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Her gaze immediately lowered to where his engorged and swollen cock still jutted out.
Surely that would not fit inside herthere?
Dear God, Alaric seemed to think that it would.
“Once Redding has received your letter breaking off your arrangement with him, I fully intend for the two of us to spend more time becoming at ease together,” he continued lightly. “In the meantime, are you hungry?”
Her gaze rose sharply to Alaric’s aristocratically handsome face. She suspected he was mocking her.
But she saw none of that emotion in his expression, only the now-familiar sensuality which made Grace’s heart pound and the blood course hotly through her veins.
She turned away. “I wish to go back to London this morning.”
“That is not the question I asked,” Alaric softly rebuked as he came to sit on the side of the bed and gently cup her cheek in his palm as he turned her face toward him.
She shied away from that gentle touch. “It is the only one I am prepared to answer.”
He shrugged dismissively. “You may have breakfast before or after you have written your letter to Redding. Which shall it be?”
She frowned her displeasure at him. “I am not writing a letter to George.”
“Oh, but you are,” Alaric assured confidently. “With your own hand or with Stanley’s,” he said, reminding her of his warning the previous evening. “The choice is yours.”
It took every ounce of Grace’s willpower to keep her anger in check. There was a chance, a very small one, admittedly, that she might be able to write something that would alert George to the fact she had not, in fact, gone to Devon to visit her father and was writing the letter to him under duress.
Quite what that something would be, she didn’t know as yet, but given a little time to ponder the dilemma, she would hopefully be able to think of something. “In that case, I shall write the letter after breakfast.”
Alaric nodded. “And I shall be the one to tell you exactly what to write in it.”
Her eyes widened. “No—”
“Yes,” he insisted calmly. “Grace, please do not take me for a fool, because I assure you, although I might desire you more deeply than is sensible, I am far from being so besotted that I have become addled with it.”
Grace couldn’t even imagine Alaric ever being a fool.
Nor did she think he was besotted with her.
Admittedly, he had made love to her last night with the unrelenting expertise and ruthlessness he and his friends were accused of possessing. Even so, Grace very much doubted Alaric’s heart had been engaged in that lovemaking, with her or any other woman.
Most especially with her.
Because as far as Alaric was concerned, she was the mistress of Lord George Harper, the Earl of Redding.
“It was very foolish of you to abduct me,” she accused.
“I disagree.”
“George will know I have not left London willingly,” she insisted.
“Not once he receives your letter later today,” he said confidently.
“The letter whose contents you will have dictated to me.”
“Yes.”
“You may see the letter once I have written it,” she insisted stubbornly.
“I will see your letter after I have told you what you shall write in it.”
