Desire Becomes Her by Shirlee Busbee Page A

not make the same mistake.”
    Gillian fought to escape, but his hand gripped her arm tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I expect you to be very nice and accommodating to me,” he said, ignoring her struggles, “or else I’ll just have to take that pitiful cottage you and your cousin live in to cover the debts.” His eyes cold, he said, “I can take everything you own—even the clothes on your back. So keep that in mind when I have you in my bed.”
    Rage and terror gave her strength, and she tore her arm from his grasp. Breathing heavy, her eyes as cold as his, she snarled, “And I’ll see you in hell first!”
    Picking up the skirts of her gown, she dashed from the alcove and fled upstairs. Reaching her rooms, she ran inside, slamming the door to the sitting room behind her. Heart banging, gasping for breath, she leaned back against the door, her eyes closed.
    Having heard the door slam, Sophia hurried into the sitting room wearing a hastily donned dressing gown, followed by Nan Burton. Sophia took one look at Gillian’s white face and rushed to her.
    Sophia’s expression concerned, she laid a gentle hand on Gillian’s arm and asked, “My dear! Is it Uncle Silas? Has something happened?”
    Gillian gave a vehement shake of her head. “No. Uncle is fine.”
    Relieved, Sophia asked, “If all is well with our uncle, what is it that has you looking so miserable and unhappy?”
    The tears she had held back in front of Canfield leaked down Gillian’s cheeks and she choked back a sob. Opening her eyes, she looked into her cousin’s face and cried, “Oh Sophy! My life is over! We are ruined.”
    Sophia smiled. “I hardly think so. Now come over here, sit down and tell me all about it.”
    “Would you like a nice cup of tea?” asked Nan anxiously. She hadn’t seen her mistress so distraught since the night Charles Dashwood had been murdered, and she’d hoped never to see that expression on Gillian’s face again.
    “That’s an excellent notion, Nan. Please see to it,” Sophia said, urging Gillian to take a seat on the sofa. As Nan vanished from the room, Sophia sat down beside Gillian. Taking both of Gillian’s hands in hers and rubbing them, she commanded, “Now tell me what happened.”
    Gillian fought for control of her emotions, and once she was certain she wouldn’t burst into tears, she muttered, “It is Canfield.” Her face full of misery, she cried, “Oh Sophy, he knows everything! ”
    Not by a flicker of an eyelash did Sophia show her own distress. Her voice as calm and comforting as always, she asked, “Are you certain, my dear? He is an unpleasant young man, but not I think stupid. He might just be guessing.”
    Gillian swallowed what felt like sand in her throat. “I’m certain. He caught me just as I was coming upstairs and dragged me into that little alcove.” A shudder racked her at the memory. “He told me that he had won Charles’s vowels from Winthrop a few weeks ago.” Her mouth twisted. “His lordship was drunk and told him everything.”
    “I see,” Sophia commented evenly, hiding her turmoil. “And what does he propose to do with the vowels? You have nothing. The only thing of value you were able to save from the debacle following Charles’s death was our small cottage—” The expression on Gillian’s face told her everything she needed to know. “Ah, of course. The nasty little maggot threatened to take the cottage away to cover Charles’s debts if you don’t allow him ... certain liberties.” Her dark head bent, Gillian said thickly, “He wants me in his bed, where I am to be ‘nice and accommodating’ to him, or else he’ll throw us out onto the streets.”
    Sophia searched for words of comfort, wondering if she’d go to hell for despising a dead man and wanting to get her hands around Canfield’s neck. There was no question of Gillian submitting to Canfield’s demands, and if Gillian thought about it for a moment, she’d realize that