her. ‘Put this on.’ He locked the door and pocketed the key. ‘I’ll be right next door.’
He disappeared into what must be his dressing room.
‘Close the door,’ she said.
‘My back is turned. I am not some errant schoolboy who needs to peek, Miss Wilding. I can assure you I have seen my share of women in various stages of undress.’
That was supposed to make her feel better?
She let her sodden gown slip to the floor, and stripped off her stays. She put her arms in his silk robe, so smooth and slightly cool against her skin. It was embroidered with dragons. It seemed very fanciful for such a dark man.
‘Are you done?’ he asked.
She picked up her gown and looked around for somewhere to hang it. He strode in without waiting for an answer. He took the garment from her hand and tossed it over a wooden chair.
‘Now,’ he said, with a hard smile. ‘Sit there, Miss Wilding, on that sofa beside the hearth, and tell me what the devil you think you were doing tonight. Perhaps you can give me one reason why I should not punish you for setting the house in an uproar?’
Chapter Twelve
He was unbelievable. One minute he was kissing her with a passion that curled her toes inside her boots. The next he was treating her as if she was a child.
‘I do not appreciate your tone of voice, my lord,’ she said stiffly. ‘Or your threats. Indeed, I find myself heartily irritated by them. And by you. I am not your ward. I am not anyone’s ward. And what I do is my own concern. Now, if you will excuse me, I will return to my room.’ She held out her hand for the key.
It was somewhat difficult to be haughty in a red robe covered in green and yellow dragons, but she thought she’d pulled it off tolerably well.
‘Sit!’ he snarled.
She jumped.
He spun away, raking his fingers through the hair at his temples. Clearly he was very close to losing his temper. It was the first time she’d seen him so close to losing control of his emotions. She eyed him just as warily as she had eyed his stallion earlier that evening, but she wasn’t going to let him scare her. She was finished with being terrified.
‘The key, if you please, my lord.’
Slowly he turned to face her. His eyes blazed fury. His fists opened and closed at his sides and he took a deep shuddering breath.
‘We cannot go on like this,’ he said with soft menace. ‘I learned young that losing my temper only makes a bad situation worse, but you drive me to the brink of madness, to the point where I have no control.’ He took another deep breath. ‘So here it is, one last time. Please, Miss Wilding. Would you do me the very great honour of sitting down so we can talk like reasonable adults?’
What woman could resist a plea like that from such a man? Not Mary, even if she ought to. While his words were cool, his eyes were hot. The same heat she felt in her belly.
Slowly she sank to sit on the sofa, the heat from the fire warming one side of her body and face.
He bent over the flames and ladled out two mugs of the steaming aromatic liquid, the scent of cinnamon, cloves and oranges intensifying.
‘Drink this,’ he said, handing her one of the cups. ‘It will warm you.’
He brought his own cup and sat beside her on the sofa. She had not expected that. She sipped at the steaming brew. It was delicious. ‘What is it?’
‘A hot toddy. A favourite with miners after a day in the damp and the cold. It is also known as punch.’
His words reminded her of the damp and the cold in the tin mine. She shivered.
He reached over and brought the cup to her lips again. ‘Drink it all.’
She took another sip and another and soon it was all gone and her head felt a little muzzy.
He took the cup from her hand. ‘How is that?’ he asked.
He was right, she did feel warmer, inside and out. Relaxed. Her teeth were no longer clamped together to stop their chattering and her shoulders were not tight. ‘Much better, thank you.’
He set the mug on the floor, then he reached out and touched her jaw with the tips of his fingers, urging her with that gentle touch to turn her face towards him. She