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A long time passed before she deemed herself able to move and right his clothes.
“This was one hell of an interrogation.” The chains clinked as he pivoted to her, that derogatory half-smile on his devilish lips.
He did not miss a single movement of her dressing back her lacy things.
“And you are one hell of an intractable blackguard!” She snapped lifting her chin, their stances unmoving on each other.
An eyebrow rose sardonic. “Since it is over, you can unchain me now.”
It was her turn to scoff humourless. “That is where you are wrong.” A finger tapping on her chin, eyebrows risen to convey smugness. “I depart to London tonight.”
A blasting fury shot through his eyeballs as he shuttered them back. “I see.” Perusing all of her, he jabbed. “You were merely using me to make up for lost time.”
The tilt of her head and a faint smile told of fake pensiveness. “You might be right.”
His length relaxed against the stones, flaunting his muscled frame. “This tryst may go on, despite our… political conceptions.”
She breathed a dismissive laugh. “With so many… likeminded options in London?”
If his stance had showed fury before, it became murderous at that. “If any other man touches you, I will kill him!”
“You do not get to decide about my life, Your Grace.” The annoying man had no limits.
His chin lower, his eyes pierced her invasive. “You can take any paramour you wish; it will never ever be the same as with me.”
The arrogant scoundrel! “I believe I have learned enough to make it good, regardless.”
He became statue-still, his body thrummed with so much tension, she feared he would thrash. He did not, naturally. If possible, his stance acquired a more glacial quality.
Trudging to the table, she lit more candles to keep the cell warm and arranged them on the cold floor to avoid fire.
When her glare focused on him again, he watched her attentively. “I am borrowing Iseult.” She informed casually.
“So that I do not catch up with you?”
“Exactly.”
“I do not think I could possibly.” He eyed his cuffed wrists with a meaningful glint.
“I am not taking risks this time.” She started plaiting her hair while his murky beacons followed each twist.
He made an acknowledging sound through his throat.
“I will drop her at your town house.” She tied the braid with a ribbon, which had been on the table.
“No need. She is yours.” The low timbre a caress to her ears.
The confusion must have shown on her face because he continued. “She has always been yours.”
At a loss as to accept of refuse a gift from a probable traitor she said nothing as she headed for the door.
“Annabel.” He called, and she froze with a hand on the frame.
“Promise me you will let me know.”
She rounded to him. “If you are being arrested?”
Unpreoccupied, he retorted. “No. If you are with child.”
