Ruined by Moonlight (2 page)

In a swift, athletic motion he levered up on one elbow and shook the hair out of his eyes, his tone husky. “What is this? Who are you?”

Considering she was the one clad only in a slip of flimsy silk, the warmth of embarrassment flushing her skin, she responded tartly, “I have not the slightest idea as to what
this
is. How did I get here?”

“How did
you
get here? As I’ve never seen you before and
here
is a mystery to me, how would I know?” He sat up fully and ran his long fingers through his thick hair. His eyes were dark, his skin a light bronzed tone that reflected the dappled multicolored light from the unusual window high above them. Then his eyes narrowed. “Just a moment. I retract that. I do know who you are…Whitbridge’s daughter?”

The evident consternation in his direct stare confused her even more. It was genuine, she would swear to it, and, besides, why did she remember nothing of arriving at this place? And, as bizarre as it was, apparently neither did he.

Elena nodded, her lips trembling. Whatever was happening there was no doubt her father was undoubtedly frantic. How long had she been here? “Yes, Lord Whitbridge is my father.”

Her companion swore. It was under his breath but telling in intonation, and she caught the sentiment if not the exact words. After looking around the room again he
finally said evenly, “I don’t remember anything. I can count on one hand the times in my life I’ve been so foxed an entire evening got away from me and those were a decade ago, not to mention I doubt I’d ever forget bedding
you
. I wasn’t drunk, so how in Hades did I get here?”

The young woman in beguiling dishabille, who at the moment had turned a very becoming shade of pink, looked at him as if he were the devil incarnate, complete with cloven hooves and a forked tongue.

Perhaps he was, come to think of it.

Irrefutably, Ran would never have said anything so blunt in front of a young, unmarried—even if very beautiful—woman under normal circumstances, but virginal misses were not his provenance. Were he concerned with fine manners and social graciousness at the moment, he would apologize for being so indelicate, but, the truth was, they
were
in bed together in a room he didn’t recognize and he had no idea how either one of them had gotten into this predicament.

Finesse be damned at this point in time.

The earl’s golden-haired daughter looked at him with enormous blue eyes, the pale upper curves of her full breasts gleaming above the lace of her demure chemise, the soft rose of her lips provocative. He’d seen her only in passing before, but up close, her beauty was as dazzling as all the rumors held it. “You…you didn’t,” she stammered, her blush deepening. “We didn’t…we couldn’t have—”

Fucked?
Luckily, he didn’t say that out loud. Courtesy was not his first priority right now but at least he didn’t vocalize the crudity.

“Exactly my point,” he grimly interrupted, partly because
he was still unnaturally groggy and had an appalling headache, and partly to spare her, since it was obvious to him she didn’t know exactly what she was referring to in the first place. “But you have to admit certain conclusions could be drawn over our location and state of mutual undress.”

What he would like to have said was that while he might be known for his largesse in the bedroom, at least it could be said of him that he remembered his paramours—but he made it a point to never discuss his private affairs with anyone.

Still, that raised the question: Why was he here, in bed with the delectable daughter of an earl, who happened to be a young woman he’d never even met?

As far as he knew, there were no rumors about Whitbridge’s finances being suspect. However, Ran was a very rich man and his initial reaction to this unusually compromising situation was suspicion. There was a reason he stayed away from the eligible young ladies angling for wealthy, titled husbands. At not quite thirty, he wasn’t interested in the restrictions of marriage yet. But if he had to do his duty and acquire a wife in order to sire an heir, at least he wanted it to be his choice.

“If this is a ploy you will wish you hadn’t tried it,” he said through his teeth with less civility than he might otherwise have used due to his aching head. “I can’t be coerced.”

In answer she just looked at him in evident confusion. She appeared to think he might have suddenly lost his mind, which, in light of his current circumstances, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t. “What?”

“I won’t marry you.”

In any other situation her horrified expression might
be amusing, but he wasn’t in a particularly jocular mood. She stammered, “You surely do not think that I…I…that this…Are you insinuating…?”

He lifted a brow.

