Free A Rose at Midnight by Anne Stuart Page A

the housekeeper and tell her to watch over him until Ellen returns, Tavvy. I’m sure my cousin will take him to her bosom.”
    It was the best she could hope for, and part of her despised accepting even that much mercy from the man. She bit her lips together, determined not to show any gratitude, but he was wise enough to expect none.
    “What do you want me to tell the old lady?” Taverner asked, pausing in the doorway.
    “What we’d planned on,” Nicholas said, staring down at her, unmoved by the hatred in her eyes. “That Mamzelle has decided a life of drudgery can’t compare with that of an English gentleman’s mistress.”
    “No!” she protested, but he simply smiled, his hand reaching out to stroke the side of her face gently. She jerked away furiously, but he caught her, his hand hard.
    “I didn’t say I was actually going to bed you, darling,” he murmured. “I merely think it would be politic for the servants of Ainsley Hall to think you prefer my bed to the kitchens. I gather you haven’t told Ellen about your past. Most unwise on your part. If she knew, she’d raise heaven and earth trying to stop me. As it is, she’ll simply have to assume her eccentric chef was vulnerable to the lures of sex and money, like most of her countrywomen.”
    “Stop you from doing what?” she asked in a rough voice.
    For a moment his eyes lit up with a mocking humor. “Why, I’m not sure yet. I’ll make it up as I go along. Are you going to walk with me out to the carriage in a nice, biddable fashion, or am I going to have to use brute force?”
    “I’d prefer you take me to the magistrate.”
    “I’m certain you would, ma petite, but I consider that option much too boring. I find I really dislike being poisoned, and some small, ignoble part of me is longing for revenge. You should understand that much, shouldn’t you, Ghislaine? For whatever crimes you imagine I committed against you and yours, you decided you’d murder me. Perhaps I’ll return the favor.”
    “Do it now,” she said fiercely.
    He simply shook his head, the faint, damnable smile on his face. “Anticipation is half the pleasure,” he said.
    “I won’t come willingly.”
    “Subduing defiance is the other half,” he said, and for the first time she noticed the snowy-white neckcloth in his hands. A moment later the gag was in place, tied behind her head, and she stopped struggling, knowing that the more she struggled, the longer his hands would touch her. And she found the touch of his hands unnerving.
    He hauled her into a sitting position, and a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. She’d hit her head during her struggles, and the pain was just beginning to reassert itself. She refused to let herself sway, sitting very still, waiting.
    He was fully dressed—an ominous sign. He was a symphony in chiaroscuro, from his shiny black boots, carelessly tied cravat, silver-trimmed black coat, and dark, black breeches. He looked like the devil himself, and she wondered whether he was planning to go straight to hell. And whether he was planning on taking her too.
    He draped the bright green silk cape around her, and she didn’t bother protesting. He knew full well it was Ellen’s, and he’d chosen it anyway. He fastened it beneath her chin, his long fingers cool against her skin, and pulled the hood up over her head.
    “Not that the servants will be under any illusions,” he murmured, surveying her with a thoughtful air. “I just don’t happen to want them to realize you’re not quite willing. They’re not overly fond of you; Tavvy discovered that much in the servants’ hall. They think you’re insufferably proud and above yourself. They’ll be absolutely delighted to think you lifted your skirts for the likes of me.”
    She lunged at him, forgetting her ankles were bound together, and he caught her as she fell against him. “So eager, ma petite ?” he murmured. “You’re right—we’ve overstayed our welcome.” And he