Chapter Five #2
“Here is your dinner,” she said, putting the tray down on the bed. “After you’ve finished, I’m sure Tom would be happy to take you back to London.” There. She had said it, but she moved to the table, unwilling to see his relief.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Startled, Kate glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her with his usual composure. “I told you that I do not intend to leave until I ferret out the scoundrel who used my name.”
He had said that, but that was before… Kate looked down at the remains of the breakfast tray, stubbornly refusing to feel anything. “But you said you would not be kept here forever.”
“I meant confined to the bed, pup.”
The richness of his voice seeped into Kate’s bones, warming some part of her that she had not known was cold. Declining to melt, she straightened her spine determinedly. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Pup? Poppet, then,” he said. His lips were curved into a hint of a smile, but she could see no trace of disdain. “I do not like being bound to the bed or even to the room,” he said, gesturing to encompass his prison. “I have never been ill before, and I cannot say I care for it.”
Kate felt her own mouth twitch in reply. This was all the apology she would get, but she would take it. Hiding her pleasure, she reached out for the breakfast glass and found it empty. She swiveled toward him. “What did you do with the milk?”
He lifted a brow. “What do you think?”
She put a hand on her hip. “I imagine you tossed it out the window.”
His lips curled just enough to warm her insides. “What a poor opinion you hold of me. I drank it.”
“What?”
“I drank it. I grew thirsty and suspected that you would not bring me anything else until it was gone.”
“What a poor opinion you hold of me,” she said, echoing his words.
He grinned, and the effect was astounding. Surely, even Lucy could not deny the beauty of the man when he revealed that expanse of straight white teeth. Staring numbly, Kate watched his attention on her sharpen.
“What the devil are you wearing?”
Kate flushed, remembering her trousers. When she put them on, she had been angry and out of sorts. Now she found she did not want to face his contempt. “I have work to do,” she said brusquely.
“What kind of work?”
“I keep busy,” she said.
“That is no answer.”
“It doesn’t matter. These clothes make it easier to get about. I like them.” She knew her cheeks were bright with color, but she kept her chin up and her gaze level with his.
“I like them, too.” His voice seemed to deepen, flowing over her like rich chocolate, and Kate felt the touch of his gaze everywhere. She swallowed. Apparently, she had been wrong to suspect he would disapprove. The man never behaved as one would expect.
“I’m surprised your father allows you to wear them,” he said.
“My father is dead.”
“Your brother, then.”
“I have no brother.”
“You must have a guardian.”
Kate stiffened. “That I do, but he does not bother himself with what I wear.” For all her uncle cared, they could be languishing in rags, but Kate had already said too much.
She saw the spark of interest that flared in Grayson’s eyes and purposefully relaxed her stance, unwilling to reveal any more of their situation. “Eat your dinner,” she said.
“Only if you join me.”
“I already ate.”
“Stay with me, then. I’m infernally bored. Do you have a deck of cards? Perhaps we could play.”
He looked so hopeful that Kate could not deny him. “All right. I’ll fetch some.”
“Books, too?”
Kate nodded. “What shall you have?”
“You choose for me.” Although he spoke casually, Kate sensed that nothing about the man was casual.
Calculating would be a more accurate description, for behind the cool countenance was a keen mind that would rival anyone’s.
But what could he expect to gain from a few volumes out of her father’s library?
Kate sucked in a sharp breath as she realized his game.
She would have to make sure that there were no plates or personal notations in the books she brought him, or he would discover her identity.
In spite of herself, Kate smiled at his cleverness.
She would enjoy crossing swords with the marquess—as long as he did not draw blood.
When the poppet turned to go, Grayson let his gaze slide over her slowly. She had a nice, slim figure that was not as boyish as he had first thought.
He liked the way her dress had tightened across her breasts when she put her hands on her hips, a view he missed now that they were covered by a shirt and waistcoat.
Still, he had to admit that the trousers were appealing, for they clung to her legs, not tight enough to be too wicked, but not loose enough to hide anything.
He watched her leave, his attention focused on her gentle curves, and he wanted to haul her back into the room and onto the bed with him. Surprised by the force of his reaction, he swore under his breath. Obviously, it had been too long since he had enjoyed the charms of a female.
Leaning his head back, Grayson tried to remember, but he could not recall exactly when or with whom he had last been intimate. Clarice? Lady Ann?
He had released his last mistress after the onset of his ennui, but had never replaced her, relying instead on the eager ladies of his acquaintance to satisfy his needs. Their faceless bodies melted together in his mind, not nearly as intriguing as the slender figure of the poppet.
She was a clever thing, too. Courageous and clever, but possessing none of the artifice of the bored London females. His body stirred, and Grayson lifted his knee, wondering if the unusual reaction was due to his prone position.
