Free Some Like It Sinful (Hellion's Den) by Alexandra Ivy

tedious future awaiting you. Especially when that future did not include a certain fascinating, sinfully bewitching gentleman.
    Besides which, she acknowledged, there was the small matter of some lunatic desiring her dead.
    How could she possibly settle back into her usual routine when she was plagued with the constant fear of Jimmy Blade arriving upon her doorstep?
    The distant sound of approaching footsteps had Clara hastily tugging the covers to her chin. She had not seen her captor since she had fallen asleep in his arms. Now she discovered her heart beating at an oddly swift pace.
    A wasted effort on the part of her heart, she discovered, as the door was pushed open to reveal the short, square servant who had ridden to London with them the evening before.
    Glancing toward the bed, the man set down the modest cases that Clara had last seen strapped to the back of her hired carriage.
    “Awake, are you?” he said in abrupt, but not unkind tones.
    Clara gave a slow nod. The man looked as if he was well acquainted with violence, but she sensed no danger. If anything, she was forced to concede that he was the sort of man one might desire to have about in times of trouble.
    “Where am I?”
    “Most call it the Hawk’s Nest. And I am Dillon.”
    Hawk’s Nest? Unusual, but somehow perfectly suited to the raven-haired gentleman.
    “We are in London?”
    “Aye. I suppose you must be hungry?”
    Clara offered a rueful smile. It had been hours since her last meal. She had been far too queasy during her journey to even contemplate food. And in truth, she found it difficult to eat anything that came from an unfamiliar kitchen.
    Just another one of her many and varied eccentricities.
    “Starving,” she admitted.
    “Then have a wash and I will fix you a bite.”
    Clara delicately cleared her throat. Hostage or not, she possessed the habit of situating her surroundings to suit herself. She had no intention of altering her routine.
    “Actually, if you will wait for me to change my clothes I will cook my own breakfast, or luncheon, I suppose I should say,” she stated in firm tones.
    A sudden frown marred the battered countenance. “I may not be a bloody French chef, but I shan’t poison you.”
    Belatedly realizing she had managed to insult the poor man, Clara offered an apologetic smile.
    “Oh, forgive me. I never meant to question your skills in the kitchen, Dillon,” she said in genuine regret. “It is just that I enjoy cooking, especially when I have need to consider a thorny problem. I find it soothes my nerves.”
    Dillon continued to frown, but it was obvious he was pleased by her proper apology. Indeed, the pale eyes held a hint of amusement.
    “Well, I would say you have your share of thorny problems.”
    Clara gave a sudden laugh. “Indeed, I do.”
    “The kitchen is downstairs at the back. Just give a call if you have need of anything.”
    “Thank you, Dillon.”
    With a brusque nod of his head the servant turned to leave the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
    Once alone Clara lost no time in scurrying from beneath the covers and giving herself a thorough wash. Later she would demand that a bathtub be carried to her room, she promised herself with a grimace. Until then she could only do her best to appear reasonably tidy.
    In the minimum of time she had scrubbed herself rosy from head to toe and brushed her hair into a long braid that she tucked into a knot at the base of her neck. It did take a bit longer to open her cases and arrange her handful of belongings in the armoire before pulling on a sensible green gown. She did not know how Dillon had managed to retrieve her property, and she had no intention of inquiring. She was far too relieved to have on a clean gown to care.
    At last prepared, she left the chamber and made her way down the narrow flight of stairs.
    She paused for a moment upon the landing, considering a swift tour of her temporary abode only to give an unconscious shake of her head.