Chapter 18
“Iam not at liberty to answer,” she said, her tone low and her words sounding practiced.
Horseshit. But she’d inadvertently given him an answer after all.
“Very well. We will leave it for now.” His eyes trailed her from head to toe, then he continued. “I’m afraid all I have to offer you for a change of clothing is my own.”
Her expression eased into a smile. “Thank you. Yes. I’d welcome it until I can purchase some of my own.”
Slade showed Fifi around the spacious lodge.
He pointed out its weapons room, dining area, gaming room, kitchen, stocked larder, and four bedchambers.
He then guided her to a guest chamber at the back of the lodge, for it provided her with the greatest degree of privacy.
Afterwards, he walked to his chamber to shuffle through his belongings for the cleanest breeches and shirt he could find.
Twenty minutes later he strolled back to her chamber and pushed the door open, holding the fresh clothes in his hands.
“These should be adequate for—”
Slade halted in his tracks as an audible gasp escaped Fifi’s lips from further inside the chamber.
The breath left him, and his senses shattered.
She had lit a candle on a sideboard and stripped herself of the cloak, leaving her in a long thin night rail.
He shouldn’t find the outline of her curves beneath the diaphanous fabric so seductive, but he did.
Her lips parted in shock, sending a rush of heat and blood straight to his groin.
His eyelids slammed shut and he swung around, giving her his back, a foul imprecation escaping his mouth.
It was unfortunate the imprint of her delicious looking areolas was now burned on his brain.
He would never be able to unsee her luscious figure.
And he would never be able to stop what he was starting to feel for his friend.
Hasty scrambling sounded behind him.
“I hadn’t expected—” she started, in a breathless voice.
“Forgive me. I’m terribly sorry—” he cut in.
A booming crash and a simultaneous “Ouch!” sounded.
Slade swung around despite the threat of a second faux pas.
She was on the floor looking as undone as he felt.
Her booted feet seemed to have caught on the edge of the rug.
He dropped the clothes he was holding and in two long strides he was upon her.
Taking her upper arms, he gently but firmly lifted her.
“Are you hurt?” Slade asked.
The lack of finesse he employed to pull her up made him curse himself inwardly.
But all words died in his head when his actions landed Fifi’s soft curves flush against his hard edges.
Her bandaged palm splayed awkwardly on his chest to steady herself.
The feel of her body was too bloody sublime.
The edgy feminine scent of her scrambled his senses, and the heat from her nearness reshaped his reality.
She tipped her head back, eyes widened, and pupils dilated.
Her soft breath escaped her lips, brushing his cheeks as if she would speak, but no words sounded.
There was shock and heat in her eyes, but he dared not contemplate the latter.
If he contemplated it too much, he would forget that having Fifi in his arms with dark erotic thoughts flying through his head would draw Egan’s protectiveness and wrath.
He still had to use all his self-control to rein in the screaming urge in his hips to thrust forward or the overpowering desire to lower his lips to hers.
Slade blinked when something sharp nipped into the left side of his chest. All sultry images drained from his head. He blinked and glanced down. The candle’s light reflected off an elegant Damascus dagger she held right over his heart. Something cold rippled down Slade’s body.
“Let go of me,” she said, her voice calm.
The kind of calm right before thunder ripped the heavens apart in a deadly storm. His eyes flew to hers. And it hit him. If he made a single wrong move she wouldn’t hesitate to plunge the dagger straight through his heart.
It dawned on him what he was looking at in her face.
Cold terror.
Slade immediately released her and took two steps back.
“I would never cause you harm, Fifi. The very idea offends me,” he said, unable to account for anything at the moment.
He’d never given her any reason to be afraid of him, mistrust him—why on earth would she be terrified of him?
Her subsequent grin was void of any mirth whatsoever as she wagged the dagger at him, as if he’d been a disobedient pupil and she his reprimanding tutor.
“You are never to enter this chamber again.” Her nostrils flared and her breathing audible.
“Even if you are in need of assistance?” he asked.
“I don’t require the type of assistance you are offering,” she spat.
And what type was she referring to? Wasn’t she the one who’d come to him at five in the morning in need of help?
But now seemed an imprudent time to discuss the type of help she needed or the type of help she imagined he was offering.
He bent down to retrieve the clothes he’d dropped on the floor and deposited them on the bed.
She gripped the weapon like a shield in front of her as she marched towards the door and held it wide open.
She was being exceedingly dramatic, like the day at Hortons shooting range, the first day in Bolingbroke’s gardens and even the day of the jewelers.
But tonight she’d been through a taxing ordeal at the manor, and her childhood friend had just been about to kiss her and not in a friend-like way.
Slade exhaled audibly. Amiable Peter had told Fifi she could trust Slade with her life, but could she trust him with her virtue?
Fifi eyed him, then pointed to the doorway.
“I’d like you to leave now.”
“There’s food and drink in the kitchen if you are hungry. Take anything you wish,” he said, before exiting her bedchamber.
The door bolted loudly behind him.