Heat bloomed in Emily’s cheeks. “But if you sleep in here, where am I supposed to sleep?”
West lifted his head, revealing a wicked grin that fell just shy of his eyes where a hint of anger still burned. “Next to me on the bed, I imagine. Or on the floor. It’s up to you, Princess. I really do not care as long as you’re quiet.”
She watched in dumbfounded amazement as he kicked off one boot, then the other. When he pulled the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and she caught a glimpse of smooth skin her blush intensified and she looked away. “Mr. Green I really do not think this is appropriate.” She heard the whisper of clothing as it dropped to the floor. His shirt or his pants? Heavens.
The creak of rusted mattress springs soon followed. Unable to stop herself Emily peeked at the bed… and gasped out loud when she saw West perched on the edge of it in nothing more than his drawers.
“You are naked!” she accused, pointing at his chest with one finger. His contoured, exquisitely muscled chest. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone inexplicably dry. Having been brought up as a gentle lady, this was her very first experience with nudity. Emily knew she should have been repulsed. Except she wasn’t. Not even a little bit. If she were honest with herself – which she always tried to be – she would be forced to admit she was actually feeling quite the opposite.
She was intrigued.
If there was a finer example of the male specimen than West Green she rather thought she would be hard pressed to find it. The man was almost god like in his flawlessness, and her cheeks burned anew when she caught her gaze lingering far lower than it should have been.
“Like what you see?” he queried.
Her eyes shot up to his face. “You are naked,” she repeated dumbly.
“And you, most sadly, are not. Need help unhooking your stays, Princess?” This was asked with a grin so wickedly feline it sent shivers racing down her spine. If West was a cat, then she most certainly was the proverbial canary, the only exception being she wasn’t about to let herself be devoured!
“Certainly not!” she lied.
West nodded. “I suspected you were a prude. You have the look of one.”
She looked down at her dress with a wayward frown. Was it prudish? She certainly hoped not, for prudish was only one-step away from spinsterish, and she was already too close to that term for comfort. Lifting her chin she scowled at West, who had stretched his long, lanky body out along the length of the mattress and was lying on his back with his hands cupped behind his head, comfortable as you please. “If I am a prude,” she retorted, “than you, Mr. Green, are a… are a… well, you are an exhibitionist!”
If she’d hoped to insult him, she failed miserably.
“Thank you,” he said with a grin. “That’s a fine compliment.”
“It was not intended as such,” she said stiffly.
Lowering one arm, he patted the bed. “Come here and lay down. You need to rest, and you will not get any sleep on the floor. Keep your dress on if it means so much to you, although I can promise I won’t touch you. Sorry to say, Princess, but you’re just not my cup of tea.”
Emily’s nose wrinkled. She wasn’t his cup of tea? She should have been relieved… but instead she found herself feeling vaguely insulted. “I am certain the floor shall be perfectly adequate. Although, if you were a gentleman—”
“If I were a gentleman you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
Did the man have an answer for everything?
Impossible. He was absolutely impossible. Gritting her teeth Emily marched over to the bed and held out her hand, pointedly keeping her gaze leveled at a spot on the wall a good three inches above his head. “Surely you can spare a pillow and a blanket,” she said in exasperation when he merely stared at her outstretched fingers.
“Are you always used to getting what you want, Princess?”
Her shoulders stiffened at the hint of amusement she detected in his tone. She hated that he was correct. Hated that he somehow had an insight into her life she would never have into his. She was accustomed to getting whatever she asked for – not that her requests ever bordered on the outlandish or the extreme – and being forced to request something so minimal as a pillow and a blanket was positively teeth-grinding.
Pinching her lips tightly together she turned on her heel without another word and retrieved the cloak she’d set down on the chair when they’d first arrived. It was a spring garment and as such was quite light, but at least it would provide some protection from the unyielding hardness of the floor. Putting as much distance as possible between her and West – which, given the close quarters of the room, unfortunately wasn’t very much – she spread the cloak on the floorboards and curled on top of it, using her arm as a pillow.
The candles began to sputter out one by one and soon the room sank into darkness so heavy Emily could not see her own hand in front of her face. Accustomed to gas lamps and candles that burned into the wee hours of the morning she was slightly unnerved by the absolute lack of light, not that she would ever dare admit such a thing out loud. Instead she turned her mind to her breathing, focusing on drawing air in through her nose and out through her mouth, a calming technique she’d employed since childhood to quiet her busy mind.
When she heard West whisper her name she pinched her eyes shut and feigned sleep, struggling to keep her breaths deep and even. The mattress springs squeaked as he shifted his weight. She heard him sigh, long and low, and she tensed, waiting for something to happen… but with every passing moment her mind grew foggier, her body heavier, and soon she was well and truly asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sunbeams bathed Emily’s face in a soft glow of warmth and light as she slowly woke. Stretching her arms above her head, she arched her back and sighed in drowsy contentment. Her hair had come loose from its braid while she slept, and a waterfall of glossy brown curls spilled over onto West’s pillow. He captured one between his thumb and forefinger, spinning the tendril in an absent circle as he sat up on one elbow and glanced down at the sleeping beauty in his bed.
