Free Violet Fire by Brenda Joyce Page A

leave? Or don’t you have anything better to do with your time?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t have anything better to do—that is, there is nothing I would rather do than be here with you.”
    â€œThat is too bad,” she said stiffly, thinking, of course, that he didn’t mean it. Words, they were just words. Butwhat if he did mean it? “Because the feeling is not mutual.”
    â€œNow why is that? You being the fair-minded person you are, it doesn’t seem right that you’ve judged me without knowing me.” His gaze was bright blue and teasing, even though his words were serious. “Haven’t you ever heard of a fair trial?”
    â€œI wasn’t aware that this was a trial.”
    â€œYou could have fooled me,” he said, unsmiling now. “There was no evidence, yet the verdict is guilty.”
    â€œYour conceit is astounding. Contrary to what you might think, I have not given you one thought.” She stared, feeling secretly appalled by the immensity of the falsehood.
    He started to smile knowingly. “Not one?”
    â€œLife is one big joke to you, isn’t it?” she said gravely.
    â€œAnd you take it too seriously,” Rathe said, reaching out a hand and touching one forefinger to her smooth, alabaster cheek. He’d known it. Like silk. Her skin was flawless.
    Her mouth parted in shock.
    His gaze was inexorably drawn to the full, open lips.
    She stood frozen, unable to move.
    Unable to resist, he bent forward.
    For the briefest moment, his lips brushed hers with the delicate touch of a feather. Then he pulled back slightly, to stare into her wide, purple eyes framed by the ugly little glasses. He saw the slap coming but only turned his face slightly. The blow was surprisingly hard and it stung. He guessed he deserved it.
    â€œHow dare you!”
    He didn’t smile. “The question really is, how could I not?”
    â€œYou’re worse than the others,” she gasped. “Much, much worse! The worst sort of rake, a perverted philistine who wants only one thing from women. We’re all your toys, aren’t we? And the world is just one big playroom to keep you amused, isn’t it?”
    He stared, riveted by her words and the vague memory of another time and another place. Perverted philistine…Rathe suddenly cupped her face.
    â€œStop it!” she cried furiously, trying to twist away.
    â€œBe still.” He held her face in one large hand, studying it. He twisted his hips to avoid her sudden kick. “It was you!”
    He released her and she backed away, panting and frightened. She had seen the light of recognition in his eyes.
    â€œGrace—it was you! In New York! You’re that crazy suffragette who shot up van Horne’s home!”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grace said tensely.
    He threw back his head and roared. “It was you! Damn! I knew there was something familiar about you!”
    He was laughing at her—again. “You bigoted pig,” she said furiously.
    â€œMale tyrant?” he supplied helpfully, eyes twinkling, dimples deep.
    â€œYes! Pig, tyrant, philistine, you sicken me!”
    He laughed again, then clasped her shoulders, ignoring her struggles. His hands were so very strong—so uncompromising. “Gracie, what in hell are you doing way down here?”
    She stopped struggling, flushed with anger and other dangerous emotions. Her glasses were slipping down her nose, but she couldn’t raise her hands to push them up. “That, sir, is none of your business!”
    He grinned. “I guess not.” He released her, then suddenly swooped down on Geoff. “Hey, Geoff, what’s wrong?”
    Geoffrey was close to tears. “You done hurt Miz Grace.”
    â€œOh, no, never, Geoff, I’m a Southern gentleman and I’d never hurt a lady.” All his attention was on the