Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager - By Sarah Mallory Page 0,42

worst fears were realised. She was his prisoner. Hot tears pressed against her eyes. It was clear now that his gentle assurances were worthless. He had not kissed her because he wanted to, because he was attracted to her. It was a cold plan devised to protect his cousin. The tears spilled over, burning her cheeks. What a fool she was.

* * *

Jasper came back to the bed and lay down again, keeping very still. He listened to the quiet snuffling beside him. Sympathy put his desire to flight. And he had desired her, so much so that he had forgotten his planned seduction, forgotten all about Gerald Barnabus. When he had taken Susannah in his arms he had thought only of possessing her fully, wholly, for himself. Her distress made him realise that somehow he had got it badly wrong. Whatever secrets she had they did not involve marriage to his cousin, he would stake his life on that now.

When she was calmer he would talk to her, assure her that if there was the faintest hint of scandal resulting from this evening then he would do the honourable thing and marry her. But that would come later. For now she needed to sleep, as did he. At least, having locked the door, there was no danger that they would be discovered in this compromising situation by some over-zealous chambermaid coming in early to light the fire.

He dozed, his dreams filled with images of Susannah. He was even aware of the faint trace of flowery perfume he had noticed on her skin when they had kissed. In his dreams she was standing beside him and he reached for her. He sighed when she caught his hands and held them. The fog of sleep lifted and he realised that Susannah really was standing beside the bed, but she wasn’t holding his hands, she was binding them together.

‘What the—?’

‘Please do not struggle, my lord, that will only make the bonds tighter.’

He blinked away the final remnants of his dream. She had used the silk cord from her gown to bind his hands together and had tied the cord around the bedpost. He tried to sit up, but his arms were yanked awkwardly towards the post and he collapsed back again.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’

‘I am leaving, and I am making sure you cannot prevent me.’ She watched him tug hard against his bonds. ‘It is silk, you know, and incredibly strong. I doubt you will break it.’

‘There is no need for this. I told you I would not stop you.’

‘You also told me you would not touch me,’ she retorted.

The candles were guttering in their sockets but there was still sufficient light to see that she looked incredibly desirable with her flushed cheeks and those golden curls in disarray.

‘Susannah—’

‘Miss Prentess to you.’

‘You cannot leave.’

‘Oh, yes, I can.’ She picked up the key. ‘You should have hidden this, my lord, if you really wanted to keep me your prisoner.’

‘Prisoner be damned! I locked the door to protect your honour.’

‘Hah!’

He was not surprised as her scathing response, but he tried again.

‘Please, Susannah. Think. It is not light yet. It is not safe for you to go out alone.’

‘That is not your concern.’

As she walked away to the other room he pulled again at the silk rope, feeling it tighten on his wrists. There was no chance of freeing himself quickly. Frantically he searched his mind for any argument to stop her from leaving.

‘But you promised, the wager—’

She returned with her cloak about her shoulders and her bonnet in one hand.

‘I have dined with you, and it wants only an hour until dawn, so I have stayed with you until morning. I think you will agree I have fulfilled my part of the wager.’ She put on her bonnet and tied the strings. ‘I will bid you adieu.’

‘Good God, woman, you cannot leave me tied up—’

‘I can, and I will. Do not worry, your valet will be back in an hour or so. Of course, you might try calling for help, but this could be a little embarrassing to explain, don’t you think?’

‘Damn it all, Susannah—’

She drew herself up to her full height, and despite the tumbled curls that escaped from her bonnet she was as haughty as any aristocrat.

‘You have said quite enough, my lord. Our acquaintance is at an end. You are no longer welcome in my house and I shall not acknowledge you, should we meet in