Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,94

a great deal of pain already, though I expect in your case it's not much of a deterrent.

So we've established I deserved this beating. Did I deserve to die?” She made a concerted effort to get past her emotions. "Die? Was someone trying to kill you?"

"I was set upon by street ruffians, who were clearly intent on killing me. If Pagett hadn't shown up we wouldn't be having this conversation."

She ignored the dark pain in her heart at the thought. "Why would someone want to kill you? Of course, that's a ridiculous question—I would like to kill you. I'm sure countless other women would as well. But I think that most of us wouldn't have bothered hiring thugs—we'd rather have the pleasure ourselves. Who have you offended?"

He seemed amused. "Most everyone, though I would presume not to the point of killing me. If someone wanted me dead I would think they'd challenge me to a duel. Of course, I'm a fairly lethal shot, and if someone challenged me I could choose the weapons, so perhaps my enemies are cowards. Right now you're the only one I can think of who'd want me dead, and while I sympathize.

I don't think you'd have time to arrange it. I'd just left Curzon Street when they set upon me."

"You live on Curzon Street," Charlotte pointed out. "Why were you leaving there?"

For a moment he looked uncomfortable. And then he laughed. "I may as well be truthful. I was going to see if I could find some way past Lady Whitmore and finish what we'd started."

The day was very quiet. She could hear the sounds of birds in the distance, the quiet hum of bees in the late-spring flowers. A soft breeze had picked up, pulling at his hair so that it fell into his face. She wanted to reach up and brush it away, but she kept her hands still.

"I assumed you would have taken care of the problem yourself," she said, then wished she'd kept her mouth shut as his smile widened.

"My hands are not nearly as much fun as yours. Though I suppose I could have closed my eyes and pretended..."

It was awful being so fair-skinned—she could feel hot color slain her cheeks. "I beg your pardon,"

she said. "That was most improper of me."

“Aren’t we past the point of being proper with each other?"

"I think we should do our best to return to that state. We're likely to run into each other on occasion, and we'd be better off pretending we never…er…never…”

"Tupped?" he offered helpfully. "Swived? Shagged? Screwed? Fucked? There are any number of words for it."

"Are they all so ugly?"

He moved closer to her, as if he couldn't help himself. "I don't think they're ugly at all. They're honest. Physical. Arousing. Come to bed with me."

The last followed so suddenly upon the previous words that for a moment she didn't comprehend. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." His voice was low and hungry. "Come to bed with me. It's a huge house—no one will walk in on us. We'll find aplace. A nice, private place. I want you, I've been driven mad with wanting you, and nothing I do seems to change it. Take my hand and come with me."

The blood was pounding in her body. In her ears, between her legs, in her heart. Time seemed to stand still. Now was the lime to claim her revenge. Now was the time to finish it for good. To say

"no, thank you" very politely and walk away. There were hundreds of other women he could have.

He was poison for her, beautiful, glittering poison. Walk away, she told herself.

He put his hand out, his long, gorgeous fingers outstretched to her. She stared down at them, and to her astonishment she saw a faint tremor.

"Yes," he said. "I'm shaking, I want you so badly. What do you want me to do, Charlotte? Beg?"

She knew the answer, they both knew the answer, but neither of them spoke it. He'd make a terrible husband—he'd whore and gamble and drink and break her heart.

"What do you want, Charlotte?" he said again, sounding almost angry.

She met his hard blue eyes. "You."

21

He took her hand in his, his grip sure and steady, and led her into the house. She followed him almost in a daze. Was she really doing this? She most certainly was.

He was lying to her, of course. Not for one moment did she believe he was so caught up with longing for her that he'd throw