Hunter Of My Heart

Releasing her hands, Kenilworth put the bouquet on the bed, then shrugged out of his frock coat. He tossed it onto the floor. Belatedly she realized that he no longer trapped her, and slid a good foot away from him.

He untied his cravat and threw it on the sheets. “Keep going. You’re in the middle of the bed. I need a little more room than that.” He eyed the space between her and him.

Her pulse soared. “Milord, you’re exercising your rights?”

Sitting, he pulled off his boot and the mate followed. “You haven’t moved. I’m coming to bed.”

Angst mutated to anger and she punched his back. “Answer my questions! I’ve a right to know what to expect from you!”

Flinching, he looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “I could say the same of you.”

He padded to the fireplace and threw in kindling and peat. Flint grated and flames crackled to life, sending another sweet scent into the air. Moving from the lantern on his bureau to the one atop his secretary, he blew out the flames in each.

Sabrina captured a calming breath. She’d never lost control before, and this man possessed a powerful aura that sent her emotions careening. His lithe movements resembled a predatory animal stalking a fledgling.

He moved to the sconces. “Would you put out the candle on your side table? I’ll get the one on my stand.”

Glancing to her right, Sabrina grimaced as she moved. Her weight crushed the flowers. She put out the candle, but after laying down the snuffer, she curled her fingers around the silver candlestick. For one second she considered crowning him on the head. Suddenly she experienced a pang of guilt. He’d brought the flowers as a peace offering. Hadn’t he?

“Don’t even consider it.”

“I’m trying to curb my impulses.” Turning, she reached for the flowers beneath her. When she brought the destroyed bouquet to her nose, she drew a sharp breath. Red liquid covered her fingers.

“Did you enjoy our consummation?”

Slowly she realized what he had done. She should have been grateful. “You lout! Letting me believe you were going to do it.”

With an unreadable expression, he crawled into bed. “I might yet. Can’t say what will happen between now and morning.”

She whacked him with the bouquet. Petals flew like leaves in the wind. “You’re cruel! This wasn’t funny!”

He grabbed her wrist, held her gaze with stony green eyes. Their breath came short and hot, stirring the clove scent that hung between them. His clasp made her fingers go numb. The flowers dropped on his chest.

“Cruel? You want to know what that would be? I’d have ripped off your gown and not prepared you for anything.”

Warmth invaded her flesh followed by another surge of guilt. She didn’t fully understand his words, but his harsh tone said enough. He could do anything he wanted. He owned her. Resentment bubbled anew, and she had to force a conciliatory smile. “You’re right. Let’s talk about something else.”

Releasing her hand, he looked down on his flower-covered chest. Swipes of red and green stained his shirt. “About what?”

“Have you booked passage for our return to London?”

“I’ve arranged your aunt’s. My friend Gavin will escort her.”

“You have friends?” The second the words flowed, she wanted them back. She didn’t want to rile his temper again.

The muscles in his neck tightened. “Go to sleep.”

Slowly she gathered the flowers off his chest, taut as a board. “What about us? Why can’t we return to London with Marga? She’s the creative one. I’m the one who manages the business side.”

“You don’t own the shop anymore. I do.”

As his words slowly registered, anger burned her insides. By marriage law, her share of the shop now belonged to him. He was controlling her life. “What do you want with a dress shop?”

“The records. Someone swindled me out of six thousand pounds. I think I should know the source of the debt. Don’t you?” His eyes turned as hard as granite.

Deuced. He was a man who didn’t like to lose, and she’d blackmailed him. “I can’t change your mind about London?”

Taking the bouquet from her hand, he dropped it on his side table. “No, but unless you go to sleep, I might change my mind about consummating our vows.”

She dropped back. “Will the flowers work? Are we safe from my grandfather? Why did you do this?”

“I’m emulating Lord Byron.”

Chapter Six

A group of stevedores walked between Sabrina and Kenilworth. Chains and winches groaned as workers hauled sails and moved crates for shipment from Leith to their destinations. Welcoming the intrusion and din, Sabrina grasped Marga’s hands. “You’ve Kenilworth’s banknote?” she whispered.

Tears filled her aunt’s eyes, but she quickly brushed them away. “Oui. It is unfortunate your grandpapa insists on remaining here for Mr. MacDuff’s wedding. I dislike leaving you alone with the duke and monseigneur, but I have no choice. The twins need me more. Do you have qualms about our plan?”

She slid Kenilworth a surreptitious glance. “No. When you and I came to Scotland, we discussed the side trip. Your request will have merit. Go. Ask him now.” Sabrina urged Marga with a nudge.

Kenilworth was speaking to the blond man named Gavin, Marga’s escort. When his lordship had introduced them earlier, the captain had been coolly polite. She wouldn’t find a friend in him. Behind them, the schooner Priscilla bobbed in the water and that ship would take her aunt to London. Sabrina hoped they’d not encounter rough weather. She planned to write Geoffrey so he could make her the twins’ guardian, just in case Marga died at sea. She swallowed hard, unwilling to consider the dark thought. They must plan for accidents, too. With linked arms, she and Marga closed the ten paces between them and the men.

“Monseigneur. I have a favor to ask you before I leave.”

Kenilworth glanced down with unreadable eyes. “What is that, Madame Beaumont?”

“The delay in Scotland has prohibited me from going to Dunfermline. I had planned to purchase some linen there. Would you be kind enough to take Sabrina?”

“Today if possible. We’ve lacked a supply for over a month because of our—” Sabrina’s throat closed “—predicament.”

“Monseigneur, I must open my shop, and I haven’t the goods I need.”

His green eyes assessed her aunt’s face. “I don’t know if I should allow you to resume business. Did you forget the debt and records? My solicitor intends to look at them.”

Sabrina stepped in front of her aunt. “Look here, sir. My aunt was—is the most sought after couturiere in London. The shop makes money. Don’t you care about your investment?”

He surveyed her from head to toe. “I’m looking at it.”

With fists clenched, she forced a conciliatory smile. Yes, he owned her, too. “The events of the past week have been trying. Consider the request. ”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “All right, Madame Beaumont. I wouldn’t want your niece to think I’ve no mind for business. We’ll get your cloth.”

“Merci, monseigneur.” Her aunt had the grace and foresight to bow her head.

Sabrina let out a huge silent breath. “Thank you.” Showing appreciation couldn’t hurt, especially since she needed him to trust her just a little for her plan to work. “May we go today?” Suddenly she realized she sounded too anxious. “We’re already at the docks, and Dunfermline is just across the firth.”

He nodded curtly. “We’ve an errand in Edinburgh first.”