The stranger arched a brow.
Her shoulders sagged. Oh blast the devil!
“I cannot take off this coat,” she explained with a haughty sniff to cover the flushing in her cheeks, “because I’m in my night rail.”
“Then go dress.” He turned back toward the fire. “Because we’re going to be up all night.”
Her stomach plummeted to the floor. She wanted him gone. Now. “You need to leave,” she pleaded in a desperate whisper. “Just go. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”
He said nothing.
“I don’t have any money. Search through the cottage if you’d like, you’ll see.” When he continued to remain deaf to her pleas, her frustration changed to panic. “Take whatever you’d like. Just take it! And leave. Please.” A tear fell down her cheek. “Please just go!”
He stiffened at the sight of her tears, yet he made no move to dress and leave. “I cannot.”
“Please!” Each plea sliced into her. She’d sworn to herself long ago that she’d never again beg any man for mercy. But that old helplessness was surging to the surface, and she hated herself for it. Hated him for stealing away the strength that had taken her years to find.
“I need shelter from the storm.” His voice remained calm and quiet even as hers rose toward hysteria. “This was the first cottage I came across.” His gaze pinned her with a gravity that made her shiver. “If I go back out into the night, I’m dead. And several other good men with me.”
When he faced her, she reflexively took a step back, once more raising the poker.
“So you can stand there all night holding that damnable poker if you desire,” he continued in the same quiet, controlled voice, “and I’ll sit there on the settle with my pistol pointed at you to make certain you don’t get some fool idea about hitting me over the head with it.” His eyes flickered with steely resolve. “But I am not leaving until it’s safe for me to travel. So go dress if you’d like, or stay in that coat and freeze. As I said, it makes no difference to me.”
He reached toward her—
She swung. The poker arced through the air toward his head.
Startling her with how fast he moved, he grabbed the poker in mid-swing with one hand while the other seized her arm. He twisted the poker from her grasp and held it away so she couldn’t reach it.
Grace stared up at him, her heart pounding so hard with fear that each beat knotted her belly impossibly tighter. Dear God, what would he do to her now? Oh dear God!
He tossed the poker away, and it clanged against the stone floor. He lowered his face until his eyes were level with hers, his mouth so close that his warm breath shivered across her lips. Anger simmered inside him. “I told you that I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“You were reaching for me,” she choked out, all of her shaking violently as old memories came crashing back, ones she’d thought she’d buried long ago. Now they returned with the same fierce intensity as the storm raging outside.
“Because I hate to see a woman cry.” He slowly raised his hand to her cheek and finished the gesture he’d started moments before—to wipe away the tear with his thumb, as gently as his other hand held her like an iron manacle. “But if you try something like that again, I will tie you up. Understand?”
Blinking hard to keep another tear from falling and giving him cause to touch her again, she gave a jerking nod.
“Good.” He released her.
As Grace shoved away from him, she saw the gaping gash in his right bicep and the trickle of blood seeping down his arm. But she hadn’t hit him!
Her eyes narrowed on him, now that she was standing close enough to notice not only the bleeding cut on his arm but all the wounds that the black shadows inside the dark cottage had hidden before, that she hadn’t noticed in her fear of him. Bruises dotted his arms and chest, and a hideous purplish black-and-blue spot on his right side marked a bruised rib, if he were lucky. More than likely a broken one. Heavens, the pain he must have been in…
She knew now that she didn’t need the poker to defend herself. Even if he tried to attack her, she could drop him to his knees in agony with a poke of a single finger into the bruise on his side. How he’d found the strength to hold her immobile only moments before she had no idea, or how he managed to keep standing upright on his feet even now.
“You’re wounded,” she whispered, surprised out of her fury and fear. “Your arm…”
He glanced down curiously, as if he’d forgotten it was there. Then he turned back to the fire without comment.
Her lips parted; she was stunned. A cut that deep, the bruises, and damaged ribs—the storm hadn’t done that. Good God, what had he been through tonight? And who were those other men he said would lose their lives if he headed back into the storm?
Who on earth was this man?
“Go dress,” he said quietly into the fire. “I need your help, and you can’t help me if you catch fever.”
“I won’t help you anyway.” Defiance lifted her chin. “I might be stuck here with you, but I won’t—”
He turned his head and pinned her beneath a look so black that she gasped. Her hand went to her throat.
“Go.” His low voice slithered down her spine.
Her hand rose to her cheek to reflexively cover the pink scar with her trembling fingers. Nodding, she backed away. Desperation seeped from him and grew the fear that roiled in her stomach, making him more dangerous than she’d first realized.
“I’ll trust you enough to remain here,” he called after her as she retreated toward her bedroom, not turning her back on him. “But keep the door open.”
She froze in her steps. “You expect me to change in front of you? I’ll do no such thing!”
“The door stays open.” He glanced past her into the bedroom. “It’s dark enough in there to keep you covered by the shadows.” Then his lips twisted grimly. “And I won’t risk that you keep another poker hidden beneath the mattress.”
“You are not a gentleman.” Her words were so soft that they were nearly lost beneath the rain pounding against the roof. “You are despicable.”
She stood her ground, waiting for him to unleash his fury on her. It was what Vincent would have done. Just like her brother-in-law, would this stranger have enjoyed hurting her?
But instead of a harsh warning—or making good on his threat to tie her up—he turned back to mutter into the fire, “So much more than you know.”
He was quickly lost in his own thoughts, but Grace knew he was still aware of her and every move she made. If she attempted to run, he would pounce before she reached the door.
She walked into her bedroom. Part of her contemplated defying him and closing the door anyway. Would serve him right! But something in her gut told her not to press him. So far he’d kept true to his word and not attempted to hurt her, and the last thing she should do was provoke his anger. The night was half over now; by dawn the storm would be weakening, and he’d leave. She only had to wait him out.
Even knowing that, she still couldn’t stop the shaking as she shrugged out of the wet coat, then reached for her dress and undergarments in her dresser. The room was dark, and the shadows hid her from view, yet she took repeated glances over her shoulder to make certain he kept his distance, still standing at the fireplace with his eyes focused on the flames.
After she’d changed into her dress and wrapped a shawl securely around her shoulders, she blew out a deep sigh of relief, both at finally being properly dressed and that the stranger hadn’t moved from where she’d left him.
Her hands fumbled with putting up her damp hair as she emerged from the bedroom, with two hairpins between her lips. Grudgingly, she mumbled around them, “Thank you for not—”
He glanced up from the fire as she stepped from the shadows, his face fully visible in the firelight.
She halted in mid-step at the intensity of his gaze as it trailed slowly over her in an assessing manner, a look filled with such deliberate aloofness that she co
uldn’t help but see the arrogant reserve beneath, the cool detachment. That look crystallized a long-forgotten memory at the back of her mind, so distant as to be almost a dream…
Ross Carlisle, Viscount Mooreland, heir to the Earl of Spalding.
Dear God—so much worse than a stranger!
* * *
To keep reading and discover what happens
to Ross and Grace, click here.
More Books by Anna Harrington
To explore them all, visit
https://www.annaharringtonbooks.com/books
* * *
The Secret Life of Scoundrels Series:
Dukes are Forever
Along Came a Rogue
How I Married a Marquess
Once a Scoundrel
* * *
Capturing the Carlisles Series:
If the Duke Demands
When a Scoundrel Sins
As the Devil Dares
How the Earl Entices
What a Lord Wants
After the Spy Seduces
* * *
The Lords of the Armory Series:
An Inconvenient Duke
* * *
Stand-Alone Novellas:
A Match Made in Heather
The Double Duchess
Winner Takes All Page 10