Seven Nights In A Rogue's Bed

“What the hell are you doing?” Jonas strode across the flagstones and stopped a few paces short of her. Thank God he was an early riser or he’d be too late. He’d been flicking through the prospectus for a canal scheme when Mrs. Bevan lumbered into the library to announce the young lady requested use of his carriage.

At his furious question, Miss Forsythe whipped around. She stared dismayed into his face and he knew they both revisited those blazing moments in his bed. The memory thundered through him like the blast of a thousand cannons. Her lovely eyes darkened with what he could only interpret as humiliation before anger rescued her. “Don’t you ever dress like a Christian?”

Again, she surprised him. He liked that. He liked it almost as much as he’d liked seeing her unclothed body last night. And he’d liked that very much indeed.

He released a derisive grunt of laughter. “This is my house. If I want to run around in my shirtsleeves, I will. If I tour the estate stark naked, I daresay it’s my privilege.”

Delicate color tinged her cheeks at the mention of nakedness. This morning she looked brighter. She must have managed some sleep after he’d stormed from her room.

He wished to Hades he had.

“It’s nothing to me what you wear.” Calm determination masked any disquiet. He’d lay money that composure was as false as the canal scheme’s projected profits. “We’ll never see each other again after all.”

“I wouldn’t place too much store in that particular prediction,” he said drily. “It’s a devilish shabby trick to sneak away without a by-your-leave.”

“We have nothing to say to one another.”

“You think not?” He turned to Mrs. Bevan. “Tell Hobbs the carriage isn’t required.”

“Mr. Merrick—” Miss Forsythe began in a repressive voice.

He’d be damned if he was squabbling with her out here while his housekeeper stood around with flapping ears. “Perhaps you’d rather continue this discussion in the library.”

“I’d rather leave your house and pretend these lamentable hours never occurred.”

“So vehement for daybreak.” He weighted his tone with completely spurious boredom. “It’s a trifle fatiguing.”

“Only for a man of your advanced years,” she snapped back.

Brava ancora. He could guess how awkward she felt in his presence after what had happened—and not happened—last night. Still she came back fighting. “At least let me rest my ageing bones on a cushion while you harangue me.”

No answering humor. She continued to eye him warily. “I’d prefer to go.”

“I’m sure you would. But I’ve still got Roberta’s vowels. Or had you forgotten?”

Her magnificent eyes flashed hatred. “I hadn’t forgotten. I paid you last night.”

He gave her a nasty smile. “That’s a matter of opinion.” He gestured toward the library. “Miss Forsythe?”

She glowered at him, then glanced at Mrs. Bevan, who watched with avid interest. The girl’s color deepened and she nodded abruptly. “Five minutes.”

Jonas knew not to push his advantage. Or at least to wait until they were alone before he did. He opened the door and ushered her into the book-lined room.

Her shoulders tensed into a ruler-straight line when he lifted her cloak away. The white gown beneath was as inappropriate as ever. Although he appreciated the way it strained across her full bosom. As if once more shaping her perfect breasts, his hands curled in the cloak’s rough wool. Yielding to temptation, he leaned in to catch her fresh scent. She didn’t smell like rain this morning. Instead she smelled of lemon soap. Still, the commonplace fragrance stirred turbulent eddies of desire in his blood. He dropped the cloak onto a chair and stepped closer to release the ribbons on her unbecoming bonnet. Whoever chose her clothing should be drawn and quartered.

She batted his hand away and her breath accelerated—whether with fear or excitement, he wasn’t sure. Probably a mixture of the two. “Stop it.”

“Just making you comfortable.” The ribbons loosened and he lifted the bonnet, tossing it on top of the cloak.

“As if you care for my comfort. If you did, you’d let me go.”

His lips twitched as he wandered away. “But that would have a disagreeable effect on my comfort.” He gestured toward a leather chair. “Please sit down.”

She remained standing uneasily in the center of the room. “No, thank you. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

He sauntered to the window and slouched against the frame, basking in the sun’s unseasonal warmth. Last night’s storm had blown itself out and the day outside was pleasant for November. Although he suspected the temperature inside the library was about to drop several degrees.

