as couples with little interest in bedsport do, as well.”
“Which are you?” she inquired in a dulcet voice.
It was a weak attempt to rile him, and he didn’t allow himself to react. “I think you know perfectly well the extent of my sexual appetites, Lady Carstairs.”
“You called me Melisande before.”
“And clearly you mistook it for a carte blanche. How can I make this any clearer? Bribery won’t work. I’m not going to let you get involved in this mess any longer, and all the offers won’t have any effect on me. I don’t want you. I don’t desire you. You have nothing I look for in a mistress—you’re inexperienced and clumsy, and your choice of a life of continuing celibacy was probably a very wise decision. Now put your clothes on while I go summon my coach.”
He was almost at the door when he heard the sound. It was just a small noise, something choked back, and he paused. He who hesitates is lost, he thought. And turned.
He’d expected her to rage at him. He expected fiery eyes and flashing words and high dudgeon. Instead she looked as if he’d shot her puppy. Despite the silly high-necked nightgown, she looked stripped bare, whipped and broken, and he cursed his nasty, vicious tongue that he’d never been able to control.
She struggled, bravely, beautifully, giving him a ghost of her insouciant smile as she pushed back the covers. “You know, I think I’ve changed my mind.” She swung her legs over to the side of the bed, and he could see the strapping on one foot.
It was her toes that did it. He’d forgotten about her lovely, straight, pink toes. Absurd, because he never noticed women’s feet—there were always too many more interesting parts to observe somewhere to the north. It was the fragility of them. The humanity of them. He’d been sparring with her for days, thinking of her as an annoyance, entertainment, the enemy, and yes, a sexual toy.
Now she simply looked human, and shattered by his deliberately cruel words. They’d done what he’d intended. She would never come near him again, never look at another man.
And he couldn’t bear it.
He leaned back against the door, closing it again, and he reached behind his back and locked it, pulling out the key. “Too bad,” he said. “Because I’ve changed my mind, as well.”
25
She’d been a complete and utter idiot, Melisande thought, staring at the cool, cynical beauty that was Benedick Rohan. She was doing her best to hide her misery, but he was looking at her from hooded eyes, and she knew he saw through it. He saw her a little too well, past all the careful defenses she’d built up. He’d known her cool self-assurance was mostly a lie; he’d known she looked at him and something inside of her melted, every time, despite his caustic tongue.
Foolish creature that she was, she’d thought she could handle him without getting burned. Of course he would be willing to bed her, she’d thought, never considering that he might outright refuse. After all, she was a widow, not a virgin. He had no reason to demur unless he simply didn’t want her.
He was watching her, reading her every emotion. She tried to summon up her cheerful smile but for once it deserted her. “Changed your mind?” she echoed. “I’m afraid the offer is withdrawn.”
He held out the key. “Convince me.”
Anger flared, hot and hard, and she slid onto the floor, her toes flinching at the cold of the floor-boards. The fire had burned down and the room was chilly. Perhaps Benedick Rohan preferred to sleep in a chilly room. She would never know.
She’d imagined lying in his arms, against his strong, warm body, safe and protected. She’d glossed over the whole unfortunate business that involved naked body parts and wetness and grunting, concentrating on the absurd glory of the way he’d touched her, wanting that again, willing to let him do his worst in order to have it.
But surely someone else could provide the same thing. Granted, Benedick Rohan was an accomplished lover, even the professionals that made up the gaggle knew that. But with their intimate knowledge of half the men in London they could doubtless point her to someone else just as talented and far less…threatening.
And if she found him threatening, why in God’s name had she come here?
Her clothes were in his dressing room, but she couldn’t see disappearing in there and putting them on again. Her cloak lay