promised her destruction.
Grace raised a quivering hand to her lips and stared sightlessly down at the table. Danger crowded upon her from all sides
of this darkened, stifling room.
Suddenly, she craved air and light. She lunged across to rattle back the curtains and fling open the windows. Great
lungfuls of clear spring air brought her rioting stomach under control. But nothing shifted the leaden weight of
hopelessness and fear. She suspected that burden would remain until the day she died.
The day she died might only be a week away.
“Congratulations,” the marquess said from behind her, his tone edged with lacerating contempt. “My uncle must be so
pleased with you. He looked even smugger than usual when he left.”
Through her panic, she hadn’t heard him come in. She didn’t shift from the window.
“Did you speak to him?” The words scraped over her sore throat. She didn’t need to look at Lord Sheene to know the
bristling animosity was back.
“No. He finds my company uncongenial.” Again that acerbic drawl. “But I’m sure he enjoyed his coze with you, Mrs.
Paget. Particularly when you told him how easily you gulled me.”
She barely believed what she heard. Surely he must guess Lord John’scoze had involved only threats and terror.
Slowly, she turned. Lord Sheene leaned indolently against the wall near the door, his arms folded across his chest. His
expression was shuttered but she read the anger blazing beneath his sangfroid.
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He was her only ally against Lord John’s evil. She needed him to trust her. She needed an hour unshadowed by fear.
Futile to list what she needed. The stark reality struck that what she needed above all was survival.
What would survival cost?
“You cannot think I’m in league with your uncle,” she said in a broken voice.
“I cannot think otherwise. You and he shared a long, apparently fruitful conversation and he reeked of self-satisfaction
when I saw him step into his coach a few moments ago. Tell me—what’s the next scene in this farce?” He sounded as
though he didn’t care but a muscle jerked spasmodically in his lean cheek, eloquent witness to temper.
She felt as though she’d been shaking forever. She was too distraught to dissemble. “I am to cozen you into my bed.”
His haughty expression didn’t alter. “Surely that was your cause from the start. No need to exert yourself with this show
of desperation. Your terrified act duped me once before. The repeat performance isn’t nearly so effective. Perhaps eschew
the vulnerability and adopt a more seductive manner.”
Grace flinched. He sounded like he hated her. If he truly believed she connived with his uncle, who could blame him?
She met the marquess’s burning eyes, frantically searching for some goodwill, some trace of the man who had been
almost cordial less than an hour ago. “My lord, I’m in trouble.”
He smiled, a grim twist of his beautiful mouth. “You most certainly are, Mrs. Paget. Especially when my uncle realizes I
stand by my vow not to touch you.”
“You won’t help me.” The words emerged as a thread of sound. Something clenched inside her like a cold hard fist. She
felt lost in an endless desert.
His inimical gaze flicked across her as if she were eternally beneath his notice. The look was terrifyingly similar to the
one his uncle had cast upon her. Then a smile conveyed rejection and triumph in equal measure. “Help you, madam? How
may a poor madman help you when he cannot help himself?”
“You have to believe me when I say I don’t conspire with your uncle.”
His response bit at her like a whiplash. “On the contrary, my dear Mrs. Paget, I don’t have to believe anything you say.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” she insisted in helpless despair.
“Truth?” He gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “You
Grace raised a quivering hand to her lips and stared sightlessly down at the table. Danger crowded upon her from all sides
of this darkened, stifling room.
Suddenly, she craved air and light. She lunged across to rattle back the curtains and fling open the windows. Great
lungfuls of clear spring air brought her rioting stomach under control. But nothing shifted the leaden weight of
hopelessness and fear. She suspected that burden would remain until the day she died.
The day she died might only be a week away.
“Congratulations,” the marquess said from behind her, his tone edged with lacerating contempt. “My uncle must be so
pleased with you. He looked even smugger than usual when he left.”
Through her panic, she hadn’t heard him come in. She didn’t shift from the window.
“Did you speak to him?” The words scraped over her sore throat. She didn’t need to look at Lord Sheene to know the
bristling animosity was back.
“No. He finds my company uncongenial.” Again that acerbic drawl. “But I’m sure he enjoyed his coze with you, Mrs.
Paget. Particularly when you told him how easily you gulled me.”
She barely believed what she heard. Surely he must guess Lord John’scoze had involved only threats and terror.
Slowly, she turned. Lord Sheene leaned indolently against the wall near the door, his arms folded across his chest. His
expression was shuttered but she read the anger blazing beneath his sangfroid.
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He was her only ally against Lord John’s evil. She needed him to trust her. She needed an hour unshadowed by fear.
Futile to list what she needed. The stark reality struck that what she needed above all was survival.
What would survival cost?
“You cannot think I’m in league with your uncle,” she said in a broken voice.
“I cannot think otherwise. You and he shared a long, apparently fruitful conversation and he reeked of self-satisfaction
when I saw him step into his coach a few moments ago. Tell me—what’s the next scene in this farce?” He sounded as
though he didn’t care but a muscle jerked spasmodically in his lean cheek, eloquent witness to temper.
She felt as though she’d been shaking forever. She was too distraught to dissemble. “I am to cozen you into my bed.”
His haughty expression didn’t alter. “Surely that was your cause from the start. No need to exert yourself with this show
of desperation. Your terrified act duped me once before. The repeat performance isn’t nearly so effective. Perhaps eschew
the vulnerability and adopt a more seductive manner.”
Grace flinched. He sounded like he hated her. If he truly believed she connived with his uncle, who could blame him?
She met the marquess’s burning eyes, frantically searching for some goodwill, some trace of the man who had been
almost cordial less than an hour ago. “My lord, I’m in trouble.”
He smiled, a grim twist of his beautiful mouth. “You most certainly are, Mrs. Paget. Especially when my uncle realizes I
stand by my vow not to touch you.”
“You won’t help me.” The words emerged as a thread of sound. Something clenched inside her like a cold hard fist. She
felt lost in an endless desert.
His inimical gaze flicked across her as if she were eternally beneath his notice. The look was terrifyingly similar to the
one his uncle had cast upon her. Then a smile conveyed rejection and triumph in equal measure. “Help you, madam? How
may a poor madman help you when he cannot help himself?”
“You have to believe me when I say I don’t conspire with your uncle.”
His response bit at her like a whiplash. “On the contrary, my dear Mrs. Paget, I don’t have to believe anything you say.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” she insisted in helpless despair.
“Truth?” He gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “You
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