He fixed an unwavering stare upon her. “I hadn’t taken you for a cheat, Miss Forsythe.”

Her expression remained neutral, although she must know what he meant. “I’ve cheated you of nothing, Mr. Merrick.”

His tone held an edge. “What would you call bilking me of your company after promising…satisfaction?”

She paled and her gloved hand tightened around the handle of her bag. “You didn’t want me last night,” she said flatly.

He raised his eyebrows in mocking disbelief, while burgeoning need crooned its alluring song in his ears. “You’re not that innocent.”

She growled softly and swung away with a flounce of filmy skirts. He caught a glimpse of two well-turned ankles. Interesting that the sight proved so arousing when he’d already seen her naked.

“You’re in a humor to tease, I see.”

He tilted his head back against the window frame and surveyed her down the bumpy length of his broken nose. “No, I’m in a humor to have my bargain honored.”

She stopped and regarded him with a troubled light in her dark eyes. Grown men cringed from his scars. Why the hell didn’t his grotesque appearance daunt this untried girl?

“I offered my…services; you rejected them.” She set down the bag and stubbornness squared her jaw. “I’m within my rights to leave unmolested.”

“You’re quite the lawyer, Miss Forsythe. You employed similar sophistry last night when you presented yourself in your beguiling sister’s stead.”

Not that he could summon one morsel of regret for the exchange. Roberta was a beautiful, if shallow, creature, and he’d have fucked her perfectly happily. Not least because every time he poked her, he’d know he cuckolded his toad of a cousin.

But Roberta’s sister …

Sidonie Forsythe was a jewel such as he’d never encountered. He wasn’t fool enough to leave her where he’d found her and walk away whistling.

“Surely you won’t insist on full restitution.” The uncertainty that had always lurked beneath her bravado became overt. “Not after—”

“Presumably you arrived expecting to repay the debt as it stands,” he said coolly. He folded his arms across his chest to stop himself from reaching for her. One ridiculously chaste kiss, a brief exploration of silky skin, now the craving to touch her was a fever.

“This is insane.” Like a mare scenting a stallion, she shifted nervously. “If you won’t lend me your carriage, I’ll walk to Sidmouth and find transport there. It’s only a couple of miles.” She turned and marched away.

He leaped forward and caught her arm. “Wait.”

Immediately, even through her sleeve, there was that electric connection he’d felt cupping her naked breast last night. When she turned an appalled brown gaze on him, he knew she felt it, too. Much as she clearly wished she didn’t. He fought the urge to sweep the girl into his arms. The brief taste of her lips had left him hungry for more. The memory of her glorious body had kept him awake most of the night. In occasional snatches of sleep, he’d dreamed of her. Naked. Willing. Sighing her pleasure as he pounded into her.

She trembled under his hand. “You don’t need to manhandle me.”

“I mightn’t need to, but I’d certainly like to,” he purred and was rewarded with another beguiling blush. Jonas couldn’t recall the last time he’d consorted with a woman innocent enough to blush. The only females who took him on had become jaded with the banal charms of unmutilated men. “What about Roberta’s debt?”

Miss Forsythe’s self-righteousness faded. “I came to you. I—”

He struggled to ignore the fear in her face. Now wasn’t the time to develop a conscience. “No matter,” he said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Roberta can sell some jewelry to repay me.”

“That’s impossible.” He felt her quivering resistance under his grasp. “William would find out.”

Ah, at last they reached the nut of the matter. “I expect he would.”

His gut twisted with reluctant remorse when tears brightened the girl’s eyes. Tears she bravely blinked away. Just as she’d bravely offered herself to save her sister. Sidonie Forsythe was a remarkable woman. Which didn’t make him one whit more inclined to send her away.

A strange moment to realize that he envied Roberta. It must be wonderful to know such steadfast love as Sidonie demonstrated. His father had undoubtedly loved him. But his father had been crippled by sorrow for his wife and then the ensuing scandal. Through a life of betrayal and rejection, Jonas had learned to mistrust love. Too often it masked self-serving interests. Too often it proved a fragile thread that snapped under the lightest pressure. And even if it was the powerful, overwhelming force the poets claimed, it brought destruction in its wake. Yet Sidonie loved her sister enough to sacrifice herself like this.

