“Miss Blair, if you associated that man’s story with my family, you must know the rumor about my father, and how he is said to have used his influence to have my mother’s lover posted to the Cape Colony. A place where that lover died of fever.”
She swallowed hard. “I may have heard something to that effect once.”
“If you did, many did. Neither Langton nor you had any difficulty adding up the references and drawing a conclusion. If you publish that section, the insinuation will stand that my father paid another officer to kill my mother’s lover. The lack of names in your father’s memoirs will not spare my father’s reputation, and he cannot defend himself from the grave.”
“I am not convinced—”
“Damn it, that is exactly what will happen and you know it. I demand that you remove that portion of the memoirs.”
“Lord Elliot, I am sympathetic to your distress. Truly, I am. However, my father charged me with seeing his memoirs published and it is my duty to do so. I have thought long and hard about this. If I remove every sentence that might be construed as dangerous or unflattering to this person or that, there will be little left.”
He strode to her and looked down hard. “You will not publish this lie.”
His determination was palpable. He did not require expressions of anger or verbal threats to emphasize the power he would use against her. It was just there, surrounding her, tinged by the sexual awareness that had never left this chamber, creating a mood that held all the edges of that dark instinct.
“If it is a lie, I will consider omitting it,” she said. “If you can obtain proof that man died of fever, or if my parents’ guest recants, in this one case I will do it. For Alexia, however, not for you or Easterbrook.”
That checked him. “For Alexia? How convenient for you. Now you can retreat without giving me a victory.”
He understood her rather too well. She did not care for the evidence of that.
He looked down much more kindly. Their closeness, born of his fury, became inappropriate suddenly. As his anger ebbed that other tension flowed again.
He did not retreat the way he should. The way her raised eyebrows demanded. Instead he lifted a strand of her red hair and looked at it while he gently wove it between his fingers.
“Did your father include the name of either of these men, Miss Blair? The young diplomat at the dinner party or the officer who was suspected?”
He was not touching her as such, but his toying with her hair claimed a familiarity that she should not allow. Their isolation in this bedchamber, even their confrontation, had demolished all protective formalities. The subtle tingling he created on her scalp was delicious, cajoling her to contemplate other physical excitements.
Conquering, possessing, protecting—She did not doubt that he was prepared to be ruthless and toy with more than hair if necessary. Nor was she confident she could defeat the challenge should it come.
“The young diplomat they invited to dinner was named Jonathan Merriweather.”
He looked in her eyes, suspicious again. “I know of him. Merriweather is now an assistant to the British envoy here in Naples.”
“Is he? How convenient for you. I had no idea.”
“Didn’t you?” His hand wound in her hair more firmly. The subtle play became controlling. “Did you journey here to speak to him, Miss Blair? Is that why you are in Naples? Do you intend to annotate those memoirs and fill in the names and facts that your father discreetly omitted? The book will sell all the better then and I daresay your press could use the income.”
She purposefully took hold of the hair he held and pried off his fingers. Her indignation helped her ignore the sensation of his warm hand beneath hers, and the way his eyes reflected his awareness of her touch.
“I expect my father’s memoirs to be popular without annotations, but I thank you for the suggestion. I am not here for that purpose, however.”
That was a bald lie, but she felt no compunction about misleading this man. Her own interest in filling in the memoirs’ gaps did not bear on his family. Her investigations concerned other portions, the ones that spoke of her mother.
“I am a mere tourist here, Lord Elliot. I have come to visit the excavations and ruins to the south. I need to prepare to leave this city at once and continue my journey as I originally planned. Therefore, I must ask you, once more, to leave.”
He did not move immediately. Perhaps he believed that doing so would amount to giving quarter in whatever battle he thought they fought.
“Your tour will have to be delayed a few days more,” he said. “I cannot allow you to go just yet.”
She laughed. The man’s presumptions had become ridiculous. “What you would allow is not of interest to me, sir.”
“It is of essential interest to you. I warned that freeing you might entail conditions, and you promised to accommodate them.”
She frowned. “You said nothing about conditions when you arrived.”
“Your warm embrace distracted me.”
She peered up at him distrustfully. “What are these conditions?”
He slowly looked down her flowing locks, which meant he looked down most of her body. She thought she detected a possessive interest, as if he had just received a gift and judged its value.
“Gentile Sansoni would only release you if you entered my custody,” he said. “I had to accept total responsibility for you and promise to regulate your behavior.”
Hot anger flared in her head. No wonder Lord Elliot was preening with arrogance and command all of a sudden today. “That is intolerable. I have never answered to a man. To do so would make my mother turn in her grave. I refuse to agree to this.”
“Would you prefer to take your chances with Sansoni? It can be arranged.”
The threat left her speechless.
Lord Elliot did not exactly laugh as he strode to the door, but he did not hide his amusement at her dilemma either.
“We will journey on to Pompeii together, Miss Blair, after I speak with Merriweather. Until then, you are not to leave these chambers without my escort. Oh, and there will be no Marsilios or Pietros visiting you either. I’ll be damned if you will provoke more duels while you are under my authority. I swore an oath to control you, and I expect your cooperation and obedience.”
Authority? Control? Obedience? She was so stunned that he was gone before she found the voice to curse him.
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
MADELINE HUNTER’s first novel was published in 2000. Since then she has seen thirteen historical romances and one novella published, and her books have been translated into five languages. She is a four-time RITA finalist and won the long historical RITA in 2003. Twelve of her books have been on the USA Today bestseller list, and she has also had titles on the New York Times extended list. Madeline has a Ph.D. in art history, which she teaches at an eastern university. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and two sons.
Also by Madeline Hunter
BY ARRANGEMENT
BY POSSESSION
BY DESIGN
THE PROTECTOR
LORD OF A THOUSAND NIGHTS
STEALING HEAVEN
THE SEDUCER
THE SAINT
THE CHARMER
THE SINNER
THE ROMANTIC
LORD OF SIN
LADY OF SIN
THE RULES OF SEDUCTION
A Dell Book / November 2006
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2006 by Madeline Hunter
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random H
ouse, Inc.
www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-553-90311-9
v3.0
The Rules of Seduction Page 32
