By God, it was dark. How she successfully wandered about Hunt House at this early hour without breaking her neck was a mystery to him.
Still tugging her along, he fumbled his way through the shadows with rather less grace than he would have preferred. He found the door to his chamber at last and pulled her through, closing it behind them.
Thankfully, the low light from the fire in the grate partially illuminated the space within.
He led her to a chair at the hearth. “Sit.”
“But—”
“You dare to defy me now?” he interrupted, his voice bearing a sting he hadn’t intended, wrought of his frustration with her. “Sit.”
To his surprise, Lady Virtue sat, obeying him for what was perhaps the first time in their acquaintance. He turned away from her, finding some spills on the mantel, and lit the tapers on a candelabra, bathing this portion of the sizeable apartments in a warm glow. Satisfied with his efforts, he moved the armchair flanking hers so that it was opposite. And then he sat, seeking her soft brown gaze.
“You were intending to sneak away and to thieve my mare, in express violation of my warnings,” he said grimly.
Concern flitted over her lovely features before she fixed a smile upon her lips. “I wasn’t intending to ride at all.”
Did the minx think him an utter imbecile?
Now that the room was properly lit, he cast a glance over the gown she wore, a Florentia blue merino and Mechlin lace affair that hugged her curves in the very best of ways.
His gaze lingered for a moment on the bodice trim accentuating her breasts before he forced himself to look away. “No? Forgive me for finding it odd that you’re wearing your riding habit, yet claim you have no intention of riding.”
She bit her lip. “Ridgely, I can explain.”
Her daring never failed to astound him. He would have laughed had he been feeling more charitable. As it was, rising early, coupled with his inconvenient lust for her and her continued flouting of his every edict, had quite spoiled his disposition.
“Indeed? I would dearly love to hear it, my lady. I would absolutely love to hear where you were going at dawn wearing a riding habit and sneaking from Hunt House like a lowly thief, if not to steal Hera and go riding in Hyde Park.”
“Steal is rather a strong word.”
“An appropriate one,” he countered, realizing he was grinding his molars so hard that his jaw ached. “What would you call taking something that does not belong to you, without permission of the owner, if not stealing?”
Her lush pink lips parted.
No sound emerged.
For once, he had rendered her speechless.
And he could not quite quell the rising sense of elation at having bested the chit. “No other word shall suffice? I’ll wait.”
He drummed his fingers on his thigh as silence stretched on between them, no sound save the rhythmic drumming and the occasional crackle of the fire.
Until she heaved a sigh. “Borrowing.”
He raised a brow. “The act of borrowing denotes consent. And just as I did not approve of your reckless invasion of my chamber yesterday, I did not give consent to your taking Hera this morning. Indeed, I forbade it.”
Another sigh. The small, even white teeth which had sunk into his flesh not long ago emerged to catch her lower lip and draw it inward. The action was not intentionally erotic; he had no doubt that Lady Virtue Walcot wouldn’t know how to conduct a seduction. Hers was a sensuality which had yet to be unleashed. It was merely there in the raw, inherent.
One day, a man would be deuced fortunate to explore it with her.
Not him.
Neverhim.
“Have you anything to say for yourself?” he asked sternly.
She pursed her lips, then folded her hands in her lap, the picture of aristocratic femininity, belying everything he knew about her. “I am sorry.”
