When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,5

by both wrists. When she realized she wouldn’t be able to free herself, she attacked, kicking at him, even though she was hampered by her own skirts.

He crowded her with his body, forcing her to retreat until her back hit the wall. For a split second he studied her, trapped between the wall and him. Her heavy black hair was uncoiling around her face, her cheeks flushed pink from exertion. She glared up at him with gray eyes that held storms and dire warnings.

But there was no fear in their clear depths, none at all. Something inside him exulted that she couldn’t be cowed, even by him.

He bent his head, aware that he was close enough to seize her lips beneath his, and murmured, “Now then, I think we need to talk.”

* * *

Messalina stared into Mr. Hawthorne’s horrid black eyes. This close she could see how long and thick his eyelashes were, as if his eyes were outlined in charcoal. On any other man they might look feminine.

Not on him. Never on him. She could almost smell his masculine musk. Few men had ever stood as close to her as he did now.

“Let me go,” she growled belatedly, yanking at her wrists to no avail.

One of his sloped eyebrows arched at her struggles. He looked amused, damn him! He leaned close to her, his breath tickling her lips. “Will you give me your word not to attack again?”

She nodded once jerkily.

He let go of her arms and stepped back.

She found herself inhaling deeply, as if his presence so close to her had kept her from breathing.

Perhaps it had.

“I’ll not marry you,” she stated as calmly as she could. “No matter what my uncle says.”

The duke might’ve had Mr. Hawthorne steal her pin money, but there must be other avenues of escape. The threat against Lucretia filled her with panicked nausea. If she could just delay Uncle Augustus’s schemes, she would find a way.

“Really.” He turned his back on her—rather insultingly—and strolled to a table near her fireplace. Someone had placed a decanter of wine there, along with a repast of bread and cold meats. He poured a glass and returned to her. “Even if His Grace offers me your sister instead?”

He held out the glass.

She swallowed, ignoring the blasted wineglass. “He’d never do such a thing.”

“Because your uncle is such a very reasonable man?” Mr. Hawthorne’s eyes widened mockingly before he took a sip of the wine. “No, His Grace will happily force Lucretia to marry me, both for spite and because he wants to retain my services.”

He was right and they both knew it. She lifted her chin, seeking any way out of this trap. “What do your services to my uncle have to do with Lucretia or me?”

“Your uncle wishes me to do a certain task. I refused. But then he offered a very tempting enticement.” His gaze wandered down her frame before that distracting mouth twitched and he met her eyes. “You.”

She wanted to strike him. The intensity of the violent urge shocked her. Her words came out in a stutter, she was so angry. “So you’ll m-marry Lucretia if I refuse?”

“No.” The wine had left a wet stain on his bottom lip, shining and mesmerizing. “I want only you.” He shrugged as her eyes widened. Her? “I merely point out that your uncle is fickle. If you hinder his plans, he’ll punish not only you but everyone you hold dear. He’s already suggested imprisoning and starving you. Do you want him to do the same to Lucretia in order to persuade her to marry some aged lord?”

“No.” Messalina glared at Hawthorne. He was quite correct, unfortunately. Uncle Augustus was a monster who didn’t bother with even the appearance of the morals that guided other men. “My uncle is cruel—that I agree with you on, but I don’t understand. Why would you want to marry me?”

He smiled then, as if he’d won a point—and maybe he had. “I think you’re forgetting your enormous dowry.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ve not forgotten it. Lucretia’s dowry is the same. Why me instead of her?”

He looked at her from under his outlandish eyelashes. “Would you rather I marry your sister?”

“Of course not.” He was trying to distract her and she mustn’t let him. She needed all her attention for this fight if she was to persevere. “Answer my question, please.”

He was suddenly in front of her, so close he might’ve kissed her, his black gaze intent upon her face.