always regretted it. Nick, her father, Charles — different men, to be sure, but they had all, in some way, wanted her as a possession.
If any man were to own her, she should have chosen Nick. But now that no one owned her, she couldn’t let him try again. She wouldn’t let herself be seduced by the idea of what might have been — or give herself away for less than she deserved.
When she thought she could speak without betraying herself, she said, “I understand your hatred. But I won’t be your whore.”
“This has nothing to do with what happened between us. It’s a business transaction, nothing more.”
She laughed bitterly. “I don’t know what you’ve heard of my reputation, but any lovers I’ve had were for pleasure, not lucre.”
“Then you failed to earn what you’re worth, but that’s not something I’ll take the blame for. Do take your experience into account when you negotiate your fee with me — you’re surely better than you were the first time I had you.”
The first time. Eleven years ago tonight — her birthday present from him. She treasured that memory, the way he’d touched her, how he’d tried so hard not to hurt her. It hadn’t been perfect. They’d tried again, as often as they could over the next four months, until it was. But it was one of her most perfect memories.
He tarnished that memory now, like fetid air settling on precious silver.
“How dare you come into my house and insult me like this?” she snapped.
“Ah, ‘your house.’ Now we come to the crux of it,” he said. He finally stepped back. She might have escaped the room, but he stole the key from the lock before crossing the room and pouring whisky into a fresh glass.
“Not going to offer me any?” she asked, knowing she sounded churlish rather than confident.
“I will, if you want to add to your debt.”
He sat without waiting for her — a breech of etiquette that twisted the knife he’d already embedded in her gut. He took her chaise without asking, lounging on it as she couldn’t do earlier. He braced an arm against the rolled cushion and sipped his whisky as he watched her. Caesar might have looked the same, waiting for Cleopatra, a queen brought low, to pleasure him.
But Cleopatra had had her own agenda. Ellie let her hips sway as she walked toward him — a sway made more pronounced by the tight, dropped waist of her old-fashioned gown. His eyes were drawn to the movement. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, hard — and it wasn’t whisky in his throat when he swallowed again.
“And what, pray, is my debt to you?” she asked as she drew nearer.
His eyes slid back to her face. The question seemed to confuse him momentarily — long enough for her to see something haunted, more like a trapped animal than a ruthless hunter.
Then Caesar was back in command. “Forty thousand pounds, give or take. I suppose a glass of whisky is negligible.”
“Impossible,” she said flatly.
She veered off toward the whisky anyway. He stayed silent while she pulled out the stopper and poured. It was only when she turned to face him that he smiled.
“I have the receipts to prove it. Tell me, Ellie my love — how many nights will it take to repay that debt?”
She went hot, then cold — a nerveless, spineless dread. Whisky would make it worse, but the glass was already in her hand. Drinking it was better than dwelling on that question.
When she thought she might be able to speak, she said, “How can I possibly owe you forty thousand pounds?”
“Servants, dresses, paints, canvases, parties such as tonight’s — you spend far beyond your means, my dear. I’ll grant that it took you longer to reach this sum than I thought it would, back when Charles died and I inherited. If only you liked gaming hells.”
“I know I spend your money on servants — it’s your estate, damn you, and Marcus said you specifically invited me to live here as long as I liked. But the rest comes from the income from my marriage settlements.”
“Sadly, you are mistaken.” His eyes weren’t sad — they were triumphant. Then they widened, the picture of innocence. “Surely Marcus explained that you were borrowing money from my estate?”
The floor dropped out from under her. All these years, she’d thought she’d been on solid, albeit unhappy, ground. But he yanked it from her, leaving her in a