She truly was as pretty as a fairytale princess with her roses and cream complexion, delicately flushed cheeks, and sweep of dark lashes. There was an unmistakable sense of youthfulness about her as she slept. An innocence that betrayed just how young she really was, both in years and worldly experience.
A dusting of golden freckles sprinkled across her nose caught his eye. The sudden urge to lean down and nuzzle the freckles caught him unaware. He sat back with a brooding frown, his thoughts a jumble.
Contrary to what he’d told Emily, he was attracted to her. How could he not be? West appreciated all things beautiful, and there was no denying the chit her beauty. But there was something else about her that pulled at him. Something that made him feel… protective. West’s frown darkened into a scowl. He was no one’s protector, least of all Emily’s. He’d kidnapped her from a loving family, not rescued her from an evil witch. If this were truly a fairytale he would be the villain, not the hero.
Her eyes began to slowly open, a sleepy smile curving her lips. He knew the moment she realized where she was when she gasped and sat bolt upright, dragging the top quilt with her.
“What – what am I doing here?” she demanded, glaring at him accusingly.
West gave an easy shrug. “You looked uncomfortable on the floor, so I put you in the bed. You really should thank me, Princess.”
“Thank you?” she sputtered, her eyes widening. “THANK YOU? I – no,” she said, her voice softening so abruptly West blinked. “I do not want to begin the morning with an argument. If your moving me from the floor to the bed was purely motivated by concern for my comfort, then I do indeed thank you.”
He grinned wickedly. “That wasn’t my only motivation.”
Emily drew her knees up beneath the quilt and wrapped her arms around them. She still wore her dress, although the neckline was skewed to one side, revealing one ivory shoulder and t
he top of a breast. West sincerely hoped she didn’t notice. “I rather thought not. You are most definitely a rogue, Mr. Green, but” – her head tipped thoughtfully to the side, spilling a curtain of curls over one shoulder – “not nearly as mean and horrible as you would have people believe.”
“I am afraid you are sadly mistaken, Princess.” In a move too quick for Emily to anticipate he took her hips and slid her down the mattress before swinging one leg over and effectively pinning her beneath him. Ignoring her squawk of protest he lowered himself until their faces were mere inches apart. Her eyes were wide and startled, her lips slightly parted. “I am afraid I am every bit as mean and horrible as they say I am.”
“Mr. Green this is h-hardly appropriate,” she stammered.
He felt her tremble, although whether it was with fear or awareness he couldn’t be certain. Their bodies were only separated by the quilt, through which West could feel every line and curve of her body as he settled himself intimately against her.
She gasped.
He groaned.
“W-what are you doing? You said I wasn’t your c-cup of tea.”
“I lied,” he said simply.
Her dark brows darted together. “You seem to do that a lot.”
He lowered his head until his mouth was a hair’s breadth from her ear. Her curls tickled his cheek and the scent of her invaded his nostrils, a subtle mix of lavender and vanilla. “Want to know something else I do a lot of?” he murmured suggestively.
The sharp knee to his groin was as painful as it was unexpected. With a muffled grunt West cupped himself and rolled back against the wall. Throwing the blanket aside Emily scrambled off the bed and landed hard on her rump, tangled in the folds of her own dress.
“I have changed my mind,” she declared, fixing him with a glare. “You are mean and horrible and… and…”
“Castrated,” he wheezed, making no effort to disguise his current state of discomfort. “Did you have to knee me so bloody hard?”
Not looking repentant in the least, Emily sniffed, sorted out her skirts, and stood up. “It is no less than you deserve, taking advantage of me like that. You never should have put me in bed with you in the first place, let alone… well, you know.” Cheeks pink, she went to the corner of the room where she’d laid out her cloak and picked it up. Shaking out the wrinkles, she swung it around her shoulders and drew the hood up, effectively concealing her riotous mane of curls. “I am ready to depart with all haste, Mr. Green. Given that you are committed to this whole kidnapping business I would rather have it over and done with sooner than later.”
“Well I’m not ready to go yet,” he grumbled as he stood up and stretched one arm and then the other above his head, twisting his torso this way and that until his spine popped with a satisfying crack. “You’ll have to give me a few minutes for my bollocks to drop back—”
“Mr. Green.”
“Aye?” he said, the very picture of innocence. He knew he shouldn’t keep provoking Emily, but it was nearly impossible not to, especially when she looked so adorable with her face flushed with color and her eyes spitting blue fire. It reminded him of when he’d been a boy pulling the braids of the girls he took a fancy to. Not that he had taken a fancy to Emily. She was a job. A means to an end. Nothing more. Except…. His jaw hardened. No. There was no except. He wouldn’t allow it. Not now. Not ever.
“I will have Niles bring the coach round to the front.” Their shoulders touched as he picked up his coat from the foot of the bed. West flinched from the contact as though he’d been burned, and there was a hard edge in his voice when he said, “Do not leave the room. I’ll be back to fetch you in a few minutes.”
Without another word he stormed out and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to slam the door behind him.
West was not speaking to her.
