“Don’t patronize me. Whatever stupid male thing you’re planning, I won’t have it. I insist that you stay away from Blundell. He didn’t hurt me, and I’ll make sure I never go near him again.”
“You insist?”
He gave her a sweeping inspection, his features etched with a barely controlled savagery. Clarissa hated angry men—hated the raised voices and the stinging slaps that often came with the anger. But Christian, even in a rage,would always be Christian. He would never do anything to harm her.
She propped her hands on her hips, meeting him stare for stare. But just looking at him made her knees quake. He was so impossibly handsome and so intensely masculine that she wanted to shriek with frustration. How infuriating that the boy she had known had grown into a man who could tear her so easily from her moorings.
“You said he forced himself on you, Clarissa,” he growled. “I thought you might be exaggerating to get rid of him before I beat him to a pulp, but clearly I was wrong.”
She sniffed defensively. “I said hetriedto force himself. It was just a kiss, which was certainly bad enough. The man is a disgusting pig.”
His eyes turned into chips of blue ice.
“Besides,” she added hastily, “he came out much the worse for wear, thanks to you. I’m certain he won’t come near me again.”
Christian’s anger didn’t appear the least bit assuaged. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Not by you,” she said firmly. “I absolutely forbid it.”
His eyebrows arched with arrogant command, and he looked every bit the hardened soldier. If she didn’t know him so well, she would be shaking in her kid slippers. Although, if truth be told, his imperious look made her stomach flutter with a girlish excitement, which suggested she didn’t really know him very well at all.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Clarissa,” he said in a voice both dangerous and seductive, “I’m no longer a boy for you to order about. As one of your oldest family friends, I’m responsible for you. Your honor has been insulted, and under my own roof. I cannot allow that to go unchallenged.”
The flutters in her stomach turned to pangs of frustration.Honor.He meanthishonor. For men, that was always what it came to. She was sick to death of it.
“I don’t care about your blasted honor,” she retorted, her temper finally shredding. “All this talk of honor leads to only one thing—women crying alone in the night. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. I won’t be the cause of anything happening to you, Christian.”
She jabbed his chest with her index finger for emphasis. “Or even to Blundell, for that matter. My honor is my own to defend. I don’t need you or anyone else to do it for me.”
As she poked at him, he stopped looking angry and started looking amused. His blasted lips twitched again, a sure sign he was holding back laughter. As brawny as he was, she still longed to box his ears.
“And don’t you dare issue Blundell a challenge,” she ground out, determined to put him in his place. “I’ll find out if you do. And … and I’ll tell your mother!”
For a moment, she was sure he was going to laugh, and she vowed to murder him if he did. But he managed to school his expression into one of polite interest.
That made it worse. He was obviously going to ignore everything she said. She closed her eyes, breathing through her anger—and fear, apparently, because once she closed her lids a horrifying image came to life in the darkness. With chilling clarity, she saw Christian stretched out on the ground, a bloody wound in the center of his chest.
Jeremy had died from a bullet to the chest. In all her nightmares, he looked exactly like that.
She gasped, opening her eyes. The room whirled about her and she staggered. Christian’s hands shot out to keep her from falling.
“Clarissa! What the devil—”
With a quiet oath, he swept her into his arms. She knew she ought to protest, but she couldn’t even muster a squeak.
Striding across the room, he gently deposited her in a leather armchair by the fireplace. He hunkered down in front of her, taking her cold hands in a comforting grip.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. If that’s what it takes to make you happy, I won’t challenge Blundell.”
Sweetheart?
She ignored the shock of pleasure that one little word gave her, focusing instead on her anger to restore her strength.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, tugging her hands away. Whenever he touched her like that, her mind went sideways in the most disconcerting fashion.
He gave an exasperated shake of the head.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he replied sardonically. “I give you my word.”
