softer blue than he remembered, and her face held a gentleness that did not match her previous actions. She was clever, far too clever for him to give an inch.
Brodie spun her around to begin unlacing the back of her gown, perhaps a little too roughly. She clutched at the bedpost, her breath coming fast as her body jerked with his motions. He soon had her gown open down the back. The satin fabric gaped open, revealing her figure beneath a set of stays. He unfastened those too, his captive remaining completely still until he released her.
“Strip down and get into bed. Or sleep in them and chafe, for all I care.”
Miss Hunt spun to face him as her dress and stays fell to the floor. She hugged herself and half hid behind the bedpost, fear darkening her eyes. It confused Brodie. He knew true fear when he saw it. This lass had kissed him—she had wanted him. Why was she afraid of him now? It made no sense. He knew he hadn’t dreamed her kissing him earlier, insisting she would be a good wife. What the devil had changed for her to not want him?
“Lass, I meant it. I’ll not hurt you.” He stepped closer, catching her around the waist before she could retreat farther.
“How can I trust you?” Her breasts rose and fell beneath her thin chemise. She gazed at him with all the fear of a wild lark finding itself in a cage for the first time.
“You’re a fine one to talk about trust,” said Brodie. “But unlike you, my word is my bond, and I do not lie to get what I want.” He lifted his other hand to her face and brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. The more he looked upon Miss Hunt, the more he preferred the reality in front of him to the alcohol-altered version of her in his memories. She was shapely, with a swanlike neck and a melting sweetness to her features that drew him in. But he knew that she was also the devil in disguise.
“Please,” she whispered, her lips teasing his thumb, which still shaped her mouth.
“Please what?”
“Don’t do whatever it is you are planning, Mr. Kincade. Please, let me go home. I shall not tell anyone what my sister did, and no one will force you to marry her.”
“Sister,” he chuckled. “Your pretense wears thin. I remember you. I remember how you taste, how you smell, that hint of perfume.” He leaned in to inhale, but the scent of expensive French perfume wasn’t there. What he did smell was more like wildflowers blooming on a distant hill in the midst of a spring storm. She must have had a bath after she’d drugged him the second time. It was intoxicating and natural. Her breath hitched, and she squirmed in his hold, setting fire to his blood, but he held fast to his promise. He would not kiss her until she begged him to. Although resisting her soft, flowery pink lips would likely kill him.
“Bed, lass. Now.” He dropped his arm from her lower back. She scrambled away, putting the bed between them. The girl pulled at the covers and climbed underneath the sheets.
He resumed undressing. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over the back of a chair. Then he removed his boots with some effort, given that his balance still wasn’t fully restored. He left his trousers on, however. It would be uncomfortable, but he had a suspicion his little captive would make a run for it in the middle of the night, and he wanted to be able to leap from the bed and capture her if she tried.
Weary now, he crossed to the opposite side of the bed and blew out the candle on the small table by the bed. Darkness fell around them, and he heard her shift restlessly.
“Dinna try to run off, buaireadair. I sleep lightly. I will catch you.”
“What is a buaireadair?”
“A troublemaker, which is what you are, lass.”
There was a moment’s silence before she spoke. “I once thought you were such a handsome gentleman, possibly even kind when I first saw you at the ball. But now I know differently. You are a brute. A bully.”
The almost prissy response brought a smile to his lips.
“Aye. You would know, seeing as how you are one as well. Good night, lass.” He rolled over to face away from her shadowy outline. Yet he had a feeling