where is your clever brother? I’m all agog to make his acquaintance.”
“He’s abroad.”
“Avoiding more unpleasant things? So why are you here without him?”
If she stuck close to the truth perhaps she could convince him to leave her alone, to go away and do … what
was
he doing here? “My brother may appear to be a wealthy man, but he’s not.
We’re
not. And neither is our clan. In fact, my whole family is quite, quite poor.”
“Yes?” he prodded.
“I’m here to … to repair the clan’s fortune.” She skirted closer to the truth than she would have liked.
“Fortune? Do you mean by that you are casting nets in the matrimonial waters, Miss Donne? Here?” His voice revealed his skepticism. “At Wanton’s Blush? Well, I give you high marks for originality. Not many a blushing debutante would think to come here to seek a mate.”
“Where else would such as I go? A Scottish nobody without lands, family, or connections to recommend myself?” she demanded hotly, for he’d pressed too close to a truth she’d never allowed herself to inspect. Even if she could call her future her own, where would someone like her find a “happily-ever-after”?
“Only at Wanton’s Blush could someone like me find a suitor who would not look too closely at my antecedents or, even if he did discover them, care who they were. As long as I am richly gowned, bedecked and bejeweled, here I am accepted as the eligible heiress I appear to be.”
“You mean the smuggling business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? And here I thought it one of the more profitable occupations open to an ambitious young man.”
“Nay,” she said harshly. “ ’Tisn’t. Not nearly profitable enough to repair a fortune stolen by English ba—”
“Be careful, Miss Donne,” he interjected dryly. “Your future husband may just be one of those English
ba’s.”
“I understand that,” she answered tightly. “But you see, I don’t have any choice. Your English didn’t leave any Scottish men to choose from—rich, poor, or anywhere in between. They killed them all.”
She had the impression her words had struck a chord and that he was growing sympathetic to her tale.
“Aye. That has the ring of truth to it,” he said after a moment. “But then, I have a certain history with your bell-toned lies.”
She’d been wrong. He cared nothing for her people’s slaughter. “Ridicule me all you like,” she snapped.
“Tuck your lower lip in, sweetling, ’tis too tempting by half pouting thus. But I’m sure you know that full well.”
She stamped her foot in annoyance and then stared at the offending limb in consternation. She hadn’t stamped her foot since she was a child.
“What a fine tale and what a fine heroine you make, Favor, me love,” he said in a light, mocking tone. “So brave and passionate. How noble of you to sacrifice yourself for your clan.” His expression flattened. “If only I could believe in that nobility. But you were very willing to exploit me.”
“I’d do the same again today. You were already condemned. What did you have to lose? Besides”—she stared defiantly at him—“you escaped, did you not? Well, then you got more than the bargain called for.”
“Oh, no,” he murmured, “I didn’t get
any
of what the bargain called for.”
He stepped forward, intent, predatory, his concentration focused to a rapier sharpness. She stepped back. Her shoulders collided with the wall. He smiled, one side of his mouth turning up and carving a deep line beneath his high, broad cheekbone. A wicked smile, that. A devil’s smile.
He lifted his hand toward her face. She flinched but he only reached past her, placed his palm flat against the wall next to her head and leaned in. His stance emphasized his much greater height. He eclipsed her with his breadth. His gaze drifted down her face and throat and lingered where her breasts swelled in agitation above the low, square décolletage.
“I’d been
“He’s abroad.”
“Avoiding more unpleasant things? So why are you here without him?”
If she stuck close to the truth perhaps she could convince him to leave her alone, to go away and do … what
was
he doing here? “My brother may appear to be a wealthy man, but he’s not.
We’re
not. And neither is our clan. In fact, my whole family is quite, quite poor.”
“Yes?” he prodded.
“I’m here to … to repair the clan’s fortune.” She skirted closer to the truth than she would have liked.
“Fortune? Do you mean by that you are casting nets in the matrimonial waters, Miss Donne? Here?” His voice revealed his skepticism. “At Wanton’s Blush? Well, I give you high marks for originality. Not many a blushing debutante would think to come here to seek a mate.”
“Where else would such as I go? A Scottish nobody without lands, family, or connections to recommend myself?” she demanded hotly, for he’d pressed too close to a truth she’d never allowed herself to inspect. Even if she could call her future her own, where would someone like her find a “happily-ever-after”?
“Only at Wanton’s Blush could someone like me find a suitor who would not look too closely at my antecedents or, even if he did discover them, care who they were. As long as I am richly gowned, bedecked and bejeweled, here I am accepted as the eligible heiress I appear to be.”
“You mean the smuggling business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? And here I thought it one of the more profitable occupations open to an ambitious young man.”
“Nay,” she said harshly. “ ’Tisn’t. Not nearly profitable enough to repair a fortune stolen by English ba—”
“Be careful, Miss Donne,” he interjected dryly. “Your future husband may just be one of those English
ba’s.”
“I understand that,” she answered tightly. “But you see, I don’t have any choice. Your English didn’t leave any Scottish men to choose from—rich, poor, or anywhere in between. They killed them all.”
She had the impression her words had struck a chord and that he was growing sympathetic to her tale.
“Aye. That has the ring of truth to it,” he said after a moment. “But then, I have a certain history with your bell-toned lies.”
She’d been wrong. He cared nothing for her people’s slaughter. “Ridicule me all you like,” she snapped.
“Tuck your lower lip in, sweetling, ’tis too tempting by half pouting thus. But I’m sure you know that full well.”
She stamped her foot in annoyance and then stared at the offending limb in consternation. She hadn’t stamped her foot since she was a child.
“What a fine tale and what a fine heroine you make, Favor, me love,” he said in a light, mocking tone. “So brave and passionate. How noble of you to sacrifice yourself for your clan.” His expression flattened. “If only I could believe in that nobility. But you were very willing to exploit me.”
“I’d do the same again today. You were already condemned. What did you have to lose? Besides”—she stared defiantly at him—“you escaped, did you not? Well, then you got more than the bargain called for.”
“Oh, no,” he murmured, “I didn’t get
any
of what the bargain called for.”
He stepped forward, intent, predatory, his concentration focused to a rapier sharpness. She stepped back. Her shoulders collided with the wall. He smiled, one side of his mouth turning up and carving a deep line beneath his high, broad cheekbone. A wicked smile, that. A devil’s smile.
He lifted his hand toward her face. She flinched but he only reached past her, placed his palm flat against the wall next to her head and leaned in. His stance emphasized his much greater height. He eclipsed her with his breadth. His gaze drifted down her face and throat and lingered where her breasts swelled in agitation above the low, square décolletage.
“I’d been
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