all.
She’d used her hands so far, but they formed only part of her arsenal. Now she kissed his body, smoothing the skin of his chest with her lips, then daring to taste his nipple when it came within reach.
He groaned now, right out loud. “Laura.” His body shuddered, too, and he twisted on the bed, his eyes tightly shut.
She had him. She’d trapped him. All she had to do was close the trap, but first, she wanted … Her mouth wandered to the other side of him while her hands wandered below, and she realized she enjoyed watching him squirm. She liked the power, and she badly wanted to finish the moment.
Not now .
Blindly, she reached for the cord of her robe and wrapped it around the rail above his wrists.
Not ever .
With a quick motion, she used an embroidery knot to secure Hamilton to the bed. She whipped his leather belt around the other direction to reinforce the restraint.
She was done with love now. She’d never be the countess of Hamilton again, not in truth or even in her imagination. She wouldn’t even dare dream of this.
“Laura?”
His eyes opened.
She leaped off the bed.
He looked up at the restraint, and tugged.
She watched the knot tighten, the material stretch. The knots would hold, and the oak bed rail was old and solid.
She had trapped the tiger.
“Laura?” He was fully aware now, his gaze shifting between bewilderment to concern. “What are you doing?”
She glared at him, stretched naked before her. “I’m leaving you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
NO WOMAN could tie an effective knot. Hamilton knew it, and he jerked on the restraint that held him. Nothing gave, and he twisted to look above his head. The knot, complex and unknown, alarmed him. “Laura, this isn’t funny.”
“Believe me.” Laura picked her clothing off the floor and began to dress rapidly. “I’m not laughing.”
He watched hungrily as she lifted her arms to pull the shift over her head, then jerked his attention away. That was the kind of nonsense that had got him into this dilemma, and still his body spoke to him louder than his common sense.
She glanced at him, running her gaze down his form, then looked away.
He guessed the constant changes in his body spoke to her, too. Pleased that he had at least that much influence and convinced he could persuade her to free him, he asked, “Why would you want to do this?”
From the corner of his eye, he could see as she pulled on petticoats. “Perhaps you are Jean, the leader of the smugglers, as I first suspected.”
Damn the woman! She was a tiny thing, her waist so small he almost spanned it in his hands, with direct blue eyes and curly brown hair, and she was as stubborn and opinionated as his grandmother in one of her matriarchal moods.
How dare Laura not believe him?
Pulling himself up the bed by his wrists, he glared at her. “I am the Seamaster!”
Laura nodded without a smile and pulled her dress over her head. “If you are, as you claim, the Seamaster, you sent my brother after these smugglers when you knew the danger he courted. Regardless, you are responsible for his death, and I intend to make you pay.”
“Pay? How? By humiliating me?”
She had that stubborn thrust to her chin that he’d learned to recognize. “That, if you’re the Seamaster. Or by turning you over to the proper authorities if you’re Jean.”
The flawlessness of her plan left him speechless with admiration. Admiration, and fury, and an unquenched desire that made him determined to teach her a lesson — when he got untied. He tugged at the knots again and frowned when he saw that the strain only tightened them. Perhaps he could have ripped free from the wool band, but she’d been smart enough to use the leather strap from his coat, and that wouldn’t fail. “Now, dear.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “This isn’t a good idea. If you’d just think about it, you’d realize that. You don’t really believe I’m Jean, the man who killed your
She’d used her hands so far, but they formed only part of her arsenal. Now she kissed his body, smoothing the skin of his chest with her lips, then daring to taste his nipple when it came within reach.
He groaned now, right out loud. “Laura.” His body shuddered, too, and he twisted on the bed, his eyes tightly shut.
She had him. She’d trapped him. All she had to do was close the trap, but first, she wanted … Her mouth wandered to the other side of him while her hands wandered below, and she realized she enjoyed watching him squirm. She liked the power, and she badly wanted to finish the moment.
Not now .
Blindly, she reached for the cord of her robe and wrapped it around the rail above his wrists.
Not ever .
With a quick motion, she used an embroidery knot to secure Hamilton to the bed. She whipped his leather belt around the other direction to reinforce the restraint.
She was done with love now. She’d never be the countess of Hamilton again, not in truth or even in her imagination. She wouldn’t even dare dream of this.
“Laura?”
His eyes opened.
She leaped off the bed.
He looked up at the restraint, and tugged.
She watched the knot tighten, the material stretch. The knots would hold, and the oak bed rail was old and solid.
She had trapped the tiger.
“Laura?” He was fully aware now, his gaze shifting between bewilderment to concern. “What are you doing?”
She glared at him, stretched naked before her. “I’m leaving you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
NO WOMAN could tie an effective knot. Hamilton knew it, and he jerked on the restraint that held him. Nothing gave, and he twisted to look above his head. The knot, complex and unknown, alarmed him. “Laura, this isn’t funny.”
“Believe me.” Laura picked her clothing off the floor and began to dress rapidly. “I’m not laughing.”
He watched hungrily as she lifted her arms to pull the shift over her head, then jerked his attention away. That was the kind of nonsense that had got him into this dilemma, and still his body spoke to him louder than his common sense.
She glanced at him, running her gaze down his form, then looked away.
He guessed the constant changes in his body spoke to her, too. Pleased that he had at least that much influence and convinced he could persuade her to free him, he asked, “Why would you want to do this?”
From the corner of his eye, he could see as she pulled on petticoats. “Perhaps you are Jean, the leader of the smugglers, as I first suspected.”
Damn the woman! She was a tiny thing, her waist so small he almost spanned it in his hands, with direct blue eyes and curly brown hair, and she was as stubborn and opinionated as his grandmother in one of her matriarchal moods.
How dare Laura not believe him?
Pulling himself up the bed by his wrists, he glared at her. “I am the Seamaster!”
Laura nodded without a smile and pulled her dress over her head. “If you are, as you claim, the Seamaster, you sent my brother after these smugglers when you knew the danger he courted. Regardless, you are responsible for his death, and I intend to make you pay.”
“Pay? How? By humiliating me?”
She had that stubborn thrust to her chin that he’d learned to recognize. “That, if you’re the Seamaster. Or by turning you over to the proper authorities if you’re Jean.”
The flawlessness of her plan left him speechless with admiration. Admiration, and fury, and an unquenched desire that made him determined to teach her a lesson — when he got untied. He tugged at the knots again and frowned when he saw that the strain only tightened them. Perhaps he could have ripped free from the wool band, but she’d been smart enough to use the leather strap from his coat, and that wouldn’t fail. “Now, dear.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “This isn’t a good idea. If you’d just think about it, you’d realize that. You don’t really believe I’m Jean, the man who killed your
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