itching to lay them on her tight derrière . “What an incorrigible, ill-mannered hellion. I’ll see to it she is turned over my knee for the spanking she deserves.”
Miss Ferguson flinched but met his eyes head on. “Rather difficult to do as you’re locked behind bars.”
Ah, hell.
My thoughts are rolling off my tongue like a man well in his cups.
She had courage. He’d allow her that. He stalked to the cell door. Toying with her necklace, she retreated a step.
Roark ran a finger the length of one rusty bar. “But,” he cast her a sideways glance and offered a benevolent smile, “I believe I know why you’ve made the error, and I’m in the mood to be charitable.”
Like hell he was. He’d say anything to get released from this accursed box .
“Indeed?” She eyed him from his stockinged feet to his mussed hair. Was that self-satisfaction curving her full peach-tinted lips?
He smiled widely, relishing what was to come. He’d wipe the smug expression from her face. The little vixen was about to get what was due her. He could all but hear her groveling an apology. He’d decide her retribution later. Right now, he must get out of this tomb.
Roark nodded and gave her his most charming, seductive smile.
Her eyes widened. She swallowed and stumbled backward, her entranced gaze riveted on his mouth.
He knew how he affected young misses. Older ones too. Hadn’t they been throwing themselves at him since he’d come into his title? And even before? Long before. He was scarcely past three and ten when a buxom upstairs maid introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh.
He wasn’t vain. He had nothing to do with his physical features. That was God’s hand. However, the mirror he looked into daily was objective. He was an attractive man. Even the scar on his forehead didn’t deter the matchmaking mamas or their moon-eyed daughters.
“You’ve mistaken me for my younger brother.”
Edgar, the scapegrace. One of the reasons Roark was intent on restoring the family’s honor was Edgar’s treasonous behavior.
Recovered, Miss Ferguson crossed her arms. The keys clanked against each other with her movement. She arched a brow and smirked at him. “Indeed?”
There it was again. Cynicism.
“ Indeed .” Roark swept her a mocking bow. “I’m Roark Vance Philippe Marquardt, the Earl of Clarendon.”
Miss Ferguson’s incandescent smile faltered. She fingered the topaz cross at her neck, a look of uncertainty on her face. She studied him for a long assessing moment. A grin spread across her lovely features.
He stared entranced again. She was exquisite when she smiled.
“Of course, you are,” she quipped, dipping a half curtsy. “And I’m the notorious Countess Lieven.”
He narrowed his eyes, struggling to control his temper. “No, you are not. I’ve met the countess.”
This wasn’t going at all as he’d anticipated. “I, however, am the Earl of Clarendon.”
“Do you think I believe you’re the earl?” She snickered. “No, in the hamlet you gave yourself away. You said you were Mister Marquardt.”
“I sometimes leave off my title when traveling.”
She shook her head, sable hair billowing about her shoulders. It gave her an exotic appearance, an untamed beauty. Delia had been a perfectly coiffed, never-a-hair-out-of-place, blonde. At no time had Roark seen her hair loose. Not even during their intimate encounters. Delia’s hair had always been in a tidy braid.
Miss Ferguson was the type of woman one took in full daylight, splayed atop his emerald-green counterpane, the sun and his hands stroking her naked, ivory limbs.
Ye Gods, man . Enough of the lurid imaginings.
He itched to get his hands on her all right, but it wasn’t to enjoy the sweetness he’d no doubt her body could provide. He shifted uncomfortably. He’d be paying Helene a visit immediately upon returning to his estate.
Miss Ferguson stood with her hands on her hips, tapping the toes of one foot. She paused and
Miss Ferguson flinched but met his eyes head on. “Rather difficult to do as you’re locked behind bars.”
Ah, hell.
My thoughts are rolling off my tongue like a man well in his cups.
She had courage. He’d allow her that. He stalked to the cell door. Toying with her necklace, she retreated a step.
Roark ran a finger the length of one rusty bar. “But,” he cast her a sideways glance and offered a benevolent smile, “I believe I know why you’ve made the error, and I’m in the mood to be charitable.”
Like hell he was. He’d say anything to get released from this accursed box .
“Indeed?” She eyed him from his stockinged feet to his mussed hair. Was that self-satisfaction curving her full peach-tinted lips?
He smiled widely, relishing what was to come. He’d wipe the smug expression from her face. The little vixen was about to get what was due her. He could all but hear her groveling an apology. He’d decide her retribution later. Right now, he must get out of this tomb.
Roark nodded and gave her his most charming, seductive smile.
Her eyes widened. She swallowed and stumbled backward, her entranced gaze riveted on his mouth.
He knew how he affected young misses. Older ones too. Hadn’t they been throwing themselves at him since he’d come into his title? And even before? Long before. He was scarcely past three and ten when a buxom upstairs maid introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh.
He wasn’t vain. He had nothing to do with his physical features. That was God’s hand. However, the mirror he looked into daily was objective. He was an attractive man. Even the scar on his forehead didn’t deter the matchmaking mamas or their moon-eyed daughters.
“You’ve mistaken me for my younger brother.”
Edgar, the scapegrace. One of the reasons Roark was intent on restoring the family’s honor was Edgar’s treasonous behavior.
Recovered, Miss Ferguson crossed her arms. The keys clanked against each other with her movement. She arched a brow and smirked at him. “Indeed?”
There it was again. Cynicism.
“ Indeed .” Roark swept her a mocking bow. “I’m Roark Vance Philippe Marquardt, the Earl of Clarendon.”
Miss Ferguson’s incandescent smile faltered. She fingered the topaz cross at her neck, a look of uncertainty on her face. She studied him for a long assessing moment. A grin spread across her lovely features.
He stared entranced again. She was exquisite when she smiled.
“Of course, you are,” she quipped, dipping a half curtsy. “And I’m the notorious Countess Lieven.”
He narrowed his eyes, struggling to control his temper. “No, you are not. I’ve met the countess.”
This wasn’t going at all as he’d anticipated. “I, however, am the Earl of Clarendon.”
“Do you think I believe you’re the earl?” She snickered. “No, in the hamlet you gave yourself away. You said you were Mister Marquardt.”
“I sometimes leave off my title when traveling.”
She shook her head, sable hair billowing about her shoulders. It gave her an exotic appearance, an untamed beauty. Delia had been a perfectly coiffed, never-a-hair-out-of-place, blonde. At no time had Roark seen her hair loose. Not even during their intimate encounters. Delia’s hair had always been in a tidy braid.
Miss Ferguson was the type of woman one took in full daylight, splayed atop his emerald-green counterpane, the sun and his hands stroking her naked, ivory limbs.
Ye Gods, man . Enough of the lurid imaginings.
He itched to get his hands on her all right, but it wasn’t to enjoy the sweetness he’d no doubt her body could provide. He shifted uncomfortably. He’d be paying Helene a visit immediately upon returning to his estate.
Miss Ferguson stood with her hands on her hips, tapping the toes of one foot. She paused and
Similar Books
