his voice, low and impatient.
“Almost,” she hedged, swiftly crafting her plan.
If she hesitated, lingering behind the screen, it was entirely likely he would come for her, and then she could distract him by throwing the screen onto him, giving her enough time to get her hands on that figurine.
“What is taking you so bloody long?” he demanded, his booted footfalls striding nearer.
Nearer.
She held her breath. At the last moment, she shoved the screen, upending it onto him. His muffled curses were not far behind her as she raced for the figurine. Her fingers closed upon it, and she turned, raising it high, striking him over the head with it.
The figurine smashed into hundreds of ceramic shards, raining all over the floor.
He growled.
But he did not topple over. Nor did he pass out. Instead, he lunged for her.
And that was when she knew she was in desperate trouble.
Chapter Three
After they were both dead, dear reader, I wish I could tell you I experienced a measure of guilt. However, I knew not even a modicum. I gloried in my crime. The Duke of W. and the Countess of Sin deserved their fates.
~from Confessions of a Sinful Earl
The witch had broken a porcelain figure over his head. Sin supposed he ought not to be surprised. Leave it to Lady Calliope Manning to find one of the few pieces remaining within Helston Hall which had yet to be sold off or bartered because it was too bloody ugly, and to clobber him with it.
But she would pay for her folly.
He was not in the mood to find amusement in her attempts to beat in his brains, as it happened. His reaction, he had to admit, was rather something of an overreaction. There was no need to tackle her and pin her to the threadbare carpet beneath him. No reason save his own fury.
And the desire to have her beneath him.
He would not lie about that. As much as he loathed her, Lady Calliope was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty with a feminine form to tempt a saint. The need to overpower her, to show her just how helpless she was, had become a physical ache that swelled beyond the mere tides of lust.
Sin caught her hands, pinning them over her head. His thighs bracketed hers, and he leaned down, so their noses nearly touched. She was breathing heavily, thrusting her full bosom into his chest.
“That was a mistake,” he told her as he allowed his gaze to flit over her face.
Her eyes were wide, luminous pools of darkness. Her lips parted. “Let me go, you brute.”
Why the hell was she so damned beautiful? So alluring? So traitorous?
He ground his jaw, forcing back a wave of desire that crashed over him when she writhed beneath him. He was not supposed to want her, damn it. “I am the brute? Need I remind you which one of us has just attacked the other?”
“You abducted me!” she shouted, struggling to free herself. “You killed my brother!”
She was panting beneath him, fighting him with all her might. He had to admit, she possessed surprising strength for such an elegant duke’s daughter. He also had to admit, he liked the way she fought him. His cock was hard.
What the hell was wrong with him? She had ruined him and had just accused him of murdering her brother, a crime which he had most certainly not committed. How could he be randy at a time like this?
“I abducted you,” he snapped at her. “I will own that. But I can assure you, I did not kill your brother. The sainted Duke of Westmorland achieved his demise all on his own.”
“A fall down the steps in the middle of the night after you had attacked and threatened him within earshot of the servants,” she scoffed, breathless. “And on the same night as your wife’s sudden death. So many curious deaths, all revolving around one despicable man.”
“Unfortunately for you, I am the same despicable man you are going to marry.” His lip curled. “How will it feel to spend the rest of your life bound inextricably to the man you wanted to destroy, princess?”
He was taunting her, it was true. In truth, it had been a long day. A long journey. He had been filled with rage and desperation for far too much time. And now, it was all mixing with the heady potency of lust. A dangerous combination indeed.
She moved beneath him with increasing, futile violence. “I will never marry you.”
She had