Her spine snapped straight, pride rallying where composure had deserted her.
“Absolutely not!” she burst out, then seemed to realize to whom she spoke. “That is... That would be... unspeakably indecent, Your Grace.”
Blaise laughed. “Surely, we are past indecent.”
Her fingers tightened, then moved in a sudden, almost violent motion. She picked up her skirts and tried to shove past him, but Blaise had fought stronger creatures, and he did not budge. She tried to escape until he reached behind him and grabbed her small wrist.
“Your Grace, let go of me, or I will tell everyone in thetonthat you are…” She sucked in air, searching for words sharp enough. “You are a shameless, depraved, and arrogant man.”
“At least I am not a trespasser.” He let go of her wrist and spoke wittily.
“I got lost and ended up here,” she argued again and motioned toward the room in disgust. “No normal man would create such a place.”
“Be careful,” Blaise warned her, but he was completely amused. “If you exhaust the language now, whatever will you call me in a real scandal?”
Her eyes flashed. “You designed an entire room for… for…”
She broke off, her soft lips pressing tightly together as her gaze skittered away from where he had held her, to the hoops and the mirror above the bed. Blaise saw her pulse beat wildly.
“For?” he prompted gently. “Do finish the thought.”
“I do not even know,” she hissed furiously, “it is simply an… abomination!”
He arched a brow and looked around. “The carpenter charged me for this specific room. If I have been cheated, I should like to know.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“On the contrary,” Blaise lied. “I find myself perplexed. Perhaps you might explain what, precisely, it is used for if not fortorture.”
She swallowed, and the candlelight picked up the faint movement of her throat. “You are mocking me.”
“Relentlessly,” he agreed. “But I am also curious. How does a little blossom like you...” He let his gaze travel, deliberately slow, over the sweep of her hips and the dignified set of her shoulders. “Know the uses of a room like this?”
She bristled, and he almost smiled.
“I am not a blossom,” she said through her teeth.
“I disagree. You are quite the blossom. The type that has not fully opened herself yet.”
“I... I am not ignorant,” she said at last. “I know what men and women do. And I have seen…” Her gaze darted to the sketchbook, then away again. “Enough to know what goes on in your room.”
Blaise found her hard to read. Her coldness made her words seem sure, but the blush that refused to leave her cheeks betrayed her true thoughts.
“Then you know more than many ladies who have actually shared a bed,” he murmured.
Her shock returned. “You presume too much, Your Grace.”
“It is written on your skin, Little Blossom,” he said, unrepentantly. “And I know how to read a woman. Now, you have yet to answer my first accusation.”
Her brows drew together. “You'rewhat?”
“That you are the trespasser,” he said pleasantly. “You broke into my private room and rummaged through my drawers.” Her flush leaped high at that phrasing. “You perused my art, and then had the temerity to be offended that the room exists.”
“I was looking for the library,” she snapped.
“Perhaps an introduction would be wise?”
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze steadily despite the heat still lingering in her cheeks.
