To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(11)

“She didn’t knock.” He watched as she came in and placed the tray on a table by the bed.

“That’s hardly a reason to frighten her.”

He looked away irritably. “I don’t like people in my rooms. She should not have come in without leave.”

She eyed him, her voice softening. “The servants are trained not to knock. I think you’ll have to become used to it. But until you do, I’ll warn them to knock at your door.”

He shrugged, reaching for a muffin on the tray. He shoved half of it into his mouth rudely.

She sighed and pulled a chair near the bed, sitting in it. “You seem ravenous.”

He paused in the act of grabbing another muffin. “You’ve obviously never had to eat wormy biscuits and watered ale on board a ship.” He bit into the muffin, his black eyes watching her defiantly.

She stared back calmly, hiding the tremor of unease at his look. His eyes were feral, like a starving wolf. “No, I’ve never been on board a ship. Did you sail home recently?”

He looked away, silently eating the rest of the second muffin. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer her. Then he said bitterly, “I took a position as a cook’s assistant. Not that there was much food to cook.”

She looked at him wonderingly. What straits had made the son of an earl take such mean labor? “Where did you sail from?”

He grimaced and then glanced up at her slyly through black eyelashes. “Do you know, I don’t recall having a cousin Beatrice.”

Obviously he had no intention of answering her. Beatrice stifled a sigh of frustration. “That’s because I’m not your cousin. At least not by blood.”

He might’ve meant his question as a diversion, but now he cocked his head in interest. “Explain.”

He’d set aside his notebook, and his whole attention was concentrated on her, making her feel rather self-conscious. Beatrice rose and busied herself pouring the tea as she talked. “My mother was sister to Uncle Reggie’s wife, my aunt Mary. Mother died when I was born, and I was five when my father died. Aunt Mary and Uncle Reggie took me in.”

“A sad story,” he said mockingly.

“No.” Beatrice shook her head, handing him a cup of tea with no milk but with lots of sugar. “Not really. I’ve always been loved, always been cared for, first by my father and then by Uncle Reggie and Aunt Mary. They had no children of their own, so they treated me just as they would a daughter, perhaps even better. Uncle Reggie has been wonderful to me.” She looked at him earnestly. “He’s a good man.”

“Then perhaps I should relinquish my title and let Uncle Reggie keep it.” His voice was sardonic.

“You needn’t be mean,” she replied with dignity.

“Shouldn’t I?” He studied her as if he couldn’t quite make her out.

“No. There’s no need. It’s just that this is our house now—”

“And I’m supposed to take pity on you for that? Lay down my arms and make peace?”

She inhaled to control her temper. “My uncle is old. He doesn’t—”

“My title, my lands, my monies, my goddamned life have been stolen from me, madam,” he said, his voice rising with each word. “Think you I care a whit for your uncle?”

She stared. He was so angry, so determined. Where was the laughing boy in the painting? Had he entirely disappeared? “You were thought dead. No one meant to steal your title from you.”

“Their intention is of no matter to me,” he said. “I care only about the result. I’ve been deprived of what is rightfully mine. I have no home.”

“But Uncle Reggie isn’t to blame!” she cried, losing her self-possession at last. “I’m just trying to explain to you that this isn’t a war. We can be civilized about—”

He flung the teacup against the wall and then swept his arm in an abrupt, violent gesture across the table. Beatrice was forced to hop out of the way as the tray, plate, and teapot—filled with hot tea—all crashed to the floor where’d she been standing.

“How dare you?” she demanded, staring first at the mess on the floor and then at the savage in the bed. “How dare you?”

His black eyes burned so fiercely she felt her skin heat. “If you don’t think this a war, madam,” he said softly, “then you are even more naive than I thought.”

Beatrice set her hands on her hips and leaned forward, her voice shaking with rage. “Perhaps I am naive. Perhaps it is silly and girlish and… and foolish to think that one can settle even difficult matters in a civilized fashion. But I’d rather be a complete ninny than a nasty sarcastic man so lost to bitterness that he’s forgotten his own humanity!”

She turned to sweep from the room, but her dramatic exit was destroyed when he caught her wrist. He yanked, and, caught off balance, she fell back against the bed, across his lap. She gasped and looked up.

Into blazing black eyes.

He leaned so close she felt his breath across her lips. The muscles of his leg shifted under her hip, reminding her of her precarious position. His hands tightened around her upper arms, holding her prisoner. “I may indeed be a nasty, bitter, and sarcastic man, madam, but let me assure you that my humanity is more than intact.”