Her fear evaporated, replaced by heat and dizziness. Her gaze traveled his body again, and then she stole a peek at his face.
Oh, Lord! He was going to murder her! His eyebrows were drawn sharply together, and his lips were a tight line. Even in the dim light of the candle, the angles of his cheekbones and clenched jaw stood out starkly.
“I have one question for you, Miss Dashing.” She jumped. The sound of his voice was like a saber thrust through the thick tension in the room. She blinked, unable to tear her gaze away from him.
“One question,” he growled. “Where would you like me to dispose of your body?”
Chapter Fourteen
At that moment, Alex wanted to kill her. Murder seemed a small price to pay to remove her, permanently, from his life. He watched her eyes widen, saw her start to shrink into the couch before stiffening her spine and straightening again, bolstering her courage.
“This is not a very warm welcome.” She tossed her hair, a gesture that both annoyed and amused him.
“I’m not feeling particularly hospitable.” He scowled down at her, and she finally showed enough sense to keep her mouth shut.
She was the last thing he needed tonight. After the incident with Dandridge, Alex wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He hadn’t gotten his wish, and then he’d heard something in the library, and entered in time to see Lucia Dashing crawling through the window. His window.
Now he stared at the temptress before him. Her hair hung free of her pins in a halo of golden waves about her face and shoulders, framing the swell of breasts revealed by the low-cut pink gown.
He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to throttle her.
He wanted to wrap his hands in that hair, pull her into his arms, and take her right there on his library floor. She must have seen something of his desires on his face, but instead of shrinking into the brown couch cushions as any proper lady should, she eyed him with unabashed curiosity. Sensual curiosity, though she was probably too innocent to realize what she was doing.
Bloody hell. She was one of Lucifer’s fallen angels sent to tempt him. Alex ran a hand through his hair and, needing to put some space between them, retreated to his desk. Placing both hands on the polished wood, he lowered his head and counted to ten.
Between five and six she whispered, “Selbourne?”
“Don’t say a word, Lucia. Give me a moment or I’ll—”
He didn’t know what he’d do.
He wanted her. He’d been thinking of her, and, as though some genie had magically granted his every wish, she was here before him. A mouse skipping into the starving lion’s den. Had she any idea how close to being compromised she was?
His head snapped up, and his gaze met hers. “What the devil are you doing here?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a flick of his wrist.
“No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Proper young ladies don’t break into men’s houses.” His eyes raked over her. “For good reason.”
She bit her lip, beginning to look ashamed of her behavior—but not enough. Not nearly enough. He turned, lifted a decanter from his ebony desk, and poured himself another drink. He didn’t know what he poured, didn’t care, but he drank it in one swallow, then poured another.
His back to her, he heard her murmur, “Do you really think you should drink so much?”
He whirled. “The hell you say! You think to lecture me, madam?” He slammed the glass down, heard the expensive crystal crack. “You who cavorts about Town in the middle of the night? What are you thinking?”
She sighed as if she’d heard this speech many times before. “It was nothing. I hailed a hackney and had him take me here. It was perfectly safe.” She frowned as if remembering something. “Well, relatively safe, anyway.”
Alex collapsed into his chair. “You didn’t come in your carriage?”
She huffed. “Of course not. That would have been too much of a risk. The servants gossip so.” She waved a hand. “Besides which, I didn’t want my family carriage to be noticed outside your town house.”
Gossip? She was worried about gossip when she could have had her throat slit on the street? Little fool. “Is the hackney still outside?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.
“No. I sent him away.”
“How did you intend to get home?” He said every word precisely, his temper threatening to explode at the slightest provocation.