Emily knew she should have been relieved, but the silence in the carriage felt strangely oppressive. For the past four hours she’d sat quietly, keeping her gaze on the passing countryside. There wasn’t much to see save rolling fields dotted with black and white cows, but every time she snuck a peek at West his dark scowl had her attention returning hastily to the window.
Anger all but rolled off him in waves, although whether it was directed at her or someone else she couldn’t be certain. She supposed he could still be angry with her for attempting to escape… or the unfortunate kneeing incident, neither of which she had any intention of apologizing for.
Let him sit and stew, she decided after one more discreet glance revealed his countenance was as dark and stormy as it had been the last time she looked. It makes no difference to me.
Except it did.
Emily would never have admitted it out loud, but she found she rather enjoyed their verbal sparring matches. She liked that West wasn’t afraid to insult her, and in turn she didn’t have to guard her words around him.
Unlike the men she normally interacted with – all of them lords of something or rather – he did not treat her as though she were spun of fine glass. That wasn’t to say she approved of everything he’d said and done thus far, but it was rather refreshing to be in the company of someone who treated her as a woman first and a duke’s daughter second.
Reaching up, she absently pulled her hood down and passed her fingers through her snarled curls. She’d forgotten her bonnet at the inn and lost her only hair ribbon during the skirmish with Aaron and Dora. If she were a vain woman she would have no doubt kept her tangled mane covered, but the interior of the carriage was stuffy, and removing the hood of her cloak brought instant relief from the perspiration gathering at her temple.
More time passed, each minute seeming to drag by more slowly than the last. For the first time Emily actually wished she had her embroidery kit with her, if only to give her hands something to do. Without a job her fingers tapped anxiously on her knees, drumming out a silent rhythm. Her right foot picked up the beat and she began to hum, her mind drifting elsewhere.
“Stop that bloody fidgeting.” West’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.
Emily froze, her fingers stiffening mid-tap, her foot dangling in mid-air. “So you can still speak,” she said, slowly turning her head from the window to the seat opposite her own. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadows that clung to West’s broad frame after staring so long into the bright light of day.
When her vision adjusted she saw he still wore the same scowl he’d been sporting since they left the inn. His eyes were narrowed. His mouth pinched tight at the corners. When their gazes met his scowl intensified, and Emily released an exasperated sigh. “Are you going to be like this for the duration of our journey?” she queried, lifting one brow.
“Like what?” he muttered, shifting his weight to the side and draping one lanky arm along the back of his seat. Like her, he still wore the same clothes from the previous day, although he’d abandoned his waistcoat and cravat. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows, revealing muscular forearms covered in dark hair. There was a thin piece of leather tied around his right wrist, something she’d failed to notice before now.
Emily wondered about unusual bracelet, as she did the man who wore it. For everything she knew about him – or thought she knew – he remained a mystery.
West Green… The Duke of St. Giles… One a charming rake. The other a violent rogue. But which one was he really?
She knew most people would consider the man sitting across from her little more than a ruthless criminal, and she was hardly in a position to disagree. But there was more to him than that. She would be willing to stake her own life on it. Was, in fact, staking her own life on it.
If West so chose he could rape and murder her at any moment. There were other men, crueler men, who would have done so and not felt a single stirring of guilt. She knew this, just as she knew that despite all his other lies West had been honest when he’d vowed no harm would come to her at his hand.
It was foolish –
stupid, even – to feel safe with the man who was responsible for taking her from the only home she’d ever known, but Emily had never been someone who was able to control her emotions. She felt what she felt, practicality be damned, and right now she felt safe… and a little bit annoyed.
“You have been grumpy as an old bear since we left the inn.” Bracing her palms against the edge of the bench seat, she leaned forward ever so slightly and fixed him with a stern glare. “If you are waiting for me to apologize, I fear you will be waiting for quite some time.”
West’s mouth settled into a frown. “Apologize? For what?”
“For attempting to escape and for… well, what occurred in the bed. When you were, er, temporarily incapacitated.” Heavens, but she wished she could stop blushing! It was really beginning to border on the ridiculous. She wasn’t some sixteen-year-old tittering schoolgirl. She was a woman, for goodness sake. And while she may not have experienced intimacy firsthand, she had enough married friends to understand the gist of it all.
“Temporarily incapacitated,” West mused. “That’s a fancy way of putting it.”
Emily bit down on her lip. “It was not on purpose, if that is what you are thinking.”
“I thought you said you were not going to apologize.”
“I’m not! I am merely trying to explain—”
“Sounded like an apology to me.”
If Emily had been standing, she would have stomped her foot, but in the tight confines of the carriage there was little else she could do except curl her hands into fists and bounce them uselessly off the hard leather seat cushion. “It is not an apology!”
West chuckled softly. “Whatever you say, Princess.”
She’d forgotten how positively infuriating he could be. Honestly, it would probably be better not to speak with him at all. Except then she’d be stuck with no one to talk to and being forced to endure a carriage ride of undeterminable length in absolute silence was far, far worse than putting up with West’s glib remarks. “You really must stop calling me that. It is in no way relevant. I am the daughter of a duke, not a king.”
The Duke of St. Giles Page 6
