simply cannot follow orders, can you?’ she whispered. ‘And how did you find me?’
She acted as if unaware she was standing in front of a man in her bedclothes. He wasn’t. Without the bonnet and the cloak, she seemed half the size she’d been before. Or maybe it wasn’t that she was smaller, just that being so close to her caused something inside his chest to feel stronger. His heart beat faster and not because he was scared.
He needed to concentrate on the task, not the woman.
He moved his nose closer to hers and muttered. ‘I merely asked people direction to the lady’s house who wears disgustingly big bonnets.’
‘My bonnet was of no particular size.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Now, leave or I will scream. You’ll be hanged.’
She tried to stare him down.
‘You may be right,’ he said softly, and grabbed the shirt from the floor. ‘But I am here and we are both leaving. A kidnapping in the daylight is too risky.’
He saw the mouth open and knew her next words would be raised.
He covered her mouth with his hand. A sharp intake of breath and she stumbled back, sitting on the bed.
‘Don’t draw attention to us yet,’ he rasped in her ear. ‘Or I’ll have to return these clothes to the dead man they were taken from.’ He slowly took his hand away.
‘Vile,’ she muttered and slung the shirt at his shoulders, keeping one sleeve in her hand.
He reached to pull it from her, but she scooted back on the bed.
‘You’re going to wear the shirt,’ he said. She tried to wrestle it from his hands.
He moved to hover over her and tried to secure her hands to keep her from slapping his face again with the shirt.
Both her wrists were locked in his hands.
‘Do you wish to be kidnapped?’ He put his nose nearly against hers and kept his words low. He released her hands and moved back, sitting beside her.
She glared. ‘I’m considering it.’
‘I’ll leave if you wish me to. I’m sick of this house and I’m sick of you.’ He released the shirt. ‘Your choice. It’s now, or someone else. If I leave tonight without you, I want a promise you will never, ever seek me out again.’
‘I’ll go.’ She held the wadded shirt. ‘But you’d best hurry. I do not want to be with you another minute more than I have to be.’
She moved, raising an arm to put it in the sleeve of the garment. And her elbow connected with his shirt and bumped the gun he had hidden in his waistband. She paused, uncertain. ‘Do you have a weapon?’
‘It seemed prudent.’
‘Well, I have a knife. I’ll show you.’
‘A knife?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘You think—Why do you have a knife?’
She leaned even closer, bringing the scent of a woman’s soft bedclothes closer to him. ‘Because I couldn’t get a gun without raising suspicion.’
He stopped. Either she had lost her mind, or she was afraid.
‘You don’t think Fillmore would come in your room?’
‘I’ve woken when the doorknob rattled.’ She moved closer, whispering, ‘But I sneaked into my stepfather’s study and took the key when he was asleep. He doesn’t know I have it.’
‘We’ll go. Just keep your silence.’
‘I want to be married, just not to Fillmore. Anyone but that beast.’ She reached up with her left hand and put a palm to his chest. His breath was knocked from him. His entire body warmed. He moved her hand away, but his fingers tightened on her wrist. Neither moved.
He needed out of this mess. He would go out the door and get on his horse and ride far enough away she could never find him and he’d never see her again. But his feet wouldn’t move.
Brandt leaned so close to her face he could feel her breath touching his cheek and he mouthed an oath when he felt his body respond. She’d trapped him.
She moved so close he couldn’t breathe and her arm brushed him as she tried to reach under the mattress. ‘I’ve tucked it here. The knife. I’ll show you.’
He leaned back when she held the blade between them.
His mind registered the knife she had in her hand, but his body registered the woman standing so close without layers of fabric between them, only the softness of the clothes she wore next to her body. He pried the blade from her fingers and stood away from the bed—taking two steps backwards so she couldn’t touch him.
He dragged in air through his nostrils. The woman, no sturdier than a stair rail, slept with a knife for her protection. She solicited a governess and a stranger to get her away from the house she lived in. She was either spoiled beyond repair—or afraid.
She righted herself on the bed, and stepped on to the rug beside him, the skirt of her nightrail tumbling to her calves. In one second, he was in a different world, thinking of things he couldn’t blame himself for.
She put her hand on his. Fingers over his knuckles clasping the weapon. Warmth on the outside of his hand, the coldness on the inside.
‘That is my knife,’ she said, ‘and I would like it back. I cannot trust you to follow simple directions and I may need it.’
He flipped the knife into the wall across the room. The blade vibrated and so did his body.
Katherine moved closer and Brandt took a step back. ‘Don’t toss the weapon away. It’s all I have to protect myself.’
‘Not any more.’
‘I cannot tolerate you in any way, yet you don’t make me wish to cast up my accounts as Fillmore does.’ Her words were quiet, but forceful. ‘Do you understand how despicable that makes him?’
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