The Wayward One (The De Montforte Brothers Book 5) by Danelle Harmon

scandal will be beyond imagining and my reputation will be ruined because of this. Because of you .” She glared at him. “And you ask how you’ve harmed me? When my brother Lucien catches up to you, you will wish you had never, ever laid eyes on me.”
    His lips twitched. “Oooh, ’tis frightened, I am.”
    “Stop smirking, you ought to be!”
    He laughed. “I’m not afraid of some pompous, mincing, English tosser bloated by his own sense of importance. And I’ll never be sorry for layin’ eyes on you. I like women. I like pretty women. I like spirited women, and you, Sunshine—”
    “Stop calling me that!”
    “—happen to be all three. Aye, a fine bit of stuff, you are. ’Tis a pity, though, that ye’re English.”
    Anger blazed in her cheeks. “You are the most insufferable man I have ever met.”
    “Aye, well, ye’re not exactly sugar and sweets, yerself. Ye’ve got the demeanor of a shrew and ye’re a damned snob, as well. But never mind that. Breakfast’ll be here soon. Hungry?”
    “No.”
    But at that moment her stomach growled like a caged lion. Mortified, she clamped a hand over her belly as though to hold in the sound, her face flaming red.
    He laughed again, and pushed the door shut behind him so they were both alone.
    Nerissa’s hand, damp now with sweat, tightened around the hidden dividers.
    “I do not find this amusing at all,” she snapped, moving away and putting the table between them.
    “Aye, by the look of ye, I doubt ye find much at all that’s amusing. You should try smilin’ once in a while, Sunshine. ’Tis good for the spirit as well as the face.”
    She’d be damned before she gave him the satisfaction of a smile. Incensed, she turned away and stumbled toward the open stern windows. Beyond, the ship’s wake left a faint line through the sea behind them.
    “I’ll bet ye’re pretty when ye smile,” he said from behind her. She wished she could step forward, away from him, but there was nowhere to go unless she fancied a dive out those windows and a swim. “And why don’t ye? Missin’ a tooth or two?”
    She stiffened, refusing to turn around.
    “Or maybe ye’re afraid that smilin’ will give ye wrinkles before yer time.”
    She clenched her fist around the dividers, solid and reassuring beneath the fabric of her skirts.
    “On the other hand, maybe ye’ve just got too much stubborn pride. Given that ye’re English and all.”
    She turned then. “Are you quite finish—”
    —And gasped, as he had come right up behind her, as silent as a cat.
    He had been in the process of reaching up toward her hair, and she froze at his brazen audacity. He did not pull back, did not pretend he wasn’t about to touch her, and did not step away to give her space.
    “Are ye afraid of me, lass?”
    She could not answer. Could do nothing but stare at that hand while her own tightened against her makeshift weapon, still hidden in her skirts.
    “I’m the last person ye should ever be afraid of,” he said soberly. “I’d swallow boilin’ oil before I ever lifted a hand to harm ye.”
    “You—you were about to touch me,” she managed.
    “Ye’ve a beautiful head of hair. It’s like a paintin’, backlit by the light from outside. Aye, I wanted to touch it, just to see if it was real.”
    And he did. Touched it. Let his rough, calloused fingers drag down a length of it that fell haphazardly over her shoulder, while Nerissa, trapped between him and the window seat behind her, froze. Her heartbeat quickened and her hand tightened harder around the dividers.
    And just like that, he reached down and grasped the hand hidden in her skirts. Found the dividers. Smiled indulgently, knowingly, and took them away from her as he might’ve forced a trinket from the hand of a child. He had known all along that she’d had them, Nerissa thought in alarm, and as he put them on the table behind him she realized all over again that he was far bigger than her, far stronger, and far, far