Bah, he became sentimental. He shook off the uncharacteristic self-pity and concentrated on the woman before him.

Her stare was bleak. “You know, don’t you?”

“That William takes his temper out on his wife? Not until last night. I spent hours awake, puzzling out your behavior.” And cursing like the devil that his pride exiled him to the dressing room’s minuscule cot. “Your actions only make sense if the consequences of Roberta’s seduction are dire indeed. And my cousin has always met disappointment with violence.”

With a twist of his gut, he realized his free hand crept up to touch his disfigured cheek. Hoping Miss Forsythe hadn’t noticed the betraying gesture, he forced his arm back to his side. His tone hardened. “I should have guessed.”

Poor bloody Roberta. Life as William’s wife must be hell on earth. Her frenetic gaiety in society made sense now—she was probably relieved that her husband wouldn’t cuff her in public. Jonas could almost forgive her for the way she cringed at the merest sight of him.

Miss Forsythe looked devastated. Her voice was low and shaking. “If you know…Roberta’s circumstances, chivalry insists you pardon the debt.”

His lips lengthened in an unamused smile. “Like honor, chivalry isn’t a rule in this game. Surely you know by now that I’m a bastard by nature just as I’m a bastard by birth.”

He expected her to flinch from his plain speaking, but she confronted him squarely. “If I stay here, I’ll be ruined.”

With a grunt of disgust—at himself more than her—he released her arm and prowled back to the window. She came after him, standing too near for caution and staring at him as though seeking some evidence of goodness. She’d search till doomsday. The world had turned him into a monster. He’d done his best since to live up to the description.

“You must have realized that before you arrived.” He forced himself to sound careless, no matter that her proximity stirred his senses so powerfully. The sun flooding through the window lit rich colors in her opulent hair. Flax. Gold. Auburn. “Presumably you’ve told your nearest and dearest some tale to keep them at bay over the next seven days.”

“I still don’t want my name sullied.”

“You have my word our…liaison will remain secret.” Sarcasm sharpened his voice as he continued. “Rejoice in your freedom, Miss Forsythe. This week you’re at liberty.”

“I’m not at liberty to become a libertine.”

His lips quirked at her quick response. “Actually you are.”

Sidonie Forsythe was totally unawakened—good God, how had no man seen what he had?—but she was in essence a sensual creature. He was adept enough at pleasing a woman, however grotesque his face. His deepest instincts insisted she’d relish the act once she’d conquered her qualms.

She surveyed him with unconcealed contempt. “You’d force me into your bed, knowing the only reason I’m there is to save my sister physical harm?”

“I told you—my taste doesn’t run to martyrs.”

Her gaze remained stony. “I’ll never come to you willingly.”

When he caught her hand, the jolt of heat threatened to blast his control to ashes. He drew her down beside him on the window seat. “I’d like the chance to convince you otherwise, bella.”

When had her willingness become so important? Sometime since he’d kissed her and caught a hint of how sweet she’d be in his arms when she finally gave herself up.

She tried and failed to pull away. “Only a swaggering coxcomb would hope to change my mind in a mere week. I won’t change my mind in a hundred years.”

He fought another smile. Did she feel the vivid energy flickering between them? He couldn’t believe he burned alone, for all she denied him with words. “You make the challenge so delicious.”

“I’m not…flirting with you, Mr. Merrick. I’m pointing out you waste your time with this absurd scheme.”

“In which case, you’ll return to your sister none the worse,” he said calmly, efficiently stripping her glove away. He ached to touch her skin.

The cynicism in her expression made her look older than her twenty-four years. “You don’t for one moment expect to lose, do you?”

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss to her soft palm. Her scent filled his head, intoxicating him like the finest wine. “I rely upon my fatal charm.”

She tugged at her hand. Her cheeks were pink with outrage and what unfounded optimism read as grudging pleasure. “It would almost be worth staying to take you down a few pegs.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Reluctantly he released her. Touching her turned thought to chaos and he needed all his wits to gain his way. “You forget your sister’s stake in our bargain.”

Shock tautened her features. She had forgotten Roberta. “So you still compel me.”

