Free The Marquess by Patricia Rice Page A

this. Dillian didn’t like the sensation. She wriggled, trying to
slip beneath the tie binding her. His grip tightened and rode a little higher
on her leg.
    “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he informed
her. “You don’t have a chance. I’m prepared to be lenient at
the moment, but not if you give me any more trouble.”
    “I was only protecting Blanche,” she said
sullenly as he kneeled on the floor and fastened her ankle to the chair leg.
His proximity made her nerves crawl. Strangely, her leg felt cold when his grip
loosened. She understood the indecency of breeches when she realized he knelt
between her knees to tie her other ankle to the chair. She shivered with the
raw vulnerability of this position.
    He seemed unaware of his prisoner’s tension until he
had the last knot tied. When he raised his head to examine the adequacy of her
binding, she felt him hesitate, and she gave thanks for the lack of
illumination in here. She still couldn’t see his face, so he
couldn’t see the fear in hers. The cord strained beneath her bosom as she
tried slipping her arms out from under it. When his hand came down to rest on
her thigh, she nearly leapt out of her skin.
    Amusement tinged his voice as he used her leg as a support
for returning to his feet. “I think I like my women this way,” he
mused. “Shall I bind your mouth, too, so I can get some sleep?”
    “Don’t you dare,” Dillian answered with
venom. “I’m trying to tell you, you’re making a mistake. I am
not a thief.”
    “You’re not a guest,” he pointed out
prosaically. “I didn’t invite you. You’ve raided my larder
every night this week. You’ve ruined my sleep, caused no end of havoc
among the servants, and picked my flowers without permission. I think I deserve
some recompense.”
    When he moved away, obviously intent on making himself
comfortable on the couch, Dillian kicked at her leg bonds and struggled against
the upper ones. “I cleaned your blamed bedroom, your royal lordship! What
else did you want me to do? Scrub your kitchen? From the looks of the filth
around here, I thought someone might appreciate my gesture. Obviously,
you’re the beast you seem and prefer the dirt of your lair.”
    He turned to glare at her for that. “I have reason for
what I do. You are in no position to comment on it. Now, get some sleep.
Morning will come soon enough.”
    She gave a scream of frustration when he settled on the
couch, covering himself with the cloak. The scream didn’t disturb his
position in the least.
    Refusing to give in, Dillian shifted her shoulders and
started the process of releasing her arms.
     

Chapter Five
     
    In the light of early morning, Gavin leaned against the
staircase and stared at the locked study door across the hall. He’d left
his prisoner sleeping with exhaustion, one arm free of the ropes but the other
hopelessly knotted in place. She must have spent the better part of the night
trying to free herself.
    With the draperies drawn against the day, he hadn’t
seen a great deal of her when he left the study, but he’d seen enough to
guess the rest. He’d known last night that she wasn’t large but
nicely curved. He could still feel the firmness of her thigh beneath his palm
when he so foolishly used it for support. He preferred not remembering how long
it had been since he’d touched a woman’s thigh.
    But his thoughts kept straying to chestnut curls falling
across a creamy brow. Gavin’s fingers stroked the mangled side of his
face as he remembered the flawless perfection of her cheek. He’d sold all
the ornamental mirrors in the house long ago, but he need only cast a brief
glance in the shaving mirror in the mornings to remember how he looked, if he
needed reminding.
    Perhaps Michael had the right of it. Perhaps he should woo
the damaged woman upstairs. Even should she see again, the Lady Blanche would
find it more difficult to shrink from his scars when faced with her own. The
lovely woman in the study