‘We are in a pickle, my dear.’ He sat down beside her again. ‘I lost my temper and I apologise for it. If we had remained at Martlesham everything would have been so much simpler.’
‘You were very angry, I understand that, and I beg your pardon for my part in it.’
The corners of his mouth lifted a little. He said ruefully, ‘It is the red hair. When the angry mist descends I am not responsible for my actions.’
A smile of understanding tugged at her own mouth.
‘My hair is not red, but I have a temper, too, at times.’
‘Your Latin temperament, perhaps.’
‘Yes.’
* * *
There was a shy smile in her green eyes, and Gideon was pleased to note the anxious frown no longer creased her brow. She looked so much better when her countenance was not strained and pinched with worry. A soft blush was mantling her cheek as she went to the sideboard to put down her empty glass. Gideon noted the way the walking dress clung to her figure, accentuating the slender waist, the sway of her hips. As she returned he could appreciate the curve and swell of her breasts rising from the bodice of her gown. She was no ripe beauty, but he would wager that beneath that mannish outfit was a rather delectable body. He remembered standing behind her earlier, breathing in her fragrance and felt a flicker of interest—of desire—stir his blood.
As if aware of his thoughts she chose to sit in the armchair beside the fire. Gideon cleared his throat.
‘I believe there is a gig in the stables. When it is light I shall drive you to Swaffham, and from there we will hire a post-chaise to take us back to Martlesham.’
‘Not the Abbey,’ she said quickly. ‘Will you please set me down in the village, at my mother’s cottage?’
He shrugged. ‘If you wish.’ A sudden thud on the ceiling made them both look up. ‘But first we have to get through this evening.’
The port had had its effect. Dominique knew now what she must do.
‘I shall remain down here,’ she announced, sitting very straight and upright in her chair. ‘You may have the bedroom.’
‘Nonsense. I have already said I shall sleep on the sofa.’
She put up her chin. ‘I have made up my mind.’
‘Then unmake it.’
His autocratic tone only strengthened her resolve.
‘I will not.’
‘I am not so unchivalrous as to condemn you to such discomfort.’
‘I shall be perfectly comfortable. Besides, there are bolts on the parlour door, while the bedchamber boasted not even the flimsiest lock.’
Gideon sat up, frowning.
‘Are you saying you do not trust me?’
‘Yes, I am.’
He jumped up.
‘Damn it all, when have I given you occasion to doubt me?’
Her brows went up.
‘When you insisted we come here.’
The truth of her statement caught him on the raw and he swung away, striding over to the window.
‘Do not be so damned obstinate, woman! I have said I will sleep on the sofa and I shall.’
His words appeared to have no effect.
‘Impossible. It is far too short for you. Why, you must be six foot at least.’
‘Six foot two,’ he said absently. ‘But that is not the point.’
‘It is very much the point.’ He heard the quiet rustle of skirts. ‘You see, it is the perfect length for me.’
When he looked around she had stretched herself out on the sofa. Her gown fell in soft folds around her, accentuating the contours of her body, the swell of her breast and curve of her hip that only served to emphasise the tiny waist. And how had he failed to notice the length of her legs? She stretched luxuriously and he had a glimpse of dainty ankles peeping from beneath the hem of her skirts. In any other situation he would have found the view enchanting, but—hell and confound it, she was mocking him!
‘The bedroom has been prepared, madam and you will sleep in it.’
‘And I tell you I shall not.’
He almost ground his teeth in frustration.
‘I admit it was a mistake to come here.’ He spoke carefully, reining in his anger. ‘I was at fault, but you will agree the provocation was great.’
‘Of course.’
‘However, when all is said and done, I am a gentleman. I will not have it said that I enjoyed the comfort of a feather bed while you spent the night on a sofa!’
Dominique felt an unexpected frisson of excitement at his rough tone. He was rattled and clearly no longer in control of the situation. An exulting feeling of power swept through her. She put her hands behind her head and gazed up at him defiantly.
‘But I am already in possession, so I do not see that you can do anything about it. I suggest you admit yourself beaten and retire in good order.’
She closed her eyes and forced herself to keep very still, feigning indifference. He would see she was not to be moved and would go away and leave her in peace. She expected to hear a hasty footstep and the door snapping closed behind him. Instead she heard something between a snarl and a growl and the next moment she was being hoisted none too gently off the sofa. Her eyes flew open and she gave a little scream as she experienced the novel sensation of being helpless in a man’s arms. But not just any man, and along with her natural indignation she was aware of the urgent desire curling through her body. It frightened her, but she would fight it. She would show him she was no milk-and-water maid, to be treated so abominably.
‘You said you were a gentleman,’ she protested, struggling against his hold. In response his grip tightened, one arm pressing her against his chest while the other supported her knees, so that her frustrated kicks met nothing but air.
‘I am, but you have tried my patience too far!’
‘Put me down this instant!’
She tried to free her arms, but at that very moment he loosened his grip around her shoulders. Instinctively her hands went around his neck to save herself from falling. He looked down at her, a wicked glint in his hazel eyes.
‘I thought you wanted me to let go?’
She was feeling extremely breathless and her heart was thudding so painfully against her ribs that he must feel it, since she was pressed against his hard chest, but she replied with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘I do not wish to be dropped on my head.’
With a little grunt of satisfaction he settled her more comfortably before him. Her arms were still around his neck and she could not for the life of her release him. Dominique told herself this was solely for the purpose of supporting herself, should he drop her, but she could not deny the sensual pleasure of feeling the silk of his hair, where it curled between her fingers and the back of his collar. Shocked by the idea that part of her was enjoying Gideon’s masterful behaviour, she gave a half-hearted kick. His arms tightened and her breathing became even more constricted.
‘You are suffocating me,’ she protested.
‘Keep