Page 8 of A Duke to Steal Her
Something in her tone, a genuine vulnerability rather than calculated manipulation, caught Ambrose off guard. His smile faltered momentarily.
“You will, in time, my lady. I promise.” He meant those words and delivered them tenderly, which was unintentional. “But for now, you are safe with me.”
The sincerity in his voice seemed to startle her as much as it did him.
Their gazes locked for a moment too long. They were on different sides, yet something else impossible flickered between them.
Before she could respond, he reached for his coat, throwing it over his bare shoulders.
“I’ll arrange for our meal and return shortly. Please make yourself comfortable.”
He retrieved the key, unlocked the door, and stepped into the hallway, careful to lock it again behind him.
Once he was alone, he allowed himself a deep, steadying breath.
This affair was not proceeding according to plan at all.
Chapter Three
“The meal is passable at best,” her captor remarked, pushing his empty plate aside and leaning back to look at Lady Emily.
She felt it best to ignore him, deliberately pushing a piece of chicken around her plate with her fork. Her stomach remained knotted with defiance, though she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at Wicklow.
He watched her with calculating amusement, one long finger tracing the rim of his wineglass. “You should eat, my lady. You’ll need your strength to insult me properly tomorrow.”
“I assure you, sir, hunger won’t diminish my ability to find fault with you.” She set down her fork with deliberate precision. “Your character provides such abundant material.”
“Quam ridiculum,”she added under her breath—Latin for “how ridiculous.”
“Charming. I can tell already our time together will be most entertaining.” He did not attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice as he rose from the table and moved toward the bed.
Emily’s pulse quickened as he shrugged off his coat and bent to remove his shoes. The nighttime reality of their situation crystallized with sickening clarity.
One bed. One room. No chaperone.
Emily turned away, but only to face his reflection in the darkened window. She was unable to fully take her eyes off the broad expanse of his bare torso. She stood frozen, her eyes betraying her as she watched him casually claim one side of the bed, sprawling across it with entitled confidence. He leaned back against the pillows with one arm folded behind his head.
“Do you intend to stand there all night?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual.
She spun to face him. “I refuse to share a bed with you.”
“The floor is yours if you prefer it.” He gestured magnanimously. “Though I wouldn’t recommend it. These places tend to harbor rats.”
Emily’s mind raced through possibilities: if she were lucky, he could be a heavy sleeper. Perhaps if she waited until he slept, she could search for the key.
“I’ll take the chair,” she said, lifting her chin.
“No. You will take the bed,” he countered firmly. “As will I. It’s large enough for both of us, provided you control your obvious desire to strangle me in my sleep.”
Suddenly, the man straightened. Moonlight from the window illuminated his bare chest, highlighting the defined muscles of a man who clearly hadn’t spent his life in idle pursuits.
With deliberate slowness, he reached into his pocket, extracted the key, and slid it inside the front of his trousers, near his masculine parts.
“Should you get any ideas,” he said, voice dangerously soft, lips curving into a knowing smile.
Te damnare. Damn you.
Heat rushed to Emily’s face. He’d read her intentions as easily as if she’d announced them. He was already anticipating her every move like a chess master toying with a novice.
