Free Surrender to a Stranger by Karyn Monk

drawled sarcastically. “Strange, but I would have thought that keeping your head attached to your neck would have been all that interested you.”
    “Naturally I am grateful for your services,” Jacqueline allowed. “It’s just that you are making your living out of the misery and suffering of others, and such a career could hardly be described as admirable.”
    “It could just as easily be said that I am making a career preventing the misery and suffering of others, and such a career is a hell of a lot more admirable than taxing hardworking peasants into a state of starvation so that you and your family can live in grandeur.”
    Jacqueline gasped in outrage at his insolent remark. “It was a system that had been in place for hundreds of years, a system created by God!” she told him heatedly.
    He turned to look at her. “How utterly convenient,” he drawled, “for you.”
    She glared at him. That the man would dare to criticize her class, in the face of this evil revolution, and on what had been the eve of her execution, was simply unbelievable. It was obvious he was not of counterrevolutionary or royalist sympathies, and in her mind that made him dangerous. If he was only saving her for money, undoubtedly because Sir Edward Harrington, her father’s friend in England to whom she had entrusted the care of her sisters, had hired him, could he not just as easily be swayed to give her back to the revolutionary government if the reward was large enough? Of course that would damage his reputation among those who sought his services, but he might be clever enough to make it look like she was recaptured as they tried to escape Paris. She wondered if Sir Edward had been foolish enough to pay him in advance.
    “Are you coming to bed?” he demanded irritably.
    “You cannot expect me to share that bed with you!” she blurted out, momentarily distracted from her thoughts.
    “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “Although I do not believe you will find the floor to your liking.” He raised himself up to blow out the candle and the room was drowned in darkness.
    “I believe good manners dictate that I should have the bed and you should have the floor,” pointed out Jacqueline, deciding to leave the possibility of him betraying her aside for the moment. She was very tired, and if he did intend to return her, he would probably not do so tonight. He would wait to see what kind of reward was offered first.
    “I believe logic dictates that since the bed is large enough, we share it,” he replied shortly.
    The idea was preposterous. The act of lying down beside an ancient old man, whom Jacqueline had considered feeble and arthritic and incapable of posing any threat to her, was bad enough. But to stretch out beside a strong, vital man, who undoubtedly had the same uncontrollable, animalistic urges that Nicolas did, was utterly impossible. He might even interpret her willingness to share a bed as a sign that she would welcome his advances. “I will not get into that bed with you!” she snapped.
    “Then don’t,” he remarked in a tone of complete indifference.
    Jacqueline stood and stared at his dark form on the bed with growing fury. She knew that since the revolution, good manners had become suspect and largely a thing of the past, but the idea that this man, who was being paid to save her and should be considerate of her comfort, would not give up the bed for her was truly galling. Resigned to spending the night in the chair, she stomped toward it in the darkness, and let out a yelp of pain as she banged her shin against its hard wooden leg.
    “Keep it down,” grumbled the stranger sleepily.
    Infuriated beyond measure, at both him and the offending chair, she snatched his clothes and cane up from it and pitched them to the floor. The cane landed with a heavy clatter and rolled noisily to the other side of the room.
    “Do you mind?” he muttered, half sitting up. “Some of us require at least a minimal amount of