Free A Scoundrel by Moonlight by Anna Campbell Page B

presence. Nothing came to mind.
    Black brows arched in cynical enquiry. “I what?”
    “I can’t think when you stand so close,” she muttered crossly.
    Despite the nasty edge to his soft laugh, the sound stroked along her skin. Every hair on her body stood to attention. This heady mixture of desire and alarm sent her into a complete spin.
    “I don’t want you to think. I want you to tell me the truth.” He frowned. “Have you come to steal?”
    She should be grateful for the accusation. It jolted her out of cowering like a mouse. She straightened and glared at him. “Of course not.”
    “Then what are you doing?”
    She avoided his eyes. “I thought you were in the library.”
    “Catching Lady Mary.” His acerbic response made her wince. His concentration on her burned like flame.
    “I saw Wells bring you supper.”
    “What a busy little miss you are.” It wasn’t a compliment. “I already know you’re the ghost.”
    Her eyes flashed up. “I wanted a book,” she said desperately.
    “One you can’t find during the day?” His voice bit as he continued. “With dear Mr. Crane’s advice on your choice.”
    If he was another man, she’d think he was jealous. But the great Marquess of Leath wouldn’t care about a maidservant’s flirtations.
    He went on before she could protest. “Surely you won’t say that you’re here for something to read.”
    She raised her chin. Knowing that she risked disaster, she said the only thing that came to mind. “I wanted to see where you sleep.”
    Surprise had him lurching back. “What the devil?”
    She took advantage of the few extra inches of space to draw a breath, tangy with sandalwood. Turning red as a tomato would lend credence to her explanation. “Please don’t make me admit this.”
    He watched her like a snake watched a rat. “Admit what?”
    “Must I say? You put me to the blush.” That at least was true.
    “Yes, you must.”
    She pressed her damp palms to her skirts. How she’d love to punch him, but she had a horrible inkling that his jaw would be much harder than her fist. Dear heaven, help her to sound convincing. But not too convincing.
    “Hasn’t a servant ever been besotted with you, my lord?” To her surprise, her question emerged steadily.
    “Not to my…” He spoke very deliberately. “Are you saying you have a penchant for me, Miss Trim?”
    He didn’t sound pleased. She should be relieved that he wasn’t ripping her clothes off. After all, her confession could be taken as an invitation. Yet again it struck her that he was a remarkably restrained libertine.
    She struggled to appear bashful instead of scared out of her wits. “It’s embarrassing.”
    “I’m sure.” He sounded skeptical, as well he might. “You’ve never seemed dazzled.”
    She turned her face away, staring at his hand spread against the door’s rich mahogany. Like the rest of him, his hand was big and powerful and beautifully formed. Despite everything, she couldn’t resist imagining that hand on her skin. His gold signet ring, visible symbol of his rank, gleamed evilly from his little finger. “I have my pride.”
    “Of course,” he said drily.
    She struggled to look humble and shy and innocent. All were true. Well, apart from the humble part. Her stepfather had frequently warned her that a mere sergeant major’s daughter had no right to be so stiff-necked. “I’m aware of the gulf between us.”
    “And it breaks your heart.”
    If only she could squeeze out a convincing tear. “I can’t help my feelings.”
    He didn’t move closer. It just felt that way. “Do you really expect me to credit this balderdash?”
    Her temper stirred. “You underestimate your effect on an impressionable girl.”
    He snorted disbelief. “More balderdash.”
    Damn him. A turbulent mix of desperation, anger, and reckless bravado gripped her. Frantic hands grabbed the front of his shirt. “I’ll show you balderdash, my lord.”
    She stretched up until her lips