Free Lois Greiman by The Princess Masquerade Page B

chilly attitudes associated with royalty. They were a shield of sorts. And a girl could never have too many shields. “You want me to act like a lady.”
    He said nothing.
    “Regal. Well educated. Pure.”
    He nodded.
    “But you plan to spend the night in my chamber.”
    He crossed his arms against his chest and his mouth quirked up slightly at the corner as he leaned his shoulder against the nearby wall. “Circumstances are often not as they seem,” he said. “But I am sure you already realize that.”
    She didn’t deign to respond, but paced the room, past the trunk and the commode where he’d set out his personalitems—a small mirror, a hairbrush, and a razor. “There are other bedrooms in this house,” she said. “Any of which you could choose for your own.”
    He canted his head as if in concession. “Forgive me if I do not trust you implicitly.”
    “We are leagues from the nearest village,” she said. “What do you think I might do?”
    That grin again. He was the picture of cocky elegance. It mattered little that he still wore a smithy’s worn work clothes. He was a viscount clear through to the bone. And she hated him for that.
    “Will loaned me his country house in good faith,” he said. “To help me get some rest in this peaceful environment. I’ve no wish to see it destroyed.”
    “Destroyed?”
    He shrugged. “Or burglarized.”
    “I am not who you think I am,” she repeated.
    “It’s bound to be true,” he agreed, “since I’ve no idea who you are. Go to bed now. I’m tired.”
    “And what of my innocence?”
    He watched her in silence for several seconds, then, “Whatever innocence you have left is safe with me, lass.”
    “That I doubt,” she snapped, then softened her tone and forced herself to relax, to adopt his irritating insouciance. “After all, you’ve threatened and abducted me.”
    “And you’ve done nothing against me.”
    “No I ’aven’t.”
    “Keep your voice down. Or at least shout with proper diction.”
    “I didn’t steal nothin’ from you.”
    He smiled and came away from the wall, his movements as smooth as glass. “And whom do you think they’re likely to believe, lass? A grubby-faced urchin with a penchant for dropping her aitches or the viscount of Newburn?”
    Anger flooded her, heating her system, steeling her spine. For if she knew anything, she knew he was right. Only a fool would believe otherwise, and she was not a fool.
    “I gave you me vow not to escape.”
    He nodded agreeably. “And that…combined with my constant surveillance should keep you honest. I must warn you also that I’ve locked the bath chamber door from the other side.”
    She didn’t throw anything at him, though it was tempting. She didn’t even curse. Instead, she consoled herself with thoughts of vindication. Lovely, comforting thoughts that she kept carefully to herself.
    “And you call yourself a nobleman,” she said.
    “Aye, I do, lass.”
    “With high ideals and lofty aspirations.”
    “I believe you may be thinking of the pope.”
    She gave him a tight smile. “I shan’t confuse the two of you again. Will you, at least, leave while I don the gown?”
    “No.”
    “On the other hand.” She paced again, glancing over her shoulder as she strode past the commode. “I might mistake you for Satan.”
    He laughed out loud, and in that instant, with his teeth flashing against his dusky skin, he did indeed look like the devil. Cunning and manipulative but with a darkling allure. “Trust me, girl, your virtue is safe with me,” he said, reaching into the nearby trunk and pulling out a trio of books. “I have no interest in you.”
    “Truly? Then I would appreciate a ride back to Portshaven.”
    His grin dimmed the smallest amount. “Let me amend,” he said. “I have no interest beyond your education.”
    “Have you ever considered the fact that you might be mad?”
    He laughed again, then settled into one upholstered chair, books in hand.