Forbidden Fire by Heather Graham

loosened his shirt and dozed with the sheer exhaustion that came from traveling from continent to continent.
    He heard the rap on the door, but he had told the proprietor of the boardinghouse often enough that he did not wish to be disturbed. He opened his eyes and stared evilly at the door, but he did not hasten to rise, nor did he reply.
    To his amazement, the door opened.
    And to his further amazement, he saw that his early morning visitor was none other than his new, wayward ward.
    She was elegant this morning, more beautiful than she had appeared last night in the gaslight of the prim Victorian parlor.
    She wore a soft blue day dress with a low-cut bosom and a small, very fashionable bustle. She carried a parasol, wore immaculate white gloves and small elegant boots that just peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown. A matching brocade jacket covered her shoulders, but was fetchingly cut to offer both modesty—and the hint of a very fine cleavage.
    She wore no hat, nor had she pinned her hair up, and it fell over her shoulders in sweeping waves like the rays of the sun. It was wonderful hair, hair that rippled and cascaded and fell to her waist, red and gold, fascinating.
    She entered the room, and her eyes widened as she saw him at his desk with the brandy bottle before him, his shirt opened all the way down the front and his legs carelessly tossed upon the desk.
    He did not bother to move. “Well, well,” he murmured. “To what do I owe this honor?”
    â€œI need to speak with you,” she murmured.
    â€œObviously.”
    She didn’t make a move, but seemed frozen against the door. He smiled slowly, wondering if he admired her or disliked her intensely.
    No, he did not dislike her, he realized. He disliked what she was doing to his life. He wanted her to be passive and well-behaved and to follow him home and live quietly in her room, so docile that he could forget her.
    Cared for, yes, cared for well. But so quiet and well-mannered that he scarce need know she was there.
    He would know she was there, he thought. He would always know she was there. She was beautiful, and she must be well aware of it. She had already cast herself into the disgrace of a lover, and in honor of Sir Thomas’s memory, he must make certain that she not do such a thing again. She was hardly quiet, and the furthest thing in the world from docile.
    Those eyes …
    She could tempt and taunt like the most practiced vixen, he thought, and was startled to realize that she had annoyed him last night and annoyed him now because she need only stare at him with those fascinating eyes and he felt the stirrings of longing, hot and pulsating, within his groin. He inhaled sharply, and exhaled, and spoke to her far more harshly than he had intended.
    â€œWhat? You’ve come. You’ve entered unbidden. Speak!”
    Green eyes flashed with fury. He was certain that she was going to turn and leave the room. And then he would have to chase after her.
    But she seemed to stiffen and lock her jaw. She did not move. Her gaze swept over him scornfully. Her eyes locked upon his bare chest, then rose once more to meet his. She appeared to fight for nerve, then found her courage. She raised her chin, and once more her gaze was imperious.
    â€œI wish to follow my father’s will to the letter, Mr. Tremayne. I wish—” She hesitated only the flicker of a second. “I wish to—to marry you.”

Chapter Three
    â€œY ou what?” Ian’s feet hit the floor. His eyes narrowed sharply, and his voice rang with surprise.
    For a moment, Marissa couldn’t quite catch her breath. The man seemed to be more formidable than ever. No, he had made a promise to Sir Thomas, and he was merely irritated with her attempts to thwart him. His voice could be gentle; he could be every inch the gentleman.
    He didn’t look much the gentleman at the moment. He looked every inch the rogue. His chest was nearly naked,