Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(39)

And yet her indignation burned hot to know that while he toyed with her he already had a secret understanding with Lady Libbie. The wretch.

And why was he so anxious that he must elope with the lady? Did he lack all patience? Or was there another reason? Did he fear the earl would refuse his proposal?

Well, whatever the scenario, she wouldn’t let him get away with it. She was not the spoiled and na?ve Lady Libbie, believing him to be a romantic hero—the prince of her girlhood fantasies.

No, Grier knew him for what he was. An arrogant brute whose kisses singed one’s soul, whose kisses could trick a young girl with less experience into believing he was the stuff of girlish fantasies.

For a moment she had forgotten who she was. She had permitted him to tempt her, even letting his whispered words weave a seductive fog inside her head to such a degree that she had begun to ask herself what would be so very wrong with engaging in a brief liaison.

She’d created quite a convincing argument. She was no green girl. Sentiment would not be involved. She would receive carnal satisfaction. Perhaps that was right, justified, given that she was preparing to enter a union that promised none of that.

Her stride increased, every step quick and agitated. It only took secret whispers in a corridor to jerk her back to reality.

Hardening her heart, she slipped inside her bedchamber to plan exactly how she might thwart the prince from stealing away into the night. She rationalized that a man so arrogant, so deceptive, so amoral, should not get what he wanted. At the very least, she intended to give His Bloody Highness a piece of her mind.

He may very well abscond into the night with his wealthy and eligible bride, but not before she let him know what she thought of him, and that she was not someone he could toy with and then so easily forget.





Chapter Fourteen

Sev retired early. He’d never located Lady Libbie as he’d set out to do, so he felt little desire to indulge in cards and drink with the gentlemen in the library. He would start fresh on the morrow and begin wooing Lady Libbie in earnest—and stay as far as possible from a certain female whose every breath, every look, managed to entice him.

As he passed the library, he took heed of the viscount with his jacket removed and sleeves rolled up to his elbows at the card table.

Sev had noticed the dowager’s grandson had a particular affinity for faro and was quite willing to lay down a considerable wager. His horse, his curricle in Town . . . even his ruby cuff links. Fleetingly, he wondered if Miss Hadley knew of his proclivity and then he told himself it was none of his concern. Grier Hadley’s future was none of his concern. Whom she might or might not choose to marry was none of his concern.

In his chamber, he gently shook Ilian awake from the chair in the corner. Sev dismissed the old fellow for the night with a fond pat on his bent back. It didn’t matter how many times he told Ilian not to wait up for him, the old man faithfully did so.

He was tugging his cravat loose when a slight knock at his balcony door made him pause.

Cocking his head, he stared hard at the draperies shielding the glass door, certain he had misheard. Someone could not be knocking out there. He was three stories from the ground—and it was practically midnight.

The tapping came again, this time louder. His every nerve snapped into alert with familiar tension. The same tension he’d lived with for too many years to count. He’d survived both assassins and countless battlefields over the last dozen years only because he’d learned to be alert, constantly vigilant.

He moved to the balcony door carefully, on the balls of his feet—and pulled back the drapes.

There, with her arms crossed and standing in a belligerent pose, stood Miss Grier Hadley, snow falling gently around her.

With a curse, he yanked the door open.

“What in the hell—”

“I’d like a word with you,” she demanded frostily, her lashes blinking with powdery flakes.

He looked her slowly up and down. She wore men’s trousers tailored for her. They fit like a glove to her lean limbs. He swallowed a suddenly dry throat, quite certain he had never seen a lady’s parts quite so shapely.

Stepping out onto the balcony, he looked down, confirming she had used no ladder to reach his balcony. “How did you get here?”

She waved a hand as if that were a trivial matter. “I simply jumped a few balconies until I reached yours.”

“You jumped?” He shook his head. “Which bedchamber is yours?”

She looked to her right. “Three over.”

He followed her gaze. At least eight feet separated the multiple balconies attached to each room. He looked down at the snow-covered ground. She was fortunate she did not lie below in a pile of broken limbs. He closed his eyes in a long blink before lifting his face to stare at her again.

“It was easy.” She shrugged one shoulder.

“Are you mad?” he barked.

She waved a hand before her lips. “Sssh. Keep your voice down. Do you want to wake the entire house?”

“Why didn’t you simply knock on my bedchamber door?”

She sniffed. “That would be most unseemly. I have a reputation to preserve.”

“And this is not improper?”

“I could have been seen at the door to your room.” She looked annoyed at his suggestion.

His lips quirked. He cast a quick glance to the balconies surrounding them. Arching his brow, he said, “Hate to say it, but your reputation is still in peril, sweetheart. Anyone could look out their balcony and spot you here.”