“Excellent.” He gave her a satisfied smile. “Then I shan’t bore you with the details.”
Susan’s jaw dropped to realize the insufferable man had just managed her. Heknewshe was dying to know the explanation, and purposefully broached the topic in such a way as to close it forever.
“Bore me,” she tried anyway. She leaned forward, certainherewas an excellent story.
His smile only broadened. “I couldn’t possibly. I pride myself on my ability to not bore women. I prefer to keep them... entertained.”
Her eyes narrowed. Once again, he had successfully changed the subject without overtly changing the subject. In fact, he was now expecting her to rejoin with something like,Oh? And how do you plan to keep me entertained?but she was too prudent to say something so leading. After four years of spying on the upper ten thousand, one got a fairly good idea of the sort of “entertainment” a couple alone might get up to.
She would only resort to such tomfoolery when she was back in London, safely ensconced in the arms of a titled gentleman about to find himself with a Stanton bride. Any flirtation, no matter how minor, with the man reclining in the chair opposite—devilishly handsome though he might be—could only get in the way of her goal of being rewelcomed into London Society.
She tore her gaze from his and glanced about the drawing room. Frowning, she tried to reconcile the cozy nook awash in luxurious jewel tones and velvet-covered cushions with the unshaven reprobate lounging before her in wrinkled breeches and salt-hardened linen. She failed.
This had to be someone else’s house. Someone well-bred and elegant. Someone who was going to come home, catch them inside, and kill them both.
Her gaze returned to the gentleman sprawled across from her. He was still watching her. One corner of his lips quirked up in a half-smile. The slight crinkle at the edge of his hazel eyes indicated he was laughing at her and trying not to show it.
Nobody laughed at Susan Stanton. Not thetonin their fancy dress, and not this overgrown footpad in his water-shrunken breeches. If the proper owner of the house didn’t show up and start shooting, she’d shove the blackguard off the cliff herself. Then again, he’d probably pull out his pistol and shoot her on the way down, and where would that leave her then?
Coming here was a very, very bad idea.
“Perhaps I should go,” she suggested as brightly as possible, hoping to give the confident impression of a strong woman instead of a querulous victim-to-be. He’d made no bones about what he intended to do the next time they were alone. And she’d allowed herself to be carried to a location with abedchamber.She sat up straight, ignoring the pain in her backside, and placed a firm palm on the arm of the sofa. “I do appreciate your hospitality.”
He shrugged but made no move to ravish her. “I have no hospitality.”
“Then why am I here?” she blurted, not trusting his intentions for a moment. Nor, truth be told, overly trusting her own. Susan gripped the arm of the sofa even tighter. Why wasn’t she fleeing? She should escape while she still could. Yet for some reason, the sort of danger he exuded was more exciting than terrifying.
“I’ve been asking myself from the first.” He rose and crossed the room to a small sideboard adorned with hand-blown glassware and a bottle of brandy. “You may leave whenever you like, Miss Stanton. But I won’t be carrying you.”
“Perfectly reasonable,” she said, jerking her hands into her lap. “Once was enough for me, too.”
“Twice,” he corrected without turning around.
“Er... right.”
To be honest, it had been a relief to melt into his arms, to relax in his strength and heat. He wasn’t a ghost. He was real. Solid. A familiar face. That the face had belonged to a man capable of ruining her reputation just by being in the same room with her hadn’t crossed her mind at that moment. Nothing had crossed her mind... but him. Warmth. Gratitude. Safety.
He reached into his vest pocket and laid a pistol atop the sideboard. Had she saidsafety?This was no doubt the very pistol with which he’d almost shot her host hours earlier! Susan had conveniently forgottenthatlittle incident while she’d been busy being rescued.
He poured a glass of brandy. The golden liquid sparkled in a shaft of sunlight sneaking through the curtains. He sniffed the glass absently, swirled it, then held it in her direction.
She shook her head. She should go. Brandy was almost as boring as ratafia, and she had plenty of other concerns to attend to. Like removing herself from his company. And quitting Bournemouth altogether.
“Certain?” He sipped, closing his eyes in pleasure. “Delicious. It’s French, you know. Quite expensive these days.”
Quite illegal, if that were the case. Susan wavered.Illicitbrandy wasn’t boring. As tempted as she was to sample a bit, accepting drinks meant one ought to stay and drink them. And she was leaving. Now.
Brandy at his lips, he crossed the drawing room and retook his chair, looking for all the world relaxed and content. Despite the sand still dusting his muscled limbs.
The abandoned pistol was now closer to her than it was to him. That provided some measure of comfort, did it not? To be fair, she had no experience firing weapons of any kind. But at the very least, should he decide to go on a murderous rampage in his drawing room, traversing the length to fetch his pistol would give her advance notice as to his intention.
His clear gaze heated her face once more. “Not a drinker?”
“Notstaying,” she countered primly. She sneaked a reassuring glance at the sideboard. The pistol was still there. As was the brandy.
“You didn’t drink at the Shark’s Tooth,” he reminded her. “And you stayed there for a while.”
“That was different. I was... having an unpleasant day.” She choked on the understatement. She was being haunted. Good God. How was she supposed to ensnare a rich, titled gentleman whilst beinghaunted?
