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“Such as why you’d decided to hold an innocent young woman captive?”
“Something akin to that.” His shoulders lifted. “Though I doubt your presence here would have made anyone blink twice. The people I consort with know exactly who they are dealing with.”
“So you’re a well-known savage?”
“I’m a well-known cold-hearted knave.” His look pinned her. “Take the offer, Sloane.”
For as much as it riled her pride, she wasn’t in a position to refuse. She nodded.
“Good. I’ll have a bath and fresh garments brought up for you. You can wear them while your clothes are being cleaned, since it appears you are determined to stay here for a spell.”
A kindness she didn’t expect from him—even if her presence here was not by her choosing and he well knew that fact. She chose not to argue the point. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head. “I will unlock the door in the morning.” He moved to the doorway, pausing as his hand wrapped around the door handle. He looked back to her. “You should know that my niece has taken quite a liking to you.”
“She has?”
His look dropped to the floor and he half nodded, half tilted his head to the side as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of his own statement. “I have not seen her this happy since…well…never. You can thank her for your freedom—she was most insistent on it.”
“You consider this freedom?”
His look lifted to her, his golden-brown eyes amused. “Freedom from the shackles of this room, then. Do you wish to rescind your acceptance of the terms?”
“I would be a fool to do so.”
“Or stubborn beyond reason.” A small grin carved into the corners of his mouth. “I did consider your refusal of the offer a distinct possibility.”
“Then this proves how very reasonable I can be—how veryhonestI can be.”
His eyebrows cocked. “Honesty can be a most slippery line depending on who’s casting it, Sloane. I don’t trust. It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive and whole. And I don’t intend to start.”
He stepped out of the room, clicking the door closed behind him.
Sloane stared at the door.
Insufferable. Truly insufferable.
{ Chapter 5 }
Sloane hid a smile as Miss Gregory left the spacious library.
Vicky was right. The woman did have the sourest disposition.
She held in her grin until Miss Gregory’s footsteps echoed away along the stone corridor, the sound disappearing as she withdrew up the stairs to her chamber.
They’d been dancing—rather, practicing the steps to the dances Sloane was teaching Vicky. Miss Gregory had been disapproving, but willing to woodenly supply the music for the dances on the pianoforte with a chastising gleam in her eye. That was until Vicky had insisted it was time to learn how to waltz.
That, Miss Gregory could not stand for. With a condemning grunt, she’d exited the room to retire for the evening.
The last three days had been delightful—if she could consider being held prisoner in a far-too-large castle delightful. It was the prisoner part that rankled all her sensibilities. Beyond that, the days had been inordinately pleasant—the food the cook made was extraordinary and the castle had been thoroughly modernized as far as she’d seen. So very different from Vinehill, with its twisty stone corridors and drafty nooks. There wasn’t a spot in the Wolfbridge that she hadn’t felt the warm embrace of comfort.
It was unnerving, almost, this much opulence surrounding her. The duke was beyond wealthy. That much was obvious. Her home at Vinehill Castle in Stirlingshire was grand—but grand in the way only a six hundred year old castle could be. Ancient stones. A labyrinth of hallways. Cold that could sneak up upon her and freeze her to the bone. Her grandfather had rebuilt much of the castle, but it still held tight to ghosts of the past.
The governess’s footsteps long since faded, Sloane finally looked at Vicky and could not help the laughter bubbling up from her throat. Vicky looked like a cat that had just eaten a canary—the only thing missing was froth foaming from her mouth.
“Do not look so pleased with yourself. Poor Miss Gregory is in serious straits over worrying on your immortal soul,” Sloane said.
“She can worry on her own soul—she has no say in mine.” Vicky walked away from the area in the middle of the library where they had rolled the rug up and cleared the furniture to make room for dancing. She stopped next to the pianoforte, picking up the sheet music she’d pulled and set in front of Miss Gregory. “I thought I could get her to play it before she realized what it was.”
