Page 80 of A Perilous Passion

Oh no. She wasn’t going to wriggle off the hook that easily!

“In a village as small as this one,” he said, “such a falsehood could easily be exposed in a single conversation. Then we’d both be shamed. I don’t want that for you. I advise you accept me,” he added softly, “or the consequences will be dire.”

A frown furrowed her brow. “Are you threatening me, Rafe?” she asked.

He held up a hand. “Not at all. I’m just warning you. The consequences of a refusal would be devastating for me, in particular.”

“Worse than for me?”

He held her gaze. Her hazel eyes sparked with the beginnings of anger, so he laid a hand against her cheek, pressed his thumb to the corner of her mouth, and said quietly, “Indeed. Because if you refuse me, you’ll break my heart.”

The anger died, and her lips parted in surprise. He watched as realization dawned in her eyes. To eradicate any further doubt, he said simply, “I love you, Charlotte.”

Denial crept over her face.

How could she not believe him? He’d never said those words to anybody before, and with Charlotte, he’d been so sure of his ground. Despite her history, she’d been brought up a genteel young lady. Surely, she wouldn’t have let him do all those things to her last night if she didn’t have some feeling for him?

He wasn’t so arrogant as to assume she loved him back, but he’d hoped, in time, he could change her mind.

“Charlotte?”

Her expression altered. Treating him to a lop-sided smile, she said, “Well, given your admission, Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, I shall give your offer positive consideration.”

Before he could decide how to interpret her words, there was a sudden eruption of noise from outside, followed by a loud cursing, and a bang.

Then the door burst open.

And Justin Jessop filled the doorway like a furious avenging angel.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rafe’s first instinct was to leap out of bed and wrap his fingers around the young man’s throat. But he’d expose Charlotte by doing so.

Instead, regardless of his own nakedness, he shifted to place his body in front of her.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded coldly. A red-faced Paynter seized the invader from behind and twisted Jessop’s arm up behind him. “Sorry, sir, for the intrusion. I tried to stop him.”

Rafe glared at Jessop. “If you would be kind enough to give me time to dress, I will gladly speak with you. Outside.”

Jessop burst out, “You black-hearted villain! You’ve ruined Charlotte. I demand satisfaction for her honor!”

“You’re hardly in any position to do so,” Rafe replied, “since you once set out to do exactly the same thing. Pray, step outside.”

“No! I demand satisfaction!” By an impressive maneuver—which must have almost dislocated his shoulder—Jessop broke free of his captor and lunged forward.

Rafe was up in a trice, his fist itching to make contact with the young man’s chin. Instead, he caught him about the throat, shoved him against the wall, and lifted him clear off the ground. “Tempting as it would be to draw your cork,” he grated out, “I won’t shed blood in the presence of a lady. Simmer down, sirrah.” Not forgetting the naked, mortified female in the bed behind him, he strove to keep his tone firm but cool.

Jessop’s eyes were watering, and he made a pitiful choking sound.

Fearful of distressing Charlotte further, Rafe dropped his prisoner and inclined his head toward the door. “Out.”

Jessop said, “You haven’t heard the last of this, Seabourne.” Casting a disdainful eye over Rafe’s semi-aroused state, he adjusted his collar, squared his shoulders, and left the room, rapidly followed by Paynter.

Rafe locked the door and turned anxiously to Charlotte. She’d buried herself beneath the sheets, her body shaking with tears. Quite justifiably. Jessop had completely ruined their moment. How Rafe ached to tan the boy’s worthless hide!

He reached out to take her in his arms and comfort her.

An unladylike snort issued from the heap of bedclothes.