Page 25 of Taken by the Rake (The Scarlet Chronicle 3)

She glared at him and turned back to the bedpost. She was still cuffed to it, but he did notice she’d drank the wine he left.

“Good news,” he said. “I found wood and food. It’s not Versailles, but we shall be comfortable enough tonight.”

“I was comfortable at the safe house.”

“How you do like to return to that theme.”

He laid the coal in a brazier, then found a tinderbox and lit a candle. Now, how was he to light the coal? He held the candle to the coal, but the cold lump only extinguished the small flame.

With effort, Laurent lit the candle again. Perhaps if he laid the candle under the coal?

“Heaven help me,” she muttered behind him. “Unlock me and I will light it.”

He looked back at her. “You know how?”

“Everyoneknows how. I might feel sorry for you, the helpless nobleman, if I didn’t want to kill you.”

“Just remember that I brought you”—he lifted the vegetables and peered at them—“these. Surely, my efforts must be worth something.”

She rattled the cuff. “Release me before we freeze.”

“Right.” He set the artichokes back in the basket and looked about the room for the key to the fetters. Where had he laid it? He patted his pockets then returned to search the wardrobe. He’d put it where she couldn’t reach it, hadn’t he? When he couldn’t find the key immediately, he went back to the candle he’d left on the mantel and held the flame aloft.

“Do not tell me you cannot find the key to these.”

“It must be here somewhere.” But even he could hear the doubt in his voice.

He moved shirts and cravats, but no key. “Perhaps if I look in the morning, I will find it. I can’t see anything.”

The wineglass crashed just to the left of his head, smashing into the wardrobe door. “You might have hit me!”

“I wastryingto hit you.” She yanked her wrist, using her weight to attempt to break the bedpost. Laurent stared at her, momentarily struck dumb. Never had anyone—man or woman—spoken to him like this or dared throw objects at him. He was equally angered and intrigued. Finally, he noticed the way she pulled on the bed.

“I’ll have you know that bed was crafted in Italy. You are scratching the wood.”

“I don’t care. I’ll destroy it and use it for kindling.”

Laurent raised a brow at her show of temper. Strangely enough, he rather liked it. The women at Versailles were masters of masking their feelings and emotions. No smile was genuine, no fit of pique authentic. But this woman was truly enraged, and in that moment, Laurent had the strangest desire to kiss her.

Not that he would move within arm’s reach. He did want to live another day.

“If you would calm yourself, mademoiselle, I might have another solution.”

She ceased attempting to break the bedpost off with her bare hands and turned her dark violet eyes on him. “You might notice the top of the post is tapered.”

She looked up and then back at him. Laurent rather liked having those extraordinarily beautiful eyes focused on him.

“I noticed that much before, but even if I could climb on the bed, I would not be tall enough to lift the fetter from the post.”

“Fortunately, I am rather tall, and if I assist you, together we shall accomplish it.” He set the candle on the nightstand and moved toward her, reaching for her waist. She jumped out of his reach, pressing herself against the bed.

Laurent raised a brow. He was unused to women rejecting his touch.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

He smiled, somewhat amused at her skittishness. “I planned to lift you so you might free yourself.”

“I would prefer you do not touch me.”

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