her warm body agitating against his. ‘Little fool,’ he uttered. ‘Little fool, stop that. Or I won’t be held responsible for my actions, do you understand?’
That quietened her. Her turquoise eyes flew up to his in shock and she went very still. Then she tossed back her glorious hair. ‘You need not think, Captain Stewart,’ she shot up at him, ‘that I’m afraid of you and men like you!’
‘Then you damn well ought to be,’ he said dispassionately. ‘Though to be fair, you dealt with Dr Barnard’s customers—myself included—most professionally last night.’
She gasped. ‘Last night was a mistake! If I’d known everything about you …’
‘Known what, exactly?’ he drawled.
‘Do you deny that you pack this—this hideous old ruin with impoverished ex-soldiers?’
Frowning, he let her go. But now his broad shoulders and back were planted solidly against the door and he made a formidable barrier indeed to any thought of escape. ‘My friends know the truth.’ His eyes blazed danger. ‘Write what you like, Mrs Rowland, and be damned to you.’
‘I will, if I choose! And I could also write about the way you expect young women to just melt at your feet! How you promise them—promise them …’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Promise them what, exactly?’
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. Oh, Lord. She should not have said that.
He was drawing nearer. ‘Promise them what, Mrs Rowland? I want to know.’ Now a truly wicked smile was curving his lips. ‘Money? Pleasure? Perhaps you’re more tempted than you care to admit by what you think our encounter last night promised?’
She gazed up at him, speechless. It was impossible. It was incredible. Yet—desire, raw and primitive, flooded her veins. Her breasts ached traitorously for his knowing touch. Her eyes were locked with his as she wildly sought inspiration that didn’t come. And he was drawing nearer, a wicked light in his gaze. ‘Playing coy, are you, Mrs Rowland? Who knows—if you promise to be … generous, I might consider letting you go, with no more questions asked.’
‘Generous?’ Her heart shrivelled. ‘Exactly what—?’
‘You were only too happy,’ he silkily prompt ed, ‘to allow me a sample of your wares last night. Now, what’s the price of your freedom, I wonder?’ He’d reached out, to touch her cheek. This woman, thought Alec grimly, was testing his self-control with her dangerous games. Desire was licking hungrily at his loins; his manhood was thickening, and though he had no desire to lower himself to her level of trickery, he most certainly wanted to teach her a lesson.
The realisation of what he was suggesting hit Rosalie like a hammer blow. The brush of his hand across her delicate cheek scorched her. ‘You wouldn’t. You can’t …’
‘I really cannot think of a more enjoyable way of bargaining,’ he said softly. ‘Can you?’
Her world spun. All she could feel were his hands, splayed across her back, his fingertips firm and warm through her clothing. All she could see, when she jerked her head up, was his hard face, lit with an emotion she could not name as he drew her relentlessly into his arms.
His dark eyes raked her. ‘I think the price of your freedom, Athena,’ he breathed, ‘should be—this.’ He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She meant to resist. She had no intention of letting him do this. But as he clasped her close, heat uncoiled from deep within and flooded her veins, awakening each and every pleasure point in her body. This time there was no gentleness whatsoever in his touch, but his mouth was wildly sensual as he took hard possession, parting her lips with ruthlessness. His tongue was thrusting, at the same time caressing; she felt her legs giving way, felt herself longing to surrender to more, much more, as he hauled her against him and she felt the lean length of his muscular body, felt the hard intrusion of his arousal pressing against her abdomen.
Her breasts were peaking painfully, demanding his touch; between her thighs was liquid longing. His kiss was slow, erotic and powerful, tasting faintly of brandy and the very essence of male domination. She’d thought she hated men and their ways. Yet she was powerless to resist this one.
Linette. Her sister’s name tore through her. With all her strength she thrust him away. ‘You are—you are vile to treat me in this way!’
He stepped back, his hard face bleached of every emotion. ‘I thought it was maybe what you wanted. You are, it strikes me, a deceptive and muddle-headed young woman, Mrs Rowland. This gossip sheet you write for—if anything at all should appear in it about Two Crows Castle, then I warn you, I’ll take strong action. Because there are people who depend on me and I won’t let them suffer for the sake of your cheap scandal-raking, do you understand?’
Just then there was a knock on the door, which opened to reveal Eyepatch. Rosalie found herself shuddering at the scornful look he cast her way. He said, ‘A word, Captain?’
Alec joined him in the doorway, bending his dark head to the other’s in a brief exchange. Eyepatch left and Alec Stewart came back in, slowly.
Alec had to admit that this woman—Rosalie—confounded him at every turn. What was she? Who was she? A whore at the Temple of Beauty, who knew rather a lot about art? A pretty little widow and a digger-up of scandals, who had no idea of the effect she had on men?
And now Garrett brought still more news about his treacherous captive. Alec folded his arms and gazed down at her. ‘Well, Mrs Rowland, investigative reporter amongst other things, it seems you’ve got certain obligations that you’ve neglected in order to come on your little jaunt this morning.’ He pointed to the open door. ‘You’d better be on your way.’
Obligations? What …? She glared up at him. ‘You mean I’m free to go?’
‘We made a bargain, remember?’ He shrugged. ‘That kiss was payment for your freedom. I’ve no desire to hold you captive.’
‘You already have!’ she flared. ‘I’ve been here against my will for at least an hour! I could press charges on you.’
‘That’s a novel idea.’ His dark eyes gleamed. ‘Though I would, of course, be forced to press charges in return. Of robbery, perhaps.’
‘I—impossible!’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Think about it, Mrs Rowland. It would be more than easy for me to say there are valuables missing from this place. After all …’ he looked at his pocket watch coolly ‘… you’ve been here for quite a while on your own.’
‘But I’ve been locked in a bare room!’
Again he shrugged those wide, powerful shoulders. ‘Your word against mine. And I could produce plenty of witnesses who’d remember you from the Temple of Beauty. Do you really think you’d be taken seriously at the magistrates’ court?’
She tilted her stubborn chin. ‘Would you be taken seriously, Captain Stewart?’
‘I’m a war hero,’ he responded tonelessly. ‘Though it means little in financial terms, my word would carry more weight than that of a courtesan who writes for a gossip