He shrugged. “Only to remain at Castle Craven as my guest. Anything further is your choice.”

Straightening, she regarded him with the same chilly disdain she’d displayed last night. Would she say yes? It astounded him how eager he was for her to stay. He’d be in the devil’s own thrall before the week was done. God knew how he’d keep his hands to himself until she agreed to become his lover. As surely she must.

Still his gut tightened with agonizing suspense as he awaited her assent.

She sucked in a shaky breath but spoke with impressive firmness for a chaste woman conceding herself to a scoundrel. “Let us be clear then, Mr. Merrick.”

With a mocking gesture, he bent his head. “By all means, Miss Forsythe.”

Her voice turned flat as she strove for control. In her lap the ungloved hand tightened around the gloved one in silent protest at what he compelled from her. “In return for my presence in Castle Craven over the next seven days, or rather six days as I’ve already spent a night under your roof, you will surrender Roberta’s vowels. Her debt will be fully acquitted.”

“Your companionship, bella. Make no mistake—I want you in my bed and I’ll take every opportunity to get you there. No locking yourself away in the highest tower.”

“I won’t cheat.”

“And you won’t cheat in other ways. You won’t lock yourself away in your mind, either.”

She flushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. When I tell you of my intentions, you’ll listen. When I touch you—and believe me, tesoro, I’ll touch you over and over again, in ways you haven’t imagined a man can touch you—you won’t fight the pleasure.”

She cast him a disgruntled glance under her lashes. “You certainly don’t lack confidence, Mr. Merrick. Do I have a choice about staying?”

His smile turned sly. And triumphant. He’d prevailed. Of course he had. In this particular game, he’d always held the winning hand. He refused to acknowledge the shaming relief coiling in his belly. “Does Roberta have any jewelry William doesn’t know about?”

Her lips tightened. “You really are a bastard.”

“Make no mistake.” This once, his cheerful self-abnegation rang hollow. She deserved better than this arrangement and they both knew it. He stretched his legs out with an appearance of insouciant superiority.

She gave a sharp nod, still with that hard light in her eyes. “You have an agreement, sir. I look forward to leaving here in a week with both pride and virtue intact.”

“And I look forward to nights of untold rapture in your arms, my dear Miss Forsythe.” His smile broadened as victory rang around him like a fanfare of trumpets. “May the best man win.”

She subjected him to a glare of fulminating dislike, although the color lingering in her cheeks from his kiss spoiled the effect. “Make that the best woman, Mr. Merrick.”

Chapter Four

What had she done?

Sidonie remained as trapped as she’d been since Roberta had flung herself upon her mercy two days ago. She should have known her attempt to leave after only one night would fail. While Merrick cajoled her into staying, she’d desperately struggled to avoid her fate. But the threat to her sister remained paramount. Last time William lost his temper, he’d broken Roberta’s arm and two ribs. If he learned his wife betrayed him with his worst enemy, he’d kill her.

At least Sidonie had wrenched a small portion of control back, but she didn’t underestimate how difficult Mer-rick would make it to maintain her virtue. She already found him compelling and he’d hardly exerted himself yet to suborn her. Even now, when she’d pledged her word to cooperate, her mind scurried hither and yon to find an escape. But there was nothing. Only her hollow claim that she’d cleave to her chastity, however he tempted her.

Believe me, tesoro, I’ll touch you over and over again, in ways you haven’t even imagined a man can touch you.

She hid a shiver as she recalled those low words, promising pleasures beyond her wildest dreams. A shiver of fear. Also a shiver of unwilling interest.

“Shall we shake on the deal?” He stood and extended one elegant hand in her direction.

Sidonie fought the urge to tell him he’d touched her quite enough. “Why not?”

As his hand curled firm around hers, heat tingled on her skin. Heat that had surged to flame when he kissed her palm.

As he lowered her hand, his knowing expression bolstered resistance. Privately she might admit he drew her on levels she’d never known. To his face, she meant to continue her defiance. And hope against hope a sharp tongue and prickly attitude saved her. Six days of discomfiting, unceasing awareness of her captor loomed ahead. More to the point, six nights.

