happened around him. Were all madmen so attuned to their
surroundings?
She wouldn’t have thought so.
A sudden memory pierced her of his intense concentration on the spindly rose bush that morning. His hands had been so
deft, their very sureness breathtakingly beautiful. Her wayward heart dipped into an unsteady dance at the thought of
those hands on her skin.
Grace, stop it! You’re in enough trouble as it is.
Heavens, she must regain self-control and quickly. The last thing she needed was an infatuation with her fellow captive.
She hadn’t thought about a man touching her for pleasure in years. Certainly not since her marriage and the collapse of
her girlish fantasies.
She stepped up to stand beside him. The window faced the darkening woods. The day had been clear. Now the first stars
shone in the cloudless sky. It could have been a landscape by Claude, if one didn’t know an unscaleable wall circled the
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
trees or two homicidal devils guarded the gate to this perilous Eden.
The silence allowed her to say something she was guiltily aware she should have said earlier. “Thank you, my lord. If you
hadn’t come…”
“Don’t think about it.” He focused those uncanny eyes on her. Except that after a day and a half, she noticed their
strangeness less and their beauty more.
“I can’t help it.” She’d been frightened and wretched for so long, even before her abduction. But nothing matched the
horror that had gripped her when Monks stared into her face and promised rape and death. Compared to that, the mad
marquess was a bastion of security. The clinging ghost of today’s panic made her speak more freely than usual. “You were
magnificent.”
A bleak smile tilted his generous mouth. “Hardly.”
He swung away from the window. He clearly couldn’t bear standing so close to her. Perhaps her gaudy clothing disgusted
him. She hitched at her amber silk gown’s neckline but it remained as provocative as when she’d put it on upstairs. A
clashing pink sash cinched it around her waist but she hadn’t been able to fix the loose bodice.
She’d turned the bedroom upside down seeking her widow’s weeds. No black bombazine, but she’d found plenty of
gowns to make a cyprian blush. She lacked nothing a whore required for her trade. Slippers dyed to match the tasteless
dresses. Drawers full of filmy underwear such as she’d never seen, even in her days at Marlow Hall. A coffer overflowing
with cheap jewelry. Boxes of cosmetics.
She’d also found a chest of the marquess’s clothes.
There was something unbearably intimate, almost marital, in having his personal belongings under her hand. As if he
could pop in at any time to select tonight’s shirt or neckcloth. She’d quickly slammed the lid down on the neatly folded
attire. The idea of him making free of her bedroom wasn’t quite so easy to shut away.
After a long search, this tent of a dress was the best she’d come up with. It threatened to slide off into a slippery pile,
leaving her clad in only her shift. She could just imagine how the marquess would turn his well-bred nose up at that.
Why should she care for his approval? They were strangers flung together in an impossible situation. Whether he liked
her was irrelevant. Already she spent too much time thinking of him in ways she shouldn’t.
Running the farm, she’d dealt with men from dawn to dusk. Workmen, farmers, tradesmen, merchants. She was used to
men. Why was she in such a flutter over this particular one?
She took a deep breath, smoothed her voluminous skirts and turned to find him pouring two glasses of wine. Still keeping
his distance, he extended one toward her. “Do you want to tell me again how you came here? I dismissed your earlier
explanations as lies cooked up with my uncle’s conniving.”
She stared into his face,
surroundings?
She wouldn’t have thought so.
A sudden memory pierced her of his intense concentration on the spindly rose bush that morning. His hands had been so
deft, their very sureness breathtakingly beautiful. Her wayward heart dipped into an unsteady dance at the thought of
those hands on her skin.
Grace, stop it! You’re in enough trouble as it is.
Heavens, she must regain self-control and quickly. The last thing she needed was an infatuation with her fellow captive.
She hadn’t thought about a man touching her for pleasure in years. Certainly not since her marriage and the collapse of
her girlish fantasies.
She stepped up to stand beside him. The window faced the darkening woods. The day had been clear. Now the first stars
shone in the cloudless sky. It could have been a landscape by Claude, if one didn’t know an unscaleable wall circled the
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
trees or two homicidal devils guarded the gate to this perilous Eden.
The silence allowed her to say something she was guiltily aware she should have said earlier. “Thank you, my lord. If you
hadn’t come…”
“Don’t think about it.” He focused those uncanny eyes on her. Except that after a day and a half, she noticed their
strangeness less and their beauty more.
“I can’t help it.” She’d been frightened and wretched for so long, even before her abduction. But nothing matched the
horror that had gripped her when Monks stared into her face and promised rape and death. Compared to that, the mad
marquess was a bastion of security. The clinging ghost of today’s panic made her speak more freely than usual. “You were
magnificent.”
A bleak smile tilted his generous mouth. “Hardly.”
He swung away from the window. He clearly couldn’t bear standing so close to her. Perhaps her gaudy clothing disgusted
him. She hitched at her amber silk gown’s neckline but it remained as provocative as when she’d put it on upstairs. A
clashing pink sash cinched it around her waist but she hadn’t been able to fix the loose bodice.
She’d turned the bedroom upside down seeking her widow’s weeds. No black bombazine, but she’d found plenty of
gowns to make a cyprian blush. She lacked nothing a whore required for her trade. Slippers dyed to match the tasteless
dresses. Drawers full of filmy underwear such as she’d never seen, even in her days at Marlow Hall. A coffer overflowing
with cheap jewelry. Boxes of cosmetics.
She’d also found a chest of the marquess’s clothes.
There was something unbearably intimate, almost marital, in having his personal belongings under her hand. As if he
could pop in at any time to select tonight’s shirt or neckcloth. She’d quickly slammed the lid down on the neatly folded
attire. The idea of him making free of her bedroom wasn’t quite so easy to shut away.
After a long search, this tent of a dress was the best she’d come up with. It threatened to slide off into a slippery pile,
leaving her clad in only her shift. She could just imagine how the marquess would turn his well-bred nose up at that.
Why should she care for his approval? They were strangers flung together in an impossible situation. Whether he liked
her was irrelevant. Already she spent too much time thinking of him in ways she shouldn’t.
Running the farm, she’d dealt with men from dawn to dusk. Workmen, farmers, tradesmen, merchants. She was used to
men. Why was she in such a flutter over this particular one?
She took a deep breath, smoothed her voluminous skirts and turned to find him pouring two glasses of wine. Still keeping
his distance, he extended one toward her. “Do you want to tell me again how you came here? I dismissed your earlier
explanations as lies cooked up with my uncle’s conniving.”
She stared into his face,
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