Free Lady in Red by Karen Hawkins

surely people wouldn’t think you and Cassandra—”
    “They would indeed. So your offer is not very well thought out.”
    Honoria sighed. How sad, but the lout was right. “That is unfortunate. Now we are right back where we started. I have your ring and you do not agree to my price.”
    The marquis’s expression tightened, his eyes flashing bright blue. He leaned forward and the air instantly thickened. “Miss Baker-Sneed, do not make the mistake of underestimating me. I always get what I want.”
    The words hung for a moment, cold and cutting. Honoria set down her teacup. “Since you will not agree to my request, then I have no other option but to sell the ring. Perhaps to a man I know in France who collects such objects d’art. Or a countess I know who has a passion for unusual jewelry. Whatever I do with the ring, you will never find it.”
    “You are a vixen.”
    She ignored the vivid anger that flashed through his eyes and traced the taut line of his jaw. This was playing with fire and she knew it. But frankly, the fact that the marquis had shown up on their doorstep just as they faced the most horrid financial straits… it could only be fate.
    Whatever Honoria did, she had to find a way to present Cassandra, and if she couldn’t find a sponsor, then a large amount of funds was the next best thing. The thought of good, gentle Cassandra marrying someone far beneath her, someone crass and unworthy, was too horrid to contemplate. Honoria refused to allow that to happen.
    With a renewed purpose, she met the marquis’s furious gaze and shrugged. “I believe our meeting is at an end.” She stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to that will wait no longer.” With that, she etched a faint curtsy and turned to leave.
    Marcus could only stare. She had refused him and now she was leaving—walking away as if his concerns were of no moment. Anger surged through him, bold and hot. He stepped forward, blocking her way. “I am not yet through talking to you.”
    “No?” she said.
    “No,” he snapped.
    She turned and walked around the chair, out of his reach. “That’s a pity, for I am through talking to you.”
    He would never remember stepping around the chair. Would have only the faintest recollection of catching her arm and pinioning her about to face him. But what he would remember in agonizing detail would be the way he scooped her against him and held her there, imprisoned against his chest. He’d just meant to hold her, keep her there and stop her from leaving. But as she settled against his chest and he felt the warmth of her body against his, something happened. Instead of just holding her, he kissed her.
    His anger kept him from being gentle. It was meant to be a punishing kiss, one destined to teach a lesson in sorely needed comportment. And at first it was just that—punishing. But his anger, which had so quickly surged, melted almost instantly in an onslaught of heated lust.
    Never before had he been aware of how closely related lust and anger were. They were both primitive, intense emotions that robbed one of coherent thought and often led to extreme sorts of actions, like deeply passionate, mindless kisses.
    Marcus wasn’t sure if it was because of the unadulterated lust, or because for one small second he had succeeded in silencing the divinely irritating Miss Baker-Sneed, but the kiss ignited a response that began in his toes and ended in more interesting places. To his surprise, the embrace seemed to have the same effect on his companion, for after a stiff moment, she moaned against his mouth and fell against him, her mouth opening beneath his, her body soft and pliant.
    It was madness. Crazed madness. Yet he could not stop. He was primed and ready by the time she gathered herself enough to grab his arms and push herself free.
    He immediately let her go, his mind and body awhirl. To his bemusement, Miss High and Mighty Baker-Sneed actually staggered back a step, her