snatched the basin from its nest. With a cry of frustration, she lifted her arm to fling it in his direction, but he was already gone, the door clicking shut. The sound of his chuckle mingled with his fading tread.
The reprobate was clever, damn him.
Well, she would show him. She would show him just how clever she could be … just how clever a woman with nothing to lose could be.
Chapter 10
A sh stomped down the steps after cornering a maid in the corridor and offering her a generous amount of coin to guard the door.
Relieved of that concern, he descended to the main floor, where he spotted his driver and groom at a table, huddled over bowls of steaming stew. With a quick nod to them, he headed out into the night, indifferent to the biting cold. He’d talk with the men later and make certain they knew to be ready at first light.
He didn’t think Jack would come after them. He’d have to know Ash even took his daughter for that to happen, and he doubted he did. According to Marguerite, she wasn’t participating in her father’s little marriage auction. She had, in fact, been leaving the house when he absconded with her. So that she might ready herself for her voyage.
The reminder whispered across his head, sliding down his throat in a bitter swallow, and he knew why. It had nothing to do with her trip to Spain, specifically, but it had everything to do with the fact that she had a lover.
His hands balled into fists, the knuckles painfully tight and aching at the thought of her locked in another man’s embrace … at home in another man’s bed. Absurd. He barely knew her, but possessiveness toward her curled low in his gut as he imagined her with this lover. Some man who probably paced the floors for her now. Ash lifted one shoulder against the cutting wind. Too bad. He felt no remorse for the faceless figure. If this man had wanted to keep her, if he had wanted to make certain no man snatched her away, he should have married her himself. Now she belonged to Ash, or soon would.
He walked directly into the wind’s teeth, glad for the cold slash against his skin. It brought him back to earth. To reality, chilling the warm lust that ran through his veins. Inconvenient, that. Lust addled one’s head, and he needed his thoughts clear and composed when it came to dealing with Marguerite.
She was a clever little witch. Hot-tempered, too. A dangerous combination. He could see the wheels turning behind those whiskey eyes and knew that she would escape if he gave her the chance. He couldn’t let that happen.
He slid a glance to the inn, to the second floor, and then looked away, as if he indulged in weakness by looking back.
The girl in that second-floor room was nothing like he had expected. He had assumed from what Mary told him that Jack’s daughters were all in the market for a husband. But this one—the spitfire with fiery eyes and night-black hair—was hardly the agreeable female he’d imagined. Just his luck that he’d grabbed the one daughter who didn’t wish to be married off.
He should take her back as she suggested and trade her in for one of her more willing sisters. A malleable female who knew a good arrangement when presented with it.
He stopped abruptly and swung around to glare at the inn, specifically the dimly glowing window on the second floor where he knew her to be.
The only problem with that plan was that she had gotten beneath his skin. And not tonight. It was that day in St. Giles. From the beginning, from that first encounter, she’d lingered in his head, with her hot accusations and eyes that burned. And now he had her.
He need only convince her that marrying him was to her benefit and not just his. Once her temper cooled, she’d start to see the logic, the wisdom behind their union.
If he believed in things like fate, he would say their paths had been destined to intersect again. He wouldn’t throw her back like some puny fish. He had her. And he wasn’t letting go.
The
The reprobate was clever, damn him.
Well, she would show him. She would show him just how clever she could be … just how clever a woman with nothing to lose could be.
Chapter 10
A sh stomped down the steps after cornering a maid in the corridor and offering her a generous amount of coin to guard the door.
Relieved of that concern, he descended to the main floor, where he spotted his driver and groom at a table, huddled over bowls of steaming stew. With a quick nod to them, he headed out into the night, indifferent to the biting cold. He’d talk with the men later and make certain they knew to be ready at first light.
He didn’t think Jack would come after them. He’d have to know Ash even took his daughter for that to happen, and he doubted he did. According to Marguerite, she wasn’t participating in her father’s little marriage auction. She had, in fact, been leaving the house when he absconded with her. So that she might ready herself for her voyage.
The reminder whispered across his head, sliding down his throat in a bitter swallow, and he knew why. It had nothing to do with her trip to Spain, specifically, but it had everything to do with the fact that she had a lover.
His hands balled into fists, the knuckles painfully tight and aching at the thought of her locked in another man’s embrace … at home in another man’s bed. Absurd. He barely knew her, but possessiveness toward her curled low in his gut as he imagined her with this lover. Some man who probably paced the floors for her now. Ash lifted one shoulder against the cutting wind. Too bad. He felt no remorse for the faceless figure. If this man had wanted to keep her, if he had wanted to make certain no man snatched her away, he should have married her himself. Now she belonged to Ash, or soon would.
He walked directly into the wind’s teeth, glad for the cold slash against his skin. It brought him back to earth. To reality, chilling the warm lust that ran through his veins. Inconvenient, that. Lust addled one’s head, and he needed his thoughts clear and composed when it came to dealing with Marguerite.
She was a clever little witch. Hot-tempered, too. A dangerous combination. He could see the wheels turning behind those whiskey eyes and knew that she would escape if he gave her the chance. He couldn’t let that happen.
He slid a glance to the inn, to the second floor, and then looked away, as if he indulged in weakness by looking back.
The girl in that second-floor room was nothing like he had expected. He had assumed from what Mary told him that Jack’s daughters were all in the market for a husband. But this one—the spitfire with fiery eyes and night-black hair—was hardly the agreeable female he’d imagined. Just his luck that he’d grabbed the one daughter who didn’t wish to be married off.
He should take her back as she suggested and trade her in for one of her more willing sisters. A malleable female who knew a good arrangement when presented with it.
He stopped abruptly and swung around to glare at the inn, specifically the dimly glowing window on the second floor where he knew her to be.
The only problem with that plan was that she had gotten beneath his skin. And not tonight. It was that day in St. Giles. From the beginning, from that first encounter, she’d lingered in his head, with her hot accusations and eyes that burned. And now he had her.
He need only convince her that marrying him was to her benefit and not just his. Once her temper cooled, she’d start to see the logic, the wisdom behind their union.
If he believed in things like fate, he would say their paths had been destined to intersect again. He wouldn’t throw her back like some puny fish. He had her. And he wasn’t letting go.
The
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