Free Pleasure Me by Monica Burns Page B

an envelope. What now? Surely the man hadn’t sent another present. A quiet knock echoed in the parlor, and she stood up at the same moment that Simmons opened the door.
    “Lord Stratfield, my lady.”
    Caught by surprise, the note she’d written to the jeweler fell from her hand onto the desk as she stared in amazement at the sight of Garrick entering the room. She rarely was at a loss for words, but his unexpected appearance made her feel like an awkward, ungainly girl again. Her fingertips pressing hard against the cherry desktop of the secretary, she struggled to regain her equilibrium. He was just one man. She was more than capable of handling him as she had so many others. The lie incited mocking laughter in the back of her head. She silenced it with the iron will she’d developed at the age of seventeen. When one was hungry, one could endure almost anything for a meal.
    “Lord Stratfield, this is a surprise.” Her fingers toyed nervously with the lace at the base of her throat at the frown on his face. She should never have agreed to call him by his first name. When she realized she was still fingering the lace, she immediately dropped her hand to her side.
    “I see you received my gift.” His gaze dropped pointedly to the jeweler’s box on her desk then returned to her face.
    “Yes.” She glanced away from him. “I just finished writing a note to accompany its return to the jeweler’s.”
    “It’s not to your liking?”
    “On the contrary, the paperweight is quite amusing, and the brooch is beautiful, but—”
    “Then there’s no reason not to keep them.”
    “Lord Strat—” She saw his frown grow darker and relented. “Garrick. While your gift is generous, I cannot accept.”
    “Why not?” The blunt question left her floundering for a response.
    “It’s far too extravagant.”
    “Somehow I don’t think that’s the real reason, Ruth.” He gestured toward a nearby chair. “May I?”
    When she hesitated, a small smile of wicked amusement curved his sensual mouth. It disconcerted her even more than she already was. Heat skimmed its way through her body, and she tried to wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. The moment she did so, she saw Garrick’s eyes narrowed on her, and her mouth went dry. She suppressed her nervousness and sent him what she hoped was a serene nod.
    “Of course.” As she gave her blessing, he seated himself in the chair with a casual air that reflected all the grace and power of a sleek panther. Even his gaze reminded her of a predator assessing its prey.
    “I’m under the distinct impression you don’t like me, Ruth.” The casual tone of his voice didn’t deceive her. The man was about to pounce.
    “I don’t recall ever saying such a thing.”
    “No, but you clearly showed a distinct aversion for my company at Crawley Hall. Even after I explained my actions at the Somerset ball. You bristled every time I came near you. Except one.” His last words were a low murmur as if he was talking to himself.
    “I do not bristle,” she snapped, her tone immediately contradicting the words. She clasped her hands to keep from balling them up into fists. “Any aversion for your company was because you were a threat.”
    “A threat?” The way he arched his eyebrows in amusement only agitated her more. This time with irritation.
    “Yes, a threat. I wanted Crawley Hall in the worst way, and when you arrived, I saw it slipping through my fingers. You were the competition, and I couldn’t afford to like you.”
    “So you do like me then?” He slammed the cage door shut.
    “I . . .” Her skill at witty repartee deserted her when she needed it most. “I don’t know you well enough to say one way or the other.”
    “Then tell me why you really don’t want to accept my gift.”
    “It would offer up . . . the wrong impression.”
    “Wrong impression?”
    “That I’m interested in pursuing a relationship with you.”
    “I see.” He lifted up the cane he