Forbidden Fire by Heather Graham Page A

very hard muscled and thickly matted with crisp dark hairs against which a gold medallion of St. Luke rested. He was scowling crossly, and a lock of his near ebony hair was dangling haphazardly over his forehead. He had spent the evening drinking brandy, so it appeared.
    He was still a gentleman, she assured herself, despite his appearance.
    After all, Sir Thomas had trusted him with his daughter’s future.
    And still …
    Deep within her, tremors had begun. To her dismay, she discovered that she was frightened, but also excited. There was something decadently tempting about the taut muscles that formed his chest. Something that made her long to touch …
    And then start to tremble anew.
    No, no, she didn’t want to touch anything. She had to make that clear. Abundantly clear. But just thinking about it made her feel a curious unease.
    He didn’t want to marry. He had said that he had no intention of marrying again. So he had been married. She had to convince him that … that they could marry one another and lead separate lives.
    â€œI want to marry you,” she managed to repeat.
    â€œWhatever for?” he demanded crossly.
    â€œThat’s entirely obvious, isn’t it, Mr. Tremayne?” she said with exasperation. “I need my allowance.”
    â€œI am willing to care for you.”
    â€œI don’t want charity. I want what is mine.”
    â€œYou don’t want charity—but you’re willing to marry a stranger for your allowance?” A single dark brow was raised high with incredulity. “Excuse me, Miss Ahearn, but I would think that marriage to a near stranger would have to be less appealing than the simple acceptance of the stranger’s largesse.” He was amused again. He was not in the least taking her seriously.
    â€œMr. Tremayne, this is important to me.”
    â€œIt seems that our newly entwined futures must be important to us both. I am serious, too, Marissa. Marriage is a contract, legal, binding.”
    â€œYes, I know.”
    â€œIt is also much, much more,” he reminded her sharply.
    â€œIt wouldn’t have to be like that,” she said hastily.
    â€œLike what?” he demanded. He was taunting her, she knew. Baiting her, purposely. He was angry, and he meant to draw blood.
    She pushed away from the wall, moving into the room at last. But then she paused, for he was now standing. He moved around to the front of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
    Awaiting her.
    She was silent, and he sat back comfortably on the desk, smiling suddenly. “Pray, do enlighten me, Miss Ahearn.”
    Enlighten him! She longed to smack the amusement from his face.
    An ill choice of action, she decided, if she was to coerce him to her will.
    She swallowed her anger and tried to speak intelligently and with dignity. “My father’s will has devastated me, Mr. Tremayne. There are certain—charities to which I am deeply committed, and I would use my own funds for these expenses. You—you said that you did not intend to marry again. If we marry one another, then you will not have to marry again.”
    A quizzical expression passed over his face, then he laughed outright. “Obviously. I shall be married to you.”
    â€œBut not really.”
    â€œYou cannot collect your inheritance by going through a pretense of marriage.”
    â€œNo, no, I will marry you, really—”
    â€œI don’t wish to marry.”
    Marissa exploded with a sharp oath of impatience that brought amusement to his eyes, and both his brows shot up. “Mr. Tremayne, you have told me that you are not averse to accepting certain advances from certain women. I can only assume this to mean a certain kind of woman, sir. Harlots and whores, Mr. Tremayne, if I do comprehend your words correctly. I—”
    â€œAnd dance-hall girls, Miss Ahearn,” He added. “We do have some very fine establishments in San