Free Ruthless by Anne Stuart Page B

carriage or a horse she could simply walk the five miles to Paris. Except that her tattered shoes were nowhere to be seen.
    â€œDon’t be tiresome,” Rohan said. “You have a very pretty little sister, do you not?”
    She wasn’t going to show her terror. She’d always known she’d be safe enough—she hadn’t the face to drive men to distraction, and a determined libertine such as Rohan would have beauty at his fingertips. But her baby sister was a different matter. She’d already done everything she could to keep her safe, and she had nothing left to barter.
    Except rage. “If you or anyone touches my sister I’ll kill you,” she said in a cold, determined voice.
    He flashed her his exquisite smile. “Now, that wassaid with real conviction. Your sister must be quite extraordinarily pretty.”
    â€œMy sister is none of your business.” She quickly came up with a more believable lie. “As soon as my father arranges it we’ll return to England and she’ll be happily married…”
    â€œYou expect your father to arrange a marriage for her?” he asked, leaning against the wall of the study. He still wore his long silken waistcoat, unbuttoned, and during the night his white shirt had opened even more. Exposing his chest. Women weren’t meant to see men’s bare chests, and for the first time she could understand why. There was something deliberately enticing about that expanse of flesh, and it could lead a girl to sinful thoughts.
    Not that she was a girl. And she was impervious to sinful thoughts. “She won’t have an arranged marriage,” she snapped. “I intend to make certain she marries for love.”
    His look of astonishment wasn’t feigned. “My dear child,” he said softly. “You cannot tell me you still believe in the existence of love! Not after the life you’ve been forced to live.”
    â€œMy life has been just fine,” she said coolly. “And I’m not thinking for myself, but for Lydia, absolutely. It’s no less than she deserves.”
    â€œAnd why don’t you deserve it?”
    She didn’t flush. She’d trained herself not to show any reaction, and she was a far better liar than he gave her credit for. “I have no interest in it. Lydia’s a different matter. As soon as our father…”
    â€œYou know as well as I do that your father is dead. The new Baron Tolliver is in town, looking to make your acquaintance.”
    She kept her expression calm, her hands gripping her skirts, out of sight. “How do you know that?”
    â€œI am kept abreast of everything that goes on in émigré society, poppet. Lord Jasper Harriman died of an apoplexy several months ago, and the heir who has taken his place is now in Paris. He’s yet to make my acquaintance, though I assure you that time will come if he stays here long enough. I doubt there’s any rescue coming from that direction.”
    She wasn’t going to let him get to her. “Then Lydia will simply have to marry a handsome, kind, wealthy Frenchman,” she said calmly.
    He moved away. “And what will happen to you and your mother? If your sister is as pretty as I suspect she is, from your fiercely protective mien, then a good marriage isn’t out of the question. A deranged belle-mère and a sister-in-law are less appealing.”
    She flushed, knowing he spoke nothing but the truth. “We both know that my mother won’t live for much longer,” she said. “As for me, I am perfectly capable of being independent. I can become a governess. I can teach English and the pianoforte, or I could obtain a position as companion to an older lady.”
    â€œNot once she discovers you spent the night with me.”
    She rose. Huddling in the chair was a sign of weakness, and standing he still towered over her notinconsiderable height. But sitting gave him an