Ransom Redeemed (13 page)

"No. Good God," he teased. "I'm no use for anybody. But why can't you look after me? Clearly I need it. Look at me!"

"There is nothing I could do for you," she replied drily. "I'm quite sure you have everything exactly the way you want it."

He shrugged. "Not all the time."

"Oh, poor you. The degradations of not having everything
all the time
." She began making those little movements that meant she was ready to leave— checking her gloves, adjusting her bonnet.

"It is only dinner I offer, Miss Ashford. Not an unbridled orgy."

Her lashes lowered, and he saw her chewing on her lip, struggling for an answer. Ransom stood.

"I'll send a message to that sister of yours and let her know you're in safe hands. Then we can dine together without causing anybody undue concern."

"No," she said firmly. "Thank you, but I cannot."

He stood. "What if I was to tell you that your sister will eat very well this evening and manage perfectly without you?"

"I must still tell her where I was and with whom."

"For pity's sake, woman, you're here now—"

"So you thought that if you had me kidnapped and brought here I'd dine with you?" Her eyes twinkled up at him. "I suspected before that you'd seldom heard the word 'no', but your sister failed to warn me of the steps you would take to get your own way."

"I don't know why you make such a fuss," he muttered, digging his hands into the pockets of his riding breeches. "It is only pork chops with apple sauce on a Friday. If we're lucky there might be a pudding. By nine o'clock I'll be back at the club, so I won't bother you for long and you'll be safely home, tucked up in bed in a chaste, maidenly nightgown by the hour of ten."

"Surely
you
haven't run out of other ladies to entertain you?"

"Surely
you
have nothing better to do in your predictable world. Or has the gallant but dithering doctor staked his claim finally?"

Her lips wobbled and parted. Beneath her lashes there was a flare of something— anger? Frustration? Amusement? He couldn't tell. Never had concerned himself overmuch with the thoughts and feelings of women in his company. But he wanted to learn all about this one.

"As you heard me tell your mother, I have the charge of my younger sister. It is my dearest hope to find her a steady, marriageable gentleman and then to see her comfortably settled. Since I have sole responsibility for her now, I must set the example. I cannot have my sister knowing that I dined alone with a man who has no intention to marry. A man who infamously prides himself on having no principles. She will then think there is no harm in it for herself, and that would be a dangerous path to set her on. But please understand, I am concerned for her heart, her health and her future happiness, not how others would perceive the idea of my dining with you."

He squinted. "So you sacrifice your own pleasure just to teach your sister a lesson. Very noble of you."

"I prefer to think of it as practical, sir. A peck of caution saves a pound of misery, as they say." She made for the door, edging around him with her basket between them.

"And I must wait until your sister is safely married, before you would spare a moment for me? Or for yourself."

"She is my first responsibility."

"But why shouldn't you and I be acquainted?" he exclaimed. "It could be perfectly innocent. Friends. Like you and my sister Raven."

She looked askance.

"Perhaps not entirely the same," he added with a rueful smile. "I shall admit I find you intriguing, Miss Ashford, and I have thoughts that are not entirely innocent when I look at you. Damn! See, you already force me to be honest. Whatever next? Scruples?" He shuddered dramatically. "Ugh!"

There was a soft pink tint to her cheeks as she backed away toward the brighter light of the hall.

He followed. "You worry about my possible influence on you and your sister, but what if it works both ways? You might do me some good, Mary Ashford."

"I know very well that you prefer ladies like your French companion," she exclaimed in a voice not much above a whisper. "They are better suited to your way of life."

"What way would that be?"

"Late hours, expensive tastes, high wagers, the pursuit of your pleasure at the expense of all else."

Ransom lengthened his stride to pass and cut her off, standing in the open doorway and blocking her exit. "What choice do I have since a well-behaved lady like yourself won't give me the time of day?"

She stopped, a look of confusion passing over her face beneath the brim of her bonnet. The temptation to catch hold of her around her waist and steal a kiss was almost overwhelming. For so many years he had looked up at the portrait on the wall of his bedchamber and wondered about his "Contessa", making up stories about her life, all the while thinking her long since dead and gone. He imagined he'd known her in a previous time, a previous incarnation. Yet she was here, all the time, almost under his damned nose.

His voice scraped over his tongue, the words forming jagged tears all the way up his throat as he felt that powerful desire take hold. "If I had a good woman, Mary Ashford, to put me to rights, I might become a worthier man. In time." He took a breath and suddenly his fingers were tugging on the grosgrain ribbon under her chin. "Don't you think?"

As the bow came apart under his determined fingers, she apparently puzzled over his question, too distracted to know what he did, or how to stop him.

"Do you believe that my wickedness is stronger than your good?" he added. "That I might change you for the worse, before you could help me?"

She shook her head slowly and raised one hand to his, halting its progress. "I am not
that
good, Mr. Deverell. I am no better than anybody else and not without my share of sins. I am just an ordinary woman, trying to live the best way I can, without causing anybody any harm."

"I doubt you'd know a real sin if it bit you on the nose," he grumbled. "You need a little of my wicked misbehavior in your life for balance."

Having inspected his face for a moment, she laughed. "You are proud of that reputation, aren't you? I suspected it from the first."

He scowled. Nobody had ever laughed at him the way she did. Men were generally too afraid and women too eager to please.

"Ransom Deverell, you don't really want saving. You don't want a
good
woman. You wouldn't know what to do with her, except see to her utter corruption and heartbreak."

"Then what do I want, Miss Ashford of the all-knowing mind?"

"A spanking quite probably." Her eyes held a sultry glimmer as she looked up at him. "But it's much too late for that."