Perhaps once he got back on his feet, Kate would no longer rouse him. Logic told him that probably would be the case, but, oddly enough, he hoped it was not.
When she returned with a stack of books to place beside the bed, Grayson found himself staring at her hair as she bent near. A deep, rich brown, it gleamed. Fresh. Beckoning. Grayson’s mouth curled at his fancies. The sober Miss Kate would not welcome his advances.
Or would she? There was passion in her, the kind that had made her stand before him, pistol raised, to avenge her sister— and the kind that had brought her to life in his arms when he had pinned her against the door. But he could hardly force himself on her.
For the first time in his life, Grayson faced the prospect of wanting something that even his wealth and power might not assure. The sobering realization fired his determination to discover Kate’s circumstances, for that was the only way to be certain of his prospects.
She glanced up at him then, and Grayson let her see his desire. It shook her, although he suspected she had no idea what, exactly, he wanted of her. He might not know her name or her circumstances, but she was innocent, Grayson was sure of that.
And despite her absurd costume, she was well-bred. Normally, he would never consider a liaison with such a young woman.
But if she was a poor relation, a governess, or some other member of the household staff, he could make her an offer. Kate would have security and comfort and funds enough to aid her sister, while he would have a new mistress to rival any of those past.
Heat shot through him at the notion, and the clear violet eyes that had held his faltered before it.
Then she straightened abruptly and tossed the cards on the blanket, beside his hand.
Oh, she possessed passion, his little poppet, but she was smart enough to avoid it.
Grayson’s lips curled in amused appreciation as he reached for the deck.
“Piquet?” he asked, shuffling the cards easily.
She blinked, as if dazed, and Grayson smiled, pleased by her reaction to him. Although she might not acknowledge it, the poppet was attracted to him. She did not simper or flirt like most women, but flushed angrily when he caught her admiring him.
Hers was a most intriguing reaction, Grayson thought, dealing out the cards as though she had consented to play. When he noticed her watching his hands, he paused to draw a low breath. If she kept that up, it was going to be a very uncomfortable game, at least for him.
“Shall we play for guineas?” he asked, hoping to divert her attention. Although he had never reached the limits of his legendary control, he had a feeling that Kate could test them mightily.
“No.”
“Pennies?”
“No. I will not play for money,” she said. She lifted her head to eye him with calm defiance. “I do not approve of gambling.”
Grayson smiled at her pretense of propriety, for he had already found out what he wanted to know. She had no money, that much was obvious. But what of her background? “Should I worry that your guardian will take offense at our little game?” he asked, picking up his cards.
Innocent that she was, she missed the subtle nuance that a more experienced woman would have parlayed into a flirtation. Instead, she stared at him, her lips a firm line. “Tom thinks we would be ill-advised to tell you anything more.”
Clever girl that she was, Kate had divined his intent. He felt both proud of her and challenged as he had not been in years. “Tom?” he muttered. “You trust his judgment?”
She wavered only for a moment before fixing him with the clear, direct gaze that so appealed to him. “Perhaps not, but how do I know you will not turn me over to the magistrate and cheer while I hang?”
The question startled him so much that Grayson barked out a laugh, but Kate’s expression remained somber. “You cannot think that I would like to see you swing,” he said, incredulous.
She did not flinch, but held his gaze with her own, as if seeking the truth in them.
Grayson felt oddly shaken and annoyed by her distrust. “I assure you that I have no desire to snuff out your extraordinary existence,” he said.
His words seemed to puzzle her. “I shot you.”
“Quite accidentally, I recall,” Grayson said. “I was there, you might remember.”
She flushed and nodded, but said nothing. Suddenly, Grayson wanted to shake her out of her calm, courageous pose. She did not trust him. Considering that she was the one who had put a bullet in him and dragged him here, Grayson found that a bit astonishing. And grating.
His eyes narrowing slightly, he studied her, wondering just how he could gain her confidence.
Although her head was held high, he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest and recognized the wariness riding just below the surface.
Grayson felt like grabbing her and dragging her down on top of him to dissolve her doubts in the heat that flared between them.
But he did not. Without knowing who she was, he could not touch her, and she seemed determined not to tell him. Frustration surged through him. He was not accustomed to being denied, and he did not care for it.
“Very well,” he said, feigning indifference. “Believe what you will, poppet, but you have been wrong before about me.”
Grayson saw the flicker of surprise in her lovely eyes and leaned back, watching her from under lowered lashes. He was used to getting what he wanted, and Kate would be no exception.
In political circles, he was known for both his thoroughness and his tenacity. Ruthless, some people called him, but he simply did not suffer fools or delays. And, although he sometimes was forced to compromise, he never gave way.
His lips curved slightly as he contemplated his newest challenge. Poor Kate had no idea just how far she was out of her depth.
Grayson intended to discover everything there was to know about the poppet. And perhaps that would only be the beginning…