was standing as still as a statue at the window, holding the curtains apart to watch her, looking dark and severe in the shadows. His manner of dress told her he had not been invited to the ball. He wore a tightly cut coat of black cloth and a white cravat. His narrow hips and muscular thighs were encased in black breeches and his gleaming black boots came to his knees. His long hair was tied back in a somewhat unruly style which, she suspected, was the result of carelessness rather than deliberate design. It was a dark shade of brown and in its depths were several strands of glittering grey.
He took a menacing step forward, edging into view with a cynical twist to his lips, allowing the shifting light of the lamps to illuminate his features. The eyes seemed to bore through her, and the gaze was so bold and forward that Alice’s eyes slowly widened and for a brief moment she held her breath, frozen by his steely gaze.
‘You!’ she uttered, struggling against that aching, mesmerising stare. It was him! The man in the park! She had not seen his face properly, but it was him. When he spoke, she was certain.
The intruder saw the wary look of a trapped but defiant young cat enter her transparent eyes, eyes of the deepest blue. ‘Please do not be alarmed. Forgive my intrusion.’
‘I do not, sir! If you lay one finger on my person, I swear I will scream.’ With a cry of indignation and in fearful panic she sprang off the bed and made for the door.
‘For God’s sake, I am not going to hurt you,’ he ground out, and as quick as a panther he moved after her. With no other thought than to stop her raising the alarm prematurely, he grasped her shift from behind and pulled her back, ripping the soft fabric.
Before Alice knew what was happening her foot became tangled in the loose folds of material about her legs. Her arms floundered wildly before she fell to the floor, dragging her assailant with her. She gasped with pain and tears of helpless fury filled her eyes. Her thick hair was trapped beneath the man’s arm and she was unable to move her head. With this small measure of discomfort, something exploded inside her. Suddenly she ceased to care how much he hurt her, but she would not let him do the vile things to her that Philippe had done. His entire being was of finely tempered steel as he leaned over her, his head so close to her own that his warm breath fanned her face.
Fear pricked her consciousness that he would demean her and abuse her, and the surety that he would was beginning to loom monstrously large in her mind. Her mind tumbled over in a frenzy. Please God, don’t let it all be about to happen again. Had she not suffered enough at Philippe’s hands, when he had commanded and she had obeyed, when she had submitted to his pawing? She had wondered what evil she had done that he should abuse her most cruelly, while he pleasured himself at his leisure, telling her that soon she would come to enjoy what he did to her—but for the present she must learn to accept her lot.
Her already depleted strength would little deter this intruder’s assault. But it was best not to dwell on the degradations that would precede the final one and Alice fought the despair that threatened to reduce her to a whimpering wretch.
A new strength surged into her. Like a baited wildcat that turns on its tormentors, she jerked her hair free and hit out at him. Managing to wriggle out from underneath him, in desperation she sank her teeth into his hand. With a string of oaths the man sprang to his feet.
‘You little hellcat!’ he bit out, taking her arm and hoisting her to her feet. ‘Be still, damn you! I’m not going to hurt you.’
She struggled, but he held her easily, letting her wear herself out until she was still. Resolutely she detached her mind from what was happening, the grip of his hand, and thought with savage concentration of how she would punish him when she escaped to tell the constables how she had been treated.
With her breath coming rapidly from between her parted lips, she glared into the cold silver-grey eyes. There was no denying that this man was handsome, physically magnificent. Before Philippe had spoiled her for all men, she might have even dreamed of such a man. But never in those innocent dreams of romance did she imagine that her love would fly to her on the wings of violence.
‘Take your vile hands off my person,’ she hissed. ‘I will scream, so help me I will. I don’t know who you are, but I hate you! I loathe you! I despise you. I don’t want you to touch me.’
‘I promise you that nothing was further from my mind until you threatened to scream the house down,’ he replied coldly.
Ewen Tremain’s manner was almost calm as he looked at her. A more observant woman than Alice might have noticed the distinct hardening of his lean features, the tightening of his jaw, the coldness of his gaze—and taken warning.
‘Draw your claws in, lady.’
Alice shrank from him and a shudder of revulsion passed through her as his gaze went deliberately down her body, boldly, rudely evaluating every angle of her scantily covered assets.
‘Despite what you think I am not here to ravish you. As lovely as you are, you’re very tempting, but I have neither the time nor the inclination for such dalliance. I wish you no harm, believe me,’ he said. ‘If I release you, do you promise to be still?’
Alice saw no passion, no desire in his eyes, only his dark brows gathered together and the silver-grey eyes smouldering in well-kindled rage. After a moment of indecision, she nodded.
He looked at her hard for a moment before releasing her arm. Immediately Alice snatched her robe draped over a chair. Wrapping it around her as if it were a suit of armour, feeling less exposed, she lifted her chin and faced the intruder. She flung her long hair back from her face, sending it spilling down her back.
‘You’ve got some explaining to do—prowling about my room at this hour.’
His face was in shadow, but his silver-grey eyes gave his angular face with its high-planed cheekbones a harsh expression. She glared into his eyes. They were as cold as ice behind the black fringe of lashes. Slowly his gaze descended, sweeping boldly down the length of her, bringing a blush to her cheeks as his appraising eye paused momentarily upon her heaving bosom. When he looked into her face again, one corner of his lips quirked in obvious approval.
‘Who are you?’ the stranger asked.
‘Is that relevant?’
The man’s interest quickened. Her expression was wary. Most females were nervous in his presence, but there was a watchfulness in this woman’s eyes that suggested something more guarded.
‘Don’t be obstructive. I like to know who I’m speaking to.’
‘You were not invited into my bedchamber so I do not feel obliged to give you my name. Who are you?’
‘Ewen Tremain,’ he replied with an arrogantly raised brow.
The name struck Alice like a heavy blow. Why, it was Roberta’s betrothed come to terrifying, throbbing life. Dear Lord! What was he doing here? The band of light slanted across his hard, chiselled face. His eyes were pale and fierce, like a predator. Frightening, powerful and fatally attractive, he looked like a warrior about to go into battle.
The room dimmed as dizziness seized her. She almost sank down on to the bed, but then braced herself. She would show him no weakness and despite her state of undress she refused to be intimidated by him. She swept him with a look of haughty disdain. ‘So, the erstwhile
