assure you my tastes run to something quite different.”
    She was relieved to hear it, naturally, but no woman liked to hear herself described in such unflattering terms. With a little sniff, she cast a disdainful eye around the room. “Am I to understand,” she said scathingly, “that you expect me to sleep in this vermin-infested hovel?”
    He grinned. “Fear not. I shall be close by to protect you from … um … spiders and mice or what-have-you,” and he indicated the other straw pallet.
    The eyes that met his were fiery with temper. “You mean … we are to share this room?”
    “That’s exactly what I mean. In short, Deborah, I fear you are not to be trusted. Either I or one of the others will keep you in sight at all times. Now, are we going to have another fight about it, or are you going to give in gracefully?”
    She folded her lips together.
    He waved a hand airily in the direction of the wash-stand. “Ladies first,” he said.
    For a moment, she hesitated. Deciding that argument was useless, she hauled herself to her knees, then to her feet. Her hip was so painful that she was sure each halting step would be her last. Pride kept her back straight and her feet moving. To betray weakness to this man could prove fatal.
    The water in the pitcher was ice-cold. What she really wanted was a hot bath; what she allowed herself, under his prying eyes, was a quick splash with cold water on her face and hands. There was a piece of broken comb by the basin, but it was so filthy she wasn’t even tempted to use it. Having completed her ablutions, she returned to her pallet.
    “Remove your clothes,” he said. “Please, no more fuss, Deborah, just do as I say. Oh, you may leave on your shift.”
    She could tell by his voice that he was enjoying himself