Free Ruthless by Anne Stuart Page A

sofa across from her. And not just any man—King Rohan himself. Her quick intake of horrified breath was almost silent, but he opened one eye anyway, looking at her.
    â€œYes, you slept with the devil, Miss Harriman,” he drawled. “And lived to tell the tale.”
    She sat up, shoving down the cover that someone had thoughtfully draped over her, then realized her shawl was gone as well, and during her sleep the threadbare bodice of her ancient dress had shredded just a little bit more, exposing too much of her chest. She needed a fichu as well as her shawl, but woven cloth was a scarcity and she’d thought the shawl would give her modest coverage. She was wrong.
    She started to yank the cover back up, but he was closer than she realized, and his indolent pose was clearly just that, a pose. He caught the blanket before she could cover herself, tossing it to one side. “There’s no need to be excessively modest, Miss Harriman. You still err on the side of decency.”
    â€œMy shawl,” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s over on the chair.”
    He glanced that way. “Is it? And why would you assume I’d be interested in waiting on you? Particularly when I don’t wish to have you cover up your surprisingly delightful charms.”
    She started to get up, feeling desperate, and he simply pushed her back in the chair again. “All right, if you’re going to be tiresome,” he said, moving over to her discarded clothing and fetching her thin shawl. She could see the light through it, but it was bettercoverage than what she was wearing, and she snatched it from his hand, wrapping it around her shoulders and waist so that it stayed firmly in place. “That’s better,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.
    â€œTerrible. And it doesn’t change the fact that you spent the night sleeping with me.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. I had no idea you were there, and I’m not quite certain why you chose to fall asleep on such an uncomfortable piece of furniture. You’re in the midst of hosting an orgy—shouldn’t you have been frolicking with courtesans?”
    â€œIt’s a three-day revel, child. I seldom frolic until the second night. And besides, I’ve already…frolicked with any of my guests who interest me. You’re a novelty.”
    â€œA novelty who shall remove herself forthwith,” she said. “I cannot believe I let myself fall asleep in such circumstances. Where is my mother?”
    â€œBack home. I had Reading see to her, and since he has yet to return I’m assuming he’s had a bit of difficulty.”
    â€œThe poor man with the scar?”
    Rohan laughed softly. “Oh, he would be distressed to hear you call him that. He thinks his scar makes him a very dangerous character. So tell me, Miss Harriman, what will he find when he arrives at your home? Besides your hapless, larcenous coachman.”
    â€œNo one.” Lydia was much better at opening her eyes wide and looking innocent, but Elinor gave it her best try.
    â€œDon’t attempt to play games with me,” he said lazily. He strolled over to the window, looking outonto the early-morning landscape. “I’m a master at them. Who else resides in your household besides you and your mother?”
    â€œMy old nanny.”
    â€œAnd who else?”
    â€œNo one.”
    He turned his head. “You’re not an adept liar, Miss Harriman. If I remember correctly, Lady Caroline Harriman had two daughters.”
    â€œMy sister died.”
    A faint smile touched his mouth. “If you’re going to continue lying you really need to do a better job of it, my pet. I’m certain I could find someone to teach you the fine points. It’s a useful skill.”
    â€œI’m not lying.” She glanced toward the door. If she caught him off guard she could make her escape, and if she couldn’t find a