side.
Victoria stiffened as his arm snaked firmly around her waist. "Oh, how dare you."
"I dare anything I want, especially when a lady is wearing my jacket."
"This ... this is insufferable, my lord."
He laughed, but he would not let her pull away. "I am not ready to tell your secrets just yet. So you may rest easy."
Rest easy? Victoria gritted her teeth, feeling the strength of his fingers pressing into her back. Why, this man could ruin her.
It took her a few tense minutes before she realized the carriage was stopping at her home. She hated to move lest the man believed she was making an advance of some sort. His ego had already eclipsed even her imagination.
However, the stunning thought that she might want him to hold her a bit longer lingered in the back of her mind like a prickly thorn. She let out a distasteful shudder. It was the cold night air making her daft. It had to be.
When he escorted her up the steps and to the door, she handed him his jacket just as Winston appeared. She murmured a hurried goodnight, but was surprised when he stepped in after her.
"Cozy little place your aunt has," he said, walking further into the hall.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.
Smirking, the marquess peered at the butler and gave Winston his hat. "Bring some brandy into the library, my good man, and be quick about it."
Winston stayed put, his questioning brows narrowing into the middle of his forehead. Victoria glanced back at the pirate.
"Oh, good heavens, be reasonable, Lord Drakefield."
The man had the insolence to smile at her, refusing to budge. "Brandy." He paused, raising a brow to the butler. "Winston, is it not?"
Victoria gasped. Of all the unmitigated gall. The wretched man was not going to leave until he had his brandy. She wished she could just give him the entire bottle and shove him out the door. But the way he was staring down her butler and checking that pocket watch of his, it was obvious he was not about to leave until he decided to.
She gave a wary glance at Winston. The older man clenched his hands at his sides. Oh, good grief, not him too! She scooted between the two men, dread filling the pit of her stomach. "It's quite all right, Winston. Bring the brandy into the library."
The butler stood for another second, nodded grimly and left, only to return to the library later with a crystal decanter of brandy and one glass. He placed the tray on the mahogany end table and planted his feet on the carpet as though he were rooted to the room like an oak.
A fire crackled in the hearth, sounding more like booming thunder against the silence that swallowed the room. The marquess glared at Winston. Winston glared back at the marquess. No one moved. Victoria grew more uncomfortable by the minute. Surely, Lord Drakefield would not touch the older man.
Smiling, she nodded for Winston to leave. To his credit, the butler took his leave, keeping the doors wide open. But the blood drained from her face when the marquess took three long strides toward the doors, sealing the room closed with a thud. He turned, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at her.
Her heart thumped madly as she fought the anxiety spurting through her veins. No doubt the man would like to skewer her with the fire poker.
"Well, what is it you want?" Her head, perhaps?
Gray eyes locked with hers. "Now, my little runaway, if I knew the answer to that question, we would not be here, would we?"
Chapter Eight
V ictoria watched with misgiving as Lord Drakefield took the brandy decanter off the tray and splashed the amber liquid into the glass. He peered up, his steel gray eyes surveying her with a glint of amusement.
"To warm you." He walked toward her and handed her the glass.
Her lips thinned. "No, thank you."
Still shivering from the cold, she spared a glance at the door. She needed a wrap, and she needed him gone.
"Ah," he replied, following her gaze. "Going to be that way, is it?" He lowered the drink onto
Victoria stiffened as his arm snaked firmly around her waist. "Oh, how dare you."
"I dare anything I want, especially when a lady is wearing my jacket."
"This ... this is insufferable, my lord."
He laughed, but he would not let her pull away. "I am not ready to tell your secrets just yet. So you may rest easy."
Rest easy? Victoria gritted her teeth, feeling the strength of his fingers pressing into her back. Why, this man could ruin her.
It took her a few tense minutes before she realized the carriage was stopping at her home. She hated to move lest the man believed she was making an advance of some sort. His ego had already eclipsed even her imagination.
However, the stunning thought that she might want him to hold her a bit longer lingered in the back of her mind like a prickly thorn. She let out a distasteful shudder. It was the cold night air making her daft. It had to be.
When he escorted her up the steps and to the door, she handed him his jacket just as Winston appeared. She murmured a hurried goodnight, but was surprised when he stepped in after her.
"Cozy little place your aunt has," he said, walking further into the hall.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.
Smirking, the marquess peered at the butler and gave Winston his hat. "Bring some brandy into the library, my good man, and be quick about it."
Winston stayed put, his questioning brows narrowing into the middle of his forehead. Victoria glanced back at the pirate.
"Oh, good heavens, be reasonable, Lord Drakefield."
The man had the insolence to smile at her, refusing to budge. "Brandy." He paused, raising a brow to the butler. "Winston, is it not?"
Victoria gasped. Of all the unmitigated gall. The wretched man was not going to leave until he had his brandy. She wished she could just give him the entire bottle and shove him out the door. But the way he was staring down her butler and checking that pocket watch of his, it was obvious he was not about to leave until he decided to.
She gave a wary glance at Winston. The older man clenched his hands at his sides. Oh, good grief, not him too! She scooted between the two men, dread filling the pit of her stomach. "It's quite all right, Winston. Bring the brandy into the library."
The butler stood for another second, nodded grimly and left, only to return to the library later with a crystal decanter of brandy and one glass. He placed the tray on the mahogany end table and planted his feet on the carpet as though he were rooted to the room like an oak.
A fire crackled in the hearth, sounding more like booming thunder against the silence that swallowed the room. The marquess glared at Winston. Winston glared back at the marquess. No one moved. Victoria grew more uncomfortable by the minute. Surely, Lord Drakefield would not touch the older man.
Smiling, she nodded for Winston to leave. To his credit, the butler took his leave, keeping the doors wide open. But the blood drained from her face when the marquess took three long strides toward the doors, sealing the room closed with a thud. He turned, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at her.
Her heart thumped madly as she fought the anxiety spurting through her veins. No doubt the man would like to skewer her with the fire poker.
"Well, what is it you want?" Her head, perhaps?
Gray eyes locked with hers. "Now, my little runaway, if I knew the answer to that question, we would not be here, would we?"
Chapter Eight
V ictoria watched with misgiving as Lord Drakefield took the brandy decanter off the tray and splashed the amber liquid into the glass. He peered up, his steel gray eyes surveying her with a glint of amusement.
"To warm you." He walked toward her and handed her the glass.
Her lips thinned. "No, thank you."
Still shivering from the cold, she spared a glance at the door. She needed a wrap, and she needed him gone.
"Ah," he replied, following her gaze. "Going to be that way, is it?" He lowered the drink onto
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