Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,27

and she tore her mouth away, shoving him. He released her this time, moving away in the pitch darkness, and she knew a sudden panic. She hated dark, enclosed spaces, and for the moment she felt trapped, smothered.

And then a light flared in the darkness as he lit one taper, another and another, a candelabrum bringing blessed, welcome light to the darkness, slowly illuminating every corner. Until he started in on the next branch of candles, and she could see all too clearly, and her panic was back, this time rooted in real, not imagined, danger.

It is a small room, cut in to a wall of white rock that was so prevalent in the area. A fireplace at one end, with what looked like a fire laid, ready to be ht. Logs to one side, enough for a day or two, but someone like Adrian Rohan would never load his own fire.

There was a sturdy table which held the candelabrum, a bottle of wine and two glasses. A thick rug covered the floors, newer tapestries hung on the wall. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her glasses, probably when she'd fallen, but she could tell, even in the shadowy lights that they portrayed no innocent wolf hunt or Norman Conquest.

They were sexual scenes, woven into the fine threads. Someone had spent years on this blatantly erotic tapestry that now adorned the walls of Rohan's cavelike retreat.

And there was a bed. How could she have doubted otherwise? It was set up against the wall, covered with velvet bedding and a rich fur throw. A bed for indecent activities, not a bed for sleep.

He was watching her from across the small room, still and silent, yet she couldn't rid herself of the sense that he was a predator, waiting.

She turned around, looking for the door. Why hadn't she run when she had the opportunity? She'd stood a good chance of taking him by surprise when he was kissing her, and instead she'd melted like the love-addled idiot that she was, and now it was too late.

Or maybe it wasn't. She was much closer to the carved wooden door than he was, and she leaped for it, afraid he might reach it first and stop her.

He didn't move, and she told herself it was relief that flooded her when her hand found the doorknob.

He was letting her go. Until she tried to turn the knob, and it held fast. She yanked, but it was immovable.

She was locked in. With the man of her dreams, the worst libertine in all of England.

"Bloody hell," she said weakly. And she slid !o the floor, her back up against the wall, feeling like cornered prey.

When Lina awoke, the early-morning sun was peeping in the window. She sat up quickly, her thin silk nightgown, made for lovers rather than for a comfortable night's sleep, falling down around her shoulders. For a moment her mind was a blank, yet she was conscious of a sense of happy anticipation. It came back to her in pieces—the aborted evening at the Revels, Monty's collapse. And yet her anticipation held. She yawned, then cursed. She'd only meant to rest for an hour or so, but she must have fallen into a deep sleep, leaving Monty in the hands of his unsympathetic vicar. It was the challenge, she realized. Monty's odious friend, the vicar, had arrived and laid down the gauntlet.

And she had snatched it up quite eagerly. Monty needed coddling, not scolding. He needed love and entertainment and distraction from his ills, not some prosy minister reading the riot act over him.

She couldn't imagine why in the world Montague would invite him to stay at Hensley Court in the first place.

If he'd provided his old friend with a Jiving, why hadn't he simply gone to the manse?

"You're awake, then," Charlotte's maid said in a caustic tone, setting down the tea tray. "What are you doing up so early, and you not in bed till half past three?" Meggie was not looking pleased at starting her duties so early.

Lina pushed the pillows up behind her in preparation for her breakfast. "Did anyone mention that a proper lady's maid does not chastise her mistress for her sleeping habits? You're just lucky I'm alone.

My bed in Grosvenor Square might be sacrosanct, but I've come to Hensley Court with the express intention of sin, and it wouldn't do for a gentleman to hear you being so pert."

"I doubt I'd consider your sort of friends to be