stone cherub. Their shoes crunched on frozen gravel, their breaths plumed the air. Tension crackled between them. Tension — and a raw, sexual awareness that Eva was trying her best to ignore.
Trying — and failing.
Blackheath led her some distance from the house, then to her surprise, he released her.
"Do not leave me until you hear me out."
Confused, Eva stepped back to put some distance between them, drawing his heavy velvet coat about her shoulders. It was warm with the heat of his body. Rich and lusciously expensive against her skin, emanating his own uniquely male scent. She resisted the urge to bury her nose in it.
"I'm listening," she said warily, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, the feverish tingles of anticipation that were racing across her skin. "What do you want?"
He levelled his flat stare on her. "Your help."
Of all the reasons a virile, dangerous man such as himself might drag a woman out into the night, this was the last one that Eva might have expected. His answer threw her totally off balance. Brought a rush of unexpected disappointment. For a moment, she couldn't respond to such a bald plea, and had to quell a burst of laughter. Why, the idea of this arrogant, manipulative monster asking for help of all things, was almost ludicrous.
"My help," she scoffed, with an arch, pitying look. "Well, Blackheath, you've certainly found the last person on earth willing to give it to you."
"I am sure that for a price, you will give me anything."
"Some things cannot be bought."
"No, some things can only be given," he said coldly. "I know you would have me believe you're a hard-hearted witch, but, as tempting as the thought is, I am not totally convinced of it."
She smiled sweetly. "No? After what I did to your brothers? After what I nearly did to you? How much more convincing must I be?"
"Help me and I will consider your offenses against my family forgiven. It is for their sake, not mine, that I have sought you out."
Eva raised a brow.
He moved a little distance away, no doubt trying to rein in the natural enmity he must certainly feel for her. She could almost see him collecting himself. Retreating behind that impeccably aristocratic mask that would remain in place no matter what emotions, what thoughts, boiled behind it. But no. She was mistaken. In the silent majesty of the night, his eyes were darker than the deepest water of the ocean, and for a moment, just a moment, he allowed her to see the haunting anguish in their depths, the pain she didn't think he was capable of feeling.
Something in her softened, responding to that naked revelation; he was human, then, after all.
Imagine.
"I have a sister," he continued, gazing out into the night. His back was toward her, rising in splendid magnificence from his lean torso, crowned with powerful shoulders of a breadth that was nothing short of . . . mesmerizing. She feasted her eyes on that back, on those shoulders, even as she cursed herself for taking such a liberty. "Her name is Nerissa. She means more to me than anything on God's earth."
Eva said nothing, merely watching him.
"She is young and romantic, and hopelessly in love with a fellow who has no wish to settle down and get on with the responsibilities of his birthright." He turned and, offering his arm once more, began to walk. You must be freezing, Eva thought. He had only a sleeveless waistcoat to ward off the cold. But the Duke of Blackheath's iron control was such that he would never shiver, let his teeth chatter, or even allow a tremor to mar his urbane voice. "A fortnight ago, this beau of hers — the Earl of Brookhampton — was . . . sent to Spain aboard the English ship, Sarah Rose . Just off the coast of France, the vessel was attacked and sunk by an American privateer."
Eva felt herself softening, a dangerous thing. It scared her — so she reacted as she always did when threatened.
With sarcastic
Trying — and failing.
Blackheath led her some distance from the house, then to her surprise, he released her.
"Do not leave me until you hear me out."
Confused, Eva stepped back to put some distance between them, drawing his heavy velvet coat about her shoulders. It was warm with the heat of his body. Rich and lusciously expensive against her skin, emanating his own uniquely male scent. She resisted the urge to bury her nose in it.
"I'm listening," she said warily, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, the feverish tingles of anticipation that were racing across her skin. "What do you want?"
He levelled his flat stare on her. "Your help."
Of all the reasons a virile, dangerous man such as himself might drag a woman out into the night, this was the last one that Eva might have expected. His answer threw her totally off balance. Brought a rush of unexpected disappointment. For a moment, she couldn't respond to such a bald plea, and had to quell a burst of laughter. Why, the idea of this arrogant, manipulative monster asking for help of all things, was almost ludicrous.
"My help," she scoffed, with an arch, pitying look. "Well, Blackheath, you've certainly found the last person on earth willing to give it to you."
"I am sure that for a price, you will give me anything."
"Some things cannot be bought."
"No, some things can only be given," he said coldly. "I know you would have me believe you're a hard-hearted witch, but, as tempting as the thought is, I am not totally convinced of it."
She smiled sweetly. "No? After what I did to your brothers? After what I nearly did to you? How much more convincing must I be?"
"Help me and I will consider your offenses against my family forgiven. It is for their sake, not mine, that I have sought you out."
Eva raised a brow.
He moved a little distance away, no doubt trying to rein in the natural enmity he must certainly feel for her. She could almost see him collecting himself. Retreating behind that impeccably aristocratic mask that would remain in place no matter what emotions, what thoughts, boiled behind it. But no. She was mistaken. In the silent majesty of the night, his eyes were darker than the deepest water of the ocean, and for a moment, just a moment, he allowed her to see the haunting anguish in their depths, the pain she didn't think he was capable of feeling.
Something in her softened, responding to that naked revelation; he was human, then, after all.
Imagine.
"I have a sister," he continued, gazing out into the night. His back was toward her, rising in splendid magnificence from his lean torso, crowned with powerful shoulders of a breadth that was nothing short of . . . mesmerizing. She feasted her eyes on that back, on those shoulders, even as she cursed herself for taking such a liberty. "Her name is Nerissa. She means more to me than anything on God's earth."
Eva said nothing, merely watching him.
"She is young and romantic, and hopelessly in love with a fellow who has no wish to settle down and get on with the responsibilities of his birthright." He turned and, offering his arm once more, began to walk. You must be freezing, Eva thought. He had only a sleeveless waistcoat to ward off the cold. But the Duke of Blackheath's iron control was such that he would never shiver, let his teeth chatter, or even allow a tremor to mar his urbane voice. "A fortnight ago, this beau of hers — the Earl of Brookhampton — was . . . sent to Spain aboard the English ship, Sarah Rose . Just off the coast of France, the vessel was attacked and sunk by an American privateer."
Eva felt herself softening, a dangerous thing. It scared her — so she reacted as she always did when threatened.
With sarcastic
Similar Books
