tugged harder, and she was forced to lie on her side as he reached for something on the opposite side of the bed without releasing her. She heard the fumble of metal against metal, smelled the sudden acrid scent of a spark being struck, and then the bedside candle was lit. She realized he must earlier have seen the candle and where she kept the flint and steel. As the flame struggled into fitful life, his grip on her hair eased, and Susannah was able to sit up again. She scooted as far away from him as his grip on her hair would permit. Unable to get away or do anything else, she turned with an awful sense of fatalism to look at him.
Connelly's eyes were moving over her, taking in everything from the riotous tumble of tawny curls that spilled over his fist to pool on the mattress beside where she sat to the twisted-to-the-point-of-indecency nightdress. They rested momentarily on the swell of her breasts pressing against the thin cotton and widened even as her arms clamped over her chest to hide her bosom from his view. Undeterred, his gaze slid along the rest of her. Her legs were bare to the tops of her thighs, and he missed not an inch of their slender length all the way down to her small toes. Quickly Susannah pulled her legs beneath her and adjusted her nightdress to cover them. She was blushing so furiously that her skin felt as if it were on fire, and she knew he must see.
When she dared glance up, Connelly was scowling at her as fiercely as if she had somehow wronged him. There was a red mark on his temple where she had clouted him. Her father's nightshirt strained across the daunting width of his shoulders and was twisted over his broad chest, and Susannah dared not look lower for fear of what she might see. His black hair was wildly tousled. His lips were clamped together, and his expression, coupled with his barbaric beard, made him look like a savage,
Just thinking of how her body had responded to the brute's touch made her want to cringe. She had to glance away. Was she really so desperate that any man would do?
"What the devil are you doing in bed with me?" It was an accusation if she had ever heard one. Her eyes snapped back to his face.
"What am I doing . . . ?" Her voice failed her. How was she to answer that? If he truly did not recall what he had done, then she had no wish to remind him of the embarrassing particulars. The shameful memory would be hers alone and thus not nearly so degrading. Though even if he had been wide awake, which was still quite possible, he could have no way of knowing how her body had quickened to his touch—could he? Of course he could not! The man was not telepathic, after all! Only she could know how fiercely her body had responded, and she would take her guilty secret to her grave.
"If you bought me thinking to use me as a stud, lady, you miscalculated. I bed whom I please, when I please. I don't perform on command."
"What?" Susannah's jaw dropped. As the shocking nature of the insult sank in, her fists clenched. The jumble of emotions that moments earlier had set her atremble now coalesced into one blinding burst of heat, and her temper soared to flashpoint so quickly that she felt as if the top of her head might explode.
"Why, you ungrateful, ignorant savage!" she hissed. "To think that I saved you from Hiram Greer! To think that I saved you from Georges Renard! To think that I was actually kind to you! You deserve to be whipped! You deserve to be hanged! You deserve to be cut up for hog slop with a dull knife! How dare you say such things to me! You—you churlish lout!"
As she paused for breath, his eyes ran over her again, and this time there was a flicker she could not quite decipher in the gray depths.
"I don't bed women out of gratitude."
Susannah's eyes flashed, and words so bad that she couldn't believe she knew them bubbled to her tongue. She bit them back, grabbing at the section of hair he held and yanking at it to free herself. Her efforts were futile.
Connelly's eyes were moving over her, taking in everything from the riotous tumble of tawny curls that spilled over his fist to pool on the mattress beside where she sat to the twisted-to-the-point-of-indecency nightdress. They rested momentarily on the swell of her breasts pressing against the thin cotton and widened even as her arms clamped over her chest to hide her bosom from his view. Undeterred, his gaze slid along the rest of her. Her legs were bare to the tops of her thighs, and he missed not an inch of their slender length all the way down to her small toes. Quickly Susannah pulled her legs beneath her and adjusted her nightdress to cover them. She was blushing so furiously that her skin felt as if it were on fire, and she knew he must see.
When she dared glance up, Connelly was scowling at her as fiercely as if she had somehow wronged him. There was a red mark on his temple where she had clouted him. Her father's nightshirt strained across the daunting width of his shoulders and was twisted over his broad chest, and Susannah dared not look lower for fear of what she might see. His black hair was wildly tousled. His lips were clamped together, and his expression, coupled with his barbaric beard, made him look like a savage,
Just thinking of how her body had responded to the brute's touch made her want to cringe. She had to glance away. Was she really so desperate that any man would do?
"What the devil are you doing in bed with me?" It was an accusation if she had ever heard one. Her eyes snapped back to his face.
"What am I doing . . . ?" Her voice failed her. How was she to answer that? If he truly did not recall what he had done, then she had no wish to remind him of the embarrassing particulars. The shameful memory would be hers alone and thus not nearly so degrading. Though even if he had been wide awake, which was still quite possible, he could have no way of knowing how her body had quickened to his touch—could he? Of course he could not! The man was not telepathic, after all! Only she could know how fiercely her body had responded, and she would take her guilty secret to her grave.
"If you bought me thinking to use me as a stud, lady, you miscalculated. I bed whom I please, when I please. I don't perform on command."
"What?" Susannah's jaw dropped. As the shocking nature of the insult sank in, her fists clenched. The jumble of emotions that moments earlier had set her atremble now coalesced into one blinding burst of heat, and her temper soared to flashpoint so quickly that she felt as if the top of her head might explode.
"Why, you ungrateful, ignorant savage!" she hissed. "To think that I saved you from Hiram Greer! To think that I saved you from Georges Renard! To think that I was actually kind to you! You deserve to be whipped! You deserve to be hanged! You deserve to be cut up for hog slop with a dull knife! How dare you say such things to me! You—you churlish lout!"
As she paused for breath, his eyes ran over her again, and this time there was a flicker she could not quite decipher in the gray depths.
"I don't bed women out of gratitude."
Susannah's eyes flashed, and words so bad that she couldn't believe she knew them bubbled to her tongue. She bit them back, grabbing at the section of hair he held and yanking at it to free herself. Her efforts were futile.
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