Free Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens Page B

suitor of her manifold charms. As they were self
effacing, bumbling, and close to helpless, she was forced to rein in her
temper—forced to smile tightly rather than annihilate them with a crushing
retort, or cut them to ribbons with her saber tongue. Richard noted her
simmering—reminiscent of a barely capped volcano—and bided his time.
    When they returned to the drawing room, and the tea trolley arrived, no
one challenged his suggestion that he take Catriona her cup. As she was, by
then, standing stiff and straight, looking out of one of the uncurtained
windows, it was doubtful anyone else would have dared. As he strolled up, two
cups in his hands, he fixed his gaze, deliberately unreadable, on Algaria
O'Rourke's face. Holding fast to her customary position beside Catriona, she
returned his stare with a black, unfathomable one of her own.
    "Oh, Algaria?"
    From behind him, Richard heard Mary call, and saw consternation and
indecision infuse Algaria's face.
    Halting before her, a pace behind Catriona's back, Richard smiled, all
teeth. "I don't bite—at least, not in drawing rooms."
    The comment, or perhaps its tone, reached Catriona, she stirred and
turned and took the situation in in one glance. Reaching for one of the cups,
she grimaced at Algaria. "Oh, go! And you might check on Meg for me."
    With one last, warning glance at Richard, Algaria inclined her head and
went. Richard watched her retreat, her spine poker-stiff. "Does
she
bite?"
    Catriona nearly choked on her tea. "She's a fully fledged
disciple—she was my mentor after my mother died. So beware—she might turn you
into a toad if you step too tar over the line."
    Richard sipped, then turned and studied her. She was still simmering.
"You can rip up at me, if you like."
    The glance she shot him suggested she was seriously considering it.
"This is all your fault. While they think there's an outside chance—the
most distant possibility—they'll feel compelled to make a push to"—she
gestured—"interest you in me."
    "You could always explain they don't need to make the effort."
    Catriona stiffened, she glanced up—and saw the lurking heat in his eyes.
She frowned "Stop it."
    "Stop what?"
    "Stop thinking of that kiss in the graveyard."
    "Why? It was a very enjoyable kiss, even in a graveyard."
    She fought not to wriggle her shoulders, fought not to think of it
herself. "It was a mistake."
    "So you keep insisting."
    "You could end this entire charade, this senseless agony of
expectation, by simply stating your mind."
    "How can I do that if I don't know it myself?"
    She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know perfectly well you'll
return to London in a week's time, unencumbered by a wife." He merely
raised his brows, with that irritatingly arrogant confidence that never failed
to get her goat. She looked away "You don't want to marry me, any more
than I wish to marry you."
    Turning his head, he looked down at her; she felt the sudden intensity
of his gaze.
    "Ah—but I do wish, very much, to bed you, as much, if not more,
than you wish me to do so, which might well predispose us to wed."
    Stunned, Catriona looked up; politely, he raised his brows, his eyes
like blue flame. "Don't you think?"
    She snapped her mouth shut. "I do
not
!" Her cheeks
burned, she dragged in a breath and looked away, adding through clenched teeth:
"I most certainly do
not
wish you to bed me."
    He studied her profile, even without looking, she knew his brows rose
higher "
Now
who's lying?"
    She straightened, but couldn't meet his eyes. "You're only teasing
me."
    "Am I?"
    The soft words set her nerves skittering. And his fingers settled on the
sensitive skin of her nape. She lost her wits, lost her breath. His fingers
shifted, in the lightest caress—
    She hauled in a breath and whirled to face him. "Stop that!"
    "Why?" His expression unreadable, he studied her frown.
"You like it."
    Biting her tongue against another lie, she forced herself to meet his
gaze—to ignore the wild sensations