Heiress in Love by Christina Brooke

to choke down this mess every morning.
    Lady Roxdale lifted her chin. “If you tell me what you require, I shall order it directly.”
    If he allowed her to maintain dominion over household duties, even temporarily, he’d never be rid of her. “Oh, no you don’t.”
    He caught her elbow as she moved past him. Her bare arm was warm and soft, unlike her personality. The pliable feel of her flesh sent messages racing to the part of his anatomy he needed to keep under control around her. On pain of death, if Montford was to be believed.
    She gasped and tugged against him. Her cheeks pinked. “You forget yourself, sir!”
    No, I’m just remembering.
    He stared down into her eyes, now stormy with alarm and confusion and something else that might be anticipation. The impulse to make those eyes flutter closed in sensual delight nearly overcame his good sense.
    Surely he wasn’t juvenile enough to want her simply because she’d been forbidden to him? Yet he burned to see if he could unsettle her as much as she unsettled him.
    Well, why not? Last night, he’d looked past her icy surface, seen glimmers of passion beneath. Why not stoke those embers to a blaze?
    “I’m moving to the master suite,” he said, and noted the flare in her gaze, the ripple in her throat as she gave a hard swallow. “It must come to this sooner or later, you know.”
    He relaxed his grip, turning restraint into a gentle caress of trailing fingertips down her arm. That smooth, pliant skin nearly undid him. He wanted to touch more of it, kiss and taste it, make every inch of it flush with rapture.
    Her eyelids sank, just a fraction, as if they might drift shut in silent enjoyment. Then, with a slight shake of the head, she recovered and seized the chance to slip free.
    She stepped back, dragging in a breath that held a distinct—and satisfying—tremor. “It’s your house. You must do whatever you wish.”
    He gave her a slow, carnal smile. “ Whatever I wish?”
    She glanced rather desperately at the sideboard, as if hoping the coddled eggs would leap up and ride to her rescue. “I apologize for breakfast. I ought to have anticipated…” The words seemed to stick in her throat.
    So she’d decided to be conciliating, had she? What brought this on? He waited, not precisely enjoying her discomfiture, but curious as to what she’d say. How far would she humble herself to please him?
    She tried again. This time, with a determined smile. “I shall speak with Cook and order a breakfast fit for a king for tomorrow. You’ll see.”
    Her smile nearly vanquished him. Forced as it must have been, it lit her face, burnished her eyes to silver. Most especially, it drew his attention to the full lips that stretched and curved over her white teeth. Her lips were a rich, dull red that owed nothing to rouge. They looked full-bodied and delicious, like a fine burgundy.
    Since when have you sighed like a mooncalf over a lady’s smile?
    Women, he reminded himself, smiled at him for one of two reasons—they wanted something, or he had just given it to them. Constantine Black knew the game, and the odds were just the way he liked them.
    That softened expression was not at all guileless, was it? Even she, even his dead cousin’s wife, smiled because she wanted something. His ring on her finger.
    “Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ll speak to Cook myself.”
    His stomach cramping with hunger, he bowed and left her, striding off to the kitchens, which were placed as far as possible from the dining room and the breakfast parlor, too. An inconvenience he meant to remedy. Or he would, if he had a penny to bless himself with. Irritation whipped into anger at the thought.
    In the hall, he encountered Montford and Beckenham, who looked like they’d just returned from their own ride.
    As Montford handed his hat to the butler, his brows rose. “Ah, Roxdale. Well met.”
    Starvation lent savagery to Constantine’s satisfaction. “If you are looking for a decent