He wore country clothes. Plain shirt, buff breeches, tall boots. He looked as if he’d been outside all day, as though he still carried the freshness of the wind with him. The uncertain golden light shed by the candles and the fire glanced across his collarbone and hinted at the black hair on his chest.
She was dismayed to realize she sidled away from him like a mare scenting a stallion. This was ridiculous. She was letting his physical presence distract her from what she needed to say. For all their decadent play in London, she was more aware of him as a man here than she’d ever been before.
“You’ve got what you want. You’ve had your revenge.” She forced herself to hold her ground. “Let me go. You must stop this…this gothic horror before it gets out of hand.”
A sardonic smile twisted his lips. “Is that the best you can do?”
Startled, she met his eyes fully for the first time. She’d expected to see anger, but instead, he looked tired and terrifyingly cynical. And deeply unhappy.
As if realizing she perceived more than he wished her to, he straightened and crossed the room to stare moodily out the barred window.
“I assume you’ve been concocting that little speech all day.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “What did you expect it to achieve? The offer of a peaceful night to yourself and a quick trip home tomorrow? For such a concession, at least conjure up a tear or two. A man would be a monster indeed to say no to beauty arrayed in weeping distress at his feet.”
How she hated that superior drawl. With an effort, she kept her voice steady. “If that would work, I’m certainly willing to try it.”
He turned to look at her. Cynicism had conquered whatever else he felt. “Don’t waste your time. Or mine. We both already know I’m a monster.” He gave her clothing a slashing wave. “Stop this nonsense. I can have you out of that fiercely elegant ensemble and under me in five minutes flat and we both know it.”
His eyes were so cold that she shivered again. But she refused to let his threat, phrased in a tone of bored indolence, cow her.
“No.”
“You still don’t understand, do you, Verity? And I’ve always considered you such a clever little poppet. You have no power. You have no rights. You belong to me. This isn’t London. This is a forgotten corner of a feudal domain. And I am its lord. There’s nowhere to run. There’s no one to help you. If I want you—and we both know I do—I take you.”
She was powerless to control her rapid, shallow breathing, even though she knew it betrayed her rising fear. “You think because I’m a whore, I must accept any man with coin to pay for my services?” she asked hardily.
“No. I think because you’re mine and you’ll always be mine, you should surrender to the inevitable.”
Still she didn’t yield. “Whatever else I am, I’m a sovereign soul. I am no man’s creature.” She’d repeated those words over and over to herself all day in a futile effort to bolster what little courage she retained.
A derisive smile curled his expressive mouth. “You’ll be my creature. You’re already my creature.”
Because one craven element of her feared that was true, she drew herself up and glared at him with all the contempt she could muster. “Never.”
He arched one supercilious eyebrow, as if he knew how thin her veneer of recalcitrance was. He probably did.
She went on. “I will never lie down willingly with you. Surely the great Duke of Kylemore has too much pride to pursue a reluctance mistress.”
She meant the words to needle, but his expression remained stony. “The great Duke of Kylemore does what he wants, madam. I’ve withstood three months as the laughingstock of London. I’ve humiliated myself scouring the kingdom for news of you. I’ve brawled with a common yokel. I’ve descended to kidnap. Don’t delude yourself that pride prevents me from any action—any action—that achieves my ends. My pride has been in the dust since you left. You’ll find no aid there.”
Despite herself, she felt a flash of unwilling sympathy at the picture he painted. The man she knew in London had been the mirror of the perfect aristocrat—not, perhaps, generally liked but certainly admired, respected, feared, envied.
Losing her had cost him dearly.
Softly, she said, “Kylemore, I’m sorry I left without telling you. That was badly done of me. That last…” She paused. She still quailed to remember his final, furious visit to Kensington and that lunatic marriage proposal. “That last day when you came to call, I should have explained, I should have said good-bye. Then we’d at least have parted amicably.”
He gave a huff of unamused laughter, and the bitter lines on his face deepened. “As if I’d have let you go. We both know I wouldn’t. You knew it then—it’s why you sneaked away.”
She’d taken a step toward him before she realized what she did. “I’ll pay back the money.”
He couldn’t possibly know the sacrifice she was making with the offer, a sacrifice on behalf of not just herself but her sister and brother as well. But she’d spent all day trying to devise some way to break free of this nightmare. If it cost her the fortune she still believed was legally hers, she’d gladly pay.
The Ashtons would manage, she told herself guiltily. She’d see they did.
She pressed on. “If you give me a few days to make arrangements, I’ll return every penny.”
Kylemore whirled on her. Because of her brainless moment of pity, she was close enough for him to clamp his fingers around her upper arms.
“Don’t be a damned fool, woman! It’s not the money. It never was the money, except as a symbol of what you stole.” His grip dug into her arms, and Verity braced herself for a good shaking. But he just held her.