an even shorter-lived ruler of Montvelatte than his half-brother.
Once again, he made that nod of assent, almost a bow. ‘If that is what you wish.’
She hesitated. Could she trust him? Dared she? But then did she have a choice? ‘Then I will stay. Just for tonight. But I will dine in my room.’
His eyes glinted with something unfathomable. ‘But of course,’ he agreed. ‘Now, let me find someone who can show you to your room. I imagine you’d appreciate the chance to freshen up.’
If she needed reminding of the state she must look, she didn’t want to hear it. But she followed him across the room, already looking forward to having some breathing space to herself, a room where the air wasn’t tainted by the very essence of him on every breath.
It’s just one night, she told herself. Just one night. Tomorrow he would have to let her go. Tomorrow she would be free.
He reached the door and twisted the handle, pulling it open. ‘After you.’
She froze. The door had been unlocked the whole time, the guards she’d seen earlier gone. She’d been just scant feet from the door when she’d decided she’d rather play it cool than be humiliated again. And yet she could have turned the handle and made her escape while he was still a room away. Could she have got away, past the palace guards and the staff? Was there a chance she could have made it to the port in time? She would have managed the fare somehow—offered her watch for collateral—she would have borrowed or begged some form of transport to get herself off the island.
But she hadn’t even attempted to leave the room.
And somehow that was the greatest disappointment of all.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE bath was hot and deep, the foaming bath gel forming a mountain of scented bubbles that comforted her body and soothed her fragile soul. Sienna sighed as she slid down into the slippery water, letting her hair fan out around her like a mantilla and gasping as she came back up again, feeling the weight of water streaming from her hair. Heaven. For a centuries-old palace, the plumbing was definitely state of the art and a major improvement on the cantankerous contraption her landlady labelled a shower and which justified her charging fifty percent over the odds for one shoebox of an apartment in the Thirteenth Arrondissement.
The best part of an hour later, feeling more relaxed than she had all day, she rinsed off the last of the bubbles and wrapped herself in the large plush towels provided. Marble, gold and mirrors, she thought, taking in her surroundings. What was it about that combination that turned a mere bathroom into a destination? Yet beyond the door awaited another, even grander destination, with a massive four-poster bed hung with curtains of lace and fine silks. She couldn’t wait to bury herself deep under the comforter. She hadn’t wanted to be here, but now that she was, there was no way she wasn’t going to enjoy this unfamiliar taste of luxury.
Her stomach rumbled and she gave silent thanks for the healthy sign. Whatever illness or nerves had plagued her earlier today, at least now she could contemplate the notion of food without feeling like she wanted to throw up.
There was a faint knock from outside and Sienna opened the bathroom door a crack to hear a woman’s voice advising in rusty English that her meal was ready. ‘Thank you,’ she called, ‘I’ll be right out.’
She towel-dried her hair until it settled into shaggy ringlets around her face and then rinsed out her underwear in the sink, hanging them over the towel rail. In this warm climate they would dry in no time.
Finally she unwrapped herself from the bath sheet and slipped on the silk robe she’d found hanging behind the door. She’d loved it from the moment she’d seen it hanging there, the jade green silk shot with gold thread, the vibrant shade changing subtly as the fabric moved under the light.
It felt every bit as good as it looked, the material gliding over her shoulders like a silken kiss, teasing her nipples into awareness with every soft shift of the fabric, reminding her all too well of Rafe and his magic touch …
Rafe.
He’d told her he wanted her again.
She sucked in a much needed burst of air. In the panic of not being able to get off the island, in her anger at being manipulated, she had let those words and her body’s reaction to those words slide away. But she hadn’t lost them at all. Instead the words had filtered down to a place deep inside her and taken root, sprouting questions like weeds.
He didn’t really want her. He couldn’t, she reasoned, answering one of those questions herself. Rafe was used to taking what he wanted and she was merely convenient. Available. A man like him would have no hesitation in assuming that after the first night they’d shared, she’d be willing to fall into his bed in a heartbeat.
Ready to discard in yet another.
He was merely toying with her, continuing that cat-and-mouse game he played so well, the predator enjoying the hunt.
He’d kept her here, prevented her from leaving, merely to continue the chase, because he damn well knew the longer he did, the more likely it would be that she would once again fall into his bed.
Sienna pulled the robe tighter around her, giving the tie at her waist a savage tug. She would not think about Rafe. At least, not that way. That other night was over. It was history. Rafe was nothing to her now but a mere inconvenience, and tomorrow she would be rid of even that.
She’d begun separating her hair into sections, preparing to braid it while still damp to control its natural curl, when the scent of food, fragrant and beguiling found its way into the bathroom. Her stomach rumbled again and she paused. It had been hours since she’d had a decent meal. Her hair could wait ten minutes; it wasn’t as if she had other plans for the evening.
So she abandoned the braid, working her fingers through her still damp curls with one hand as she pulled open the bathroom door with the other.
‘You look good enough to eat.’
She stopped dead, a frisson of fear shimmying its way down her spine, a sudden rush of heat pooling in that naked place between her thighs. She abandoned her hair and clutched the robe tighter around her, crossing her arms over her chest for good measure. ‘What are you doing here?’
Rafe smiled at her as he transported dishes from a trolley onto a small table set by a window overlooking cliff-top and sea. A table covered in a lace tablecloth, complete with a floral centrepiece, a candle already lit amongst the flowers even though the evening was still young outside.
A table set for two.
‘The chef has prepared his signature dishes for tonight’s meal. I told him I would let him know personally what you thought.’
‘I said, what are you doing here?’
He looked up at her ingenuously. ‘Having dinner with you.’
‘Even after I told you that I wouldn’t dine with you.’
‘No.’ This time he stopped what he was doing and stood up straight, his eyes raking over her in such a way that she wondered if he could see right through the fabric to the truth of her state of undress beneath. ‘What you actually said was that you would not