Although her hand had stopped his, the bow was undone and her ribbon hung loose. Now, with his other hand he grabbed the bonnet off her head and put it behind his back. "I thought nobody was sunk too far for rescue?"

She blinked and when that clear, shining grey appeared again he felt drawn down to it, like a bee to nectar. "But a person has to want to be rescued. It takes effort and toil on their own behalf too, sir. It takes a person not giving up on themselves. And you seem content to be the villain."

He couldn't think what to reply, too consumed with the need to kiss her. If she only knew what he'd dealt with in his life, how he'd raised himself not to care about anyone or anything. Or tried.

"We all have troubles in our life," she added, as if she read his mind. "Just when I think life cannot get any harder, someone or something else I love is taken from me, or another obstacle is thrown up in my way. But I look to the next day and the next, because sooner or later it must get better. It must. I'm a fighter, sir, for myself and my sister. We've been through enough tragedy, and I won't succumb to the lure of transient pleasure just for a temporary respite. I will give my sister a good future. A lasting one."

Without her bonnet and the broad shadow it had cast over her face, she seemed more vulnerable, younger. Exposed. And yet her gaze met his bravely, unwavering, and she made no attempt to get her bonnet back.

Suddenly he wanted to put his hands around her face, very gently, and reassure her that she was safe with him. That he would never hurt her or let her be hurt. He would do anything for her.

It was an intense sensation such as he'd never before felt.

"So please forgive me, for declining your offer of pork chops and misbehavior, Mr. Deverell, but I have enough troubles already. I am trying to save
myself
, as well as my sister, and that, at present, takes up much of my time."

He huffed. "You need a man's help, of course."

"Despite the fact that, as my family history can prove, when they are in charge of matters all is rapidly laid to waste?"

"Yes. You need the right sort of man. And I don't mean a man just to reach the top bookshelf."

A half laugh, half gasp shot out of her. "One like you, I suppose?"

"Why not?"

"Mr. Deverell, rest assured that if I suddenly find myself suffering tedium and desirous of another calamity, I will certainly let you know." She leaned closer, feigning solemnity with a whisper. "You'll be the first man I come to. When I am desperate enough to need one."

She prepared to walk around him, looking very determined. Still holding her bonnet ribbons in one hand, he stretched out both arms in the frame of the door to prevent her passing. "Perhaps I shan't let you go. I'm a powerful man, you know. Could keep you here and who would know? Who would object?"

"I would." She set her lips in a firm line and eyed the doorway again, probably trying to measure the possibility of getting around him without actually touching his wretched, wicked person. "Be warned, Mr. Deverell, I may be a
meek little bookseller
, but I am not a woman who balks at the application of violence when it is required."

"Oh. What are you going to do to me? It cannot be any worse than the usual."

"The usual?"

"What women usually want to do to me. I seem to bring out the worst in them. Or is it the best?"

While she was still thinking up a response, he suddenly put his free hand under her chin.

"Pardon me, Miss Ashford, but I've wanted to do this since Wednesday and I cannot seem think about anything else until it is done." He lifted her face, paused a brief moment, just to watch the color in her eyes turn incandescent as the moon, and then he bent and kissed her.

It was a tame kiss by his standards, a soft brush of flesh on flesh. Yet it felt like much more. Her lips were warm and tasted sweet. He had a memory suddenly of stealing cherries from a fruit cart in the market when he was very young. Until that moment he had never thought of it, but the picture was clear as if it happened yesterday. He and his sister had escaped their nanny to run wild in the crowded market. They filled their pockets with stolen cherries, but the crime was discovered when Raven ate so many that she had a stomach ache and became sick. Ransom, being the eldest, was the one punished for it. But he didn't care because the cherries were so very sweet and succulent. He never cared about the punishment as long as he enjoyed himself to the fullest before he was apprehended in his mischief.

As he drew back, he waited for Mary Ashford's retaliation, an angry accusation. Perhaps a slapped face.

Instead, all she said was, "I hope that helps clear your mind."

"So do I," he managed, slightly hoarse.

"Anything to be of service."

"Anything?"

"Within reason."

He stroked the pad of his thumb along her jaw. How soft she was, yet not in the least delicate. "The dreadfully sensible and level-headed Mary Ashford. Have you ever done anything that was not reasonable, I wonder? Ever done anything reckless?"

"Of course. When I was a girl. But one grows up. Circumstances change. One must adapt to one's lot."

He drew his thumb back again to stroke her lips, tracing the gentle bow which had, from the beginning, captured his attention. "Circumstances could change again, if you were not so damnably stubborn and wretchedly sensible."

"My good sense is most inconvenient for you, I'm sure."

"Damn it all, woman. I thought you'd appreciate the candles."

She frowned. "Candlelight strains the eyes when one wants to read."

With a low growl of frustration, he lowered his mouth to hers again and this time the kiss was firmer, more demanding. His hand swept around to the nape of her neck, feeling that lace under his fingertips, the warmth of her hair and wanting to be lost in it. He wanted to rip apart the tight knot of hair and then her clothes. He wanted to devour her, claim her for his alone.

Never had he felt possessive, so full of desire. And yet so helpless to know how to capture his prey.

There was a sudden sharp pinch and he realized the damn woman had bitten his lip. Her eyes were wide open, regarding him again in that partly alarmed, partly bemused way.

"I warned you," she said.

Breathing hard, he wiped the back of his hand across his lip and saw the little speck of blood she'd drawn. He raised an eyebrow. "That was quite unnecessary, Miss Ashford. I'm appalled."