You must be lost. The guest bedchambers are in the east wing.”
As always, the coldhearted beast held his emotions close. “I’m not lost, as you well know. I’ve come to make you tell me the truth. Because no matter what name you use—Morgan or Lord Templemore—you’re still the man who kidnapped me.”
With those precise motions she remembered so well, he set down his metalwork and slid around on the leather-upholstered stool to face her. “My lady, you’re distraught, and that has made you irrational. Shall I call your sister?” Full of false concern, he started to rise from the stool.
“Stay where you are! I’m more rational than I’ve been in my entire life.”
Eyes black as his soul assessed her. “I see. Do you regularly accuse lords of the realm of running with smuggling gangs and kidnapping young women?”
“You’re my first. Though I dearly hope you’re my last.”
“So do I. I’d hate to see another man wrongfully accused.”
Her temper flared. She hadn’t come here intending vengeance. She’d simply wanted answers. But his arrogant refusal to admit the truth stirred some wretched, uncivilized instinct to punish him. “You might as well give up this pretense. I know you’re the man we seek.”
“Do you?” His smile was edged in menace. Behind him, the lantern light peeked over his substantial shoulders, limning his image in flame, making him appear even more the God of Fire than before. “Pray tell me, otherthan wishful thinking, what has convinced you I’m your kidnapper?”
Oh, how she hated that placating tone—the one he’d used two years ago, when she’d been a silly, gullible girl. If it took all night, she would banish it from his voice. “Wishful thinking has naught to do with it, unless the wish is to see you on your knees begging for mercy while I hold one of your nasty pistols to your head.”
That did it. The smile vanished. “Bloodthirsty little baggage, aren’t you?”
Yes. And it felt good, better than she’d expected. “I only wish for justice.” She paused. “As for how I can be sure who you are, I have more than enough proof of that.”
“Oh?” He rose from his stool, straightening to his full height.
Tall men had always intimidated her, and he was awfully tall. Still, the thought that he might use that against her merely firmed her resolve. “Your brother was educated abroad, didn’t you say?”
A wary nod was her answer.
“And not even in an English colony, but in Geneva, where they speak French.”
“His education was given in English, madam. He had the best tutors.”
“Not until he was thirteen. By your own admission, he spent his early years without such advantages. And with the sort of mother you’ve described, he might have been left to run wild in the streets. At the very least, he would speak with an accent; at the most, he’d lack breeding and refinement as well.”
His lips thinned. “Is there a point to all these insults to members of my family?”
“My kidnapper had a refined English accent and a polished manner. Like yours.”
“Did he indeed?” He strolled closer, stopping only a foot away. “But two years can alter one’s memory greatly,especially when memory tells us lies to soothe our feelings. Perhaps remembering him that way makes it easier for you to…excuse your bad judgment in eloping with him.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. How dared he even insinuate such a thing? “That isn’t my only proof, sir. I’ve found more since you spun your tale this morning.”
Leaning against the table, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you? I’m all ears.”
The words tumbled out. “First, there was my kidnapper’s manner of dress—as sober as yours. And the lie he chose to tell—that he was in the army. Your brother was a navy man, so why didn’t my kidnapper say he was in the navy? That would’ve made the masquerade easier for him and more convincing.”
His gaze flicked over her. “From what
As always, the coldhearted beast held his emotions close. “I’m not lost, as you well know. I’ve come to make you tell me the truth. Because no matter what name you use—Morgan or Lord Templemore—you’re still the man who kidnapped me.”
With those precise motions she remembered so well, he set down his metalwork and slid around on the leather-upholstered stool to face her. “My lady, you’re distraught, and that has made you irrational. Shall I call your sister?” Full of false concern, he started to rise from the stool.
“Stay where you are! I’m more rational than I’ve been in my entire life.”
Eyes black as his soul assessed her. “I see. Do you regularly accuse lords of the realm of running with smuggling gangs and kidnapping young women?”
“You’re my first. Though I dearly hope you’re my last.”
“So do I. I’d hate to see another man wrongfully accused.”
Her temper flared. She hadn’t come here intending vengeance. She’d simply wanted answers. But his arrogant refusal to admit the truth stirred some wretched, uncivilized instinct to punish him. “You might as well give up this pretense. I know you’re the man we seek.”
“Do you?” His smile was edged in menace. Behind him, the lantern light peeked over his substantial shoulders, limning his image in flame, making him appear even more the God of Fire than before. “Pray tell me, otherthan wishful thinking, what has convinced you I’m your kidnapper?”
Oh, how she hated that placating tone—the one he’d used two years ago, when she’d been a silly, gullible girl. If it took all night, she would banish it from his voice. “Wishful thinking has naught to do with it, unless the wish is to see you on your knees begging for mercy while I hold one of your nasty pistols to your head.”
That did it. The smile vanished. “Bloodthirsty little baggage, aren’t you?”
Yes. And it felt good, better than she’d expected. “I only wish for justice.” She paused. “As for how I can be sure who you are, I have more than enough proof of that.”
“Oh?” He rose from his stool, straightening to his full height.
Tall men had always intimidated her, and he was awfully tall. Still, the thought that he might use that against her merely firmed her resolve. “Your brother was educated abroad, didn’t you say?”
A wary nod was her answer.
“And not even in an English colony, but in Geneva, where they speak French.”
“His education was given in English, madam. He had the best tutors.”
“Not until he was thirteen. By your own admission, he spent his early years without such advantages. And with the sort of mother you’ve described, he might have been left to run wild in the streets. At the very least, he would speak with an accent; at the most, he’d lack breeding and refinement as well.”
His lips thinned. “Is there a point to all these insults to members of my family?”
“My kidnapper had a refined English accent and a polished manner. Like yours.”
“Did he indeed?” He strolled closer, stopping only a foot away. “But two years can alter one’s memory greatly,especially when memory tells us lies to soothe our feelings. Perhaps remembering him that way makes it easier for you to…excuse your bad judgment in eloping with him.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. How dared he even insinuate such a thing? “That isn’t my only proof, sir. I’ve found more since you spun your tale this morning.”
Leaning against the table, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you? I’m all ears.”
The words tumbled out. “First, there was my kidnapper’s manner of dress—as sober as yours. And the lie he chose to tell—that he was in the army. Your brother was a navy man, so why didn’t my kidnapper say he was in the navy? That would’ve made the masquerade easier for him and more convincing.”
His gaze flicked over her. “From what
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