She met Merrick’s silvery gaze and acknowledged with a sinking feeling in her stomach that six days could be a lifetime. Only seconds into their bargain and already she recognized the dangers of allowing him to touch her when and how he liked. The memory of his fingers trailing over her naked skin blinded her to her surroundings. She shifted uncomfortably against the window seat.

He’d made no secret of his sinful plans. At least he’d been honest with her. A grim voice at the back of her mind reminded her she hadn’t been honest with him. Not completely. Not about a discovery that would change his life forever. Her eyes faltered away from his as though he might read her guilty secrets in her face.

“Have you had breakfast?”

She frowned and rose, even if it meant standing far too close to him. Perching on the window seat left her feeling disagreeably like a sitting duck. “Mr. Merrick, the way to my heart isn’t through my stomach.”

He arched his black eyebrows. “My sights are set on parts of you other than your heart, Miss Forsythe.”

“Oh.” She wished desperately he wouldn’t keep stealing her capacity for speech. For pity’s sake, what was wrong with her? He couldn’t undermine twenty-four years of rectitude with a mere kiss on the hand.

His thumb rubbed casually over the back of her hand. Except nothing he did was casual. “Given what we’ll become to each other, surely we can dispense with formalities. My name is Jonas.”

“I suspect it’s to my advantage to preserve formalities.”

“And I’m convinced of the outcome whatever we call each other, bella.”

“Oh, very well,” she said irritably. She straightened and withdrew her hand, surprised he let her go. “You may call me Sidonie.”

Why not let her go? He had her exactly where he wanted. Within pouncing reach. “Excellent. The idea of whispering ‘Miss Forsythe’ into your ear as I slide inside you is just too arousing.”

She flushed at the graphic picture he painted. “You can’t say things like that.”

He smiled with an annoying edge of triumph and stepped nearer, towering above her. “So early in the game, and you cry forfeit, Sidonie.”

Temper came to her rescue. He might treat her ruin as an unimportant trifle, but she wasn’t nearly so easy with what occurred. “I suppose I’ll become accustomed to your vulgarity.”

His laugh curled around her resistance like ivy clinging to a crumbling stone tower. “I’m sure you will, at that.”

He strode toward the door and opened it with a flourish. “Shall we proceed to the dining room?” He surveyed her with unreadable eyes. “Then perhaps you and I can share a ride.”

She blushed furiously. “Mr. Merrick—”

His smile turned wicked. “Now who’s being vulgar? I need to check the property after the storm. I thought you might like some fresh air.”

She marched past into the hallway. Six days. Then she’d be free, never to see the wanton and irritating Jonas Merrick again.

Those six days promised torments to shame the devil.

When Sidonie rushed into the stableyard, Jonas was talking to a small, wizened man who held the reins of two high-bred horses, a cream Arab mare and a large bay gelding. Without interrupting his discussion, her nemesis sent her a faint smile. She’d taken longer changing than arranged but he betrayed no impatience. Yet again, she contemplated the contrast between the Merrick cousins. William loathed the smallest inconvenience and lashed out if anyone delayed or obstructed him.

The last lonely years, mainly spent running Barstowe Hall, hadn’t prepared her to defend herself from a dangerous roué. She supposed she must have had girlish dreams once of a fascinating man focusing his attention on her. She couldn’t remember them. Once she was old enough to understand the dynamic of the marital bond, her dreams had become more prosaic: an independent, useful life where decisions were hers and no man treated her as his property.

The groom dipped his head to acknowledge her and disappeared into the stables. Merrick studied her with a glint in his eye. Part sexual interest, part approval, part something she couldn’t altogether interpret. It was as though he asked a question and she said yes without knowing what she agreed to.

She shook off the disturbing sensation and lifted her chin. Her hands tightened on the elegant little crop.

“I see you found the riding habit,” he said neutrally.

“I see you’re prepared for all eventualities when ladies visit,” she responded with a tart edge. When she’d seen the stylish black habit laid across her bed—his bed, she supposed—she’d cringed. She told herself his liaisons were none of her business, but that niggle of resentment persisted.

A deepening of the faint lines around his eyes indicated amusement. “I’ve never brought a mistress here, if that worries you.”