This time it was anger that tinted her cheeks as she gathered her composure. Scathingly, she informed him, “My lord, your legendary charm seems to be in abeyance. I hope it does not offend your sense of self-worth, but rest assured, you are certainly
not
what I am looking for in a husband.”

If she was acting she was quite good at it.

He took a moment, unclenched his jaw as he registered her sincerity, and reminded himself she was lovely enough it was unlikely she would need to resort to such drastic lengths to capture a rich husband. “It’s been done before,” he said with less steel in his tone. “A man manipulated into a compromising position and honor-bound to marry the young lady.”

“My understanding is that
honor
is a rather loose term to you.”

She was wrong. He played the game only with ladies who were as willing and as detached as he was, but Ran was well aware of his reputation. “You don’t know me,” he said curtly.

“I am starting to wish that was still the case,” she shot back, her cheeks flushed.

If she were innocent he deserved the set-down, and it sounded like she meant it.

The infidelities of his class left him somewhat jaded. He’d been first seduced by one of his aunt’s friends, a countess whose much older husband was not that attentive, and after that enlightening experience he’d seen enough of the value most of his privileged acquaintances
put on their wedding vows to have a jaundiced view of the institution of marriage itself. It was his conclusion that while some species of animals and birds mated for life, human beings were not sophisticated enough for that sort of loyalty. It was usually a mercenary arrangement and if he was honest with himself, he’d always thought there should be much more to it.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood abruptly, wondering where in hell the rest of his clothes might be, not to mention his boots. In his experience, and he had to admit he had quite a bit, the usual scene of any seduction had clothing strewn on the floor or any other convenient surface as the participants disrobed in the heat of passion. Not interested in defending his morals, he asked, “Now that we’ve established neither one of us want to be here, why
are
we? What do you remember?”

“Attending the theater.” She lifted a trembling hand to smooth back her shining hair, the long pale strands gilded by the colored light, her expression disconcerted, but to her credit she wasn’t in hysterics like most spoiled young ladies might be. “I was waiting for my father’s carriage. It is unclear to me what happened after that.”

His
last recollection before waking? Ran wasn’t sure. He contemplated it for a moment, rubbing his jaw. “I was leaving my club. I’d met friends there for dinner and a whiskey or two, but as I said, I was hardly inebriated enough for this. My last impression was of stepping out onto the street.”

The floor was cool stone like the walls and from the circular shape of the room it appeared to be in a tower. When he strode purposefully to the door he already knew what he would find.

As he suspected the door was barred on the outside.
He tried it and then set his shoulder to it, but it was solid and didn’t move even a fraction. When he turned back around his delectable companion had gathered the blanket from the bed and covered her partial nudity, her eyes pools of inquiry.

Had their circumstances been different, he might have experienced a twinge of regret, but as it stood, it was just as well.

“Locked,” he said unnecessarily.

“Why?”

“My very question.” He saw the glasses on the table and was grateful—at the moment, for later he might wish for something stronger—that the pitcher was full of water. First he poured a glass for his companion, guessing if she’d been given the same vile drug that he’d obviously been dosed with, she might also be thirsty. She accepted with a chilly thank-you, and when he’d taken a long cool drink for himself, he asked neutrally, “Can you think of any reason someone would wish to kidnap you?”

“My father is wealthy.”

As was he, so it was a possibility. But in Ran’s case his funds were not available without his presence to sign the proper documents, so that was an oversight on the part of their abductor. However, now that his throbbing headache was easing a little, the whole thing seemed like perhaps there was more behind it than money. To start with, why take their clothes?

“I suppose it could be we are going to be ransomed,” he conceded slowly, wondering what drug they’d been given, because he’d drained his glass of water and was still thirsty and his headache pronounced enough that he was glad the room was shadowed.

“You don’t sound very convinced, my lord. Why else
are we here? If they had wished to harm us they certainly had every opportunity.”

He
wasn’t
convinced. A young debutante locked in a room with a man who had a reputation for seduction?

When he looked at it that way, the angle reflected an interesting light on the situation.

“There is harm, my lady, and
harm
. And the difference can be subtle.”

She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, her slender, shapely form wrapped in the concealing folds of the coverlet, and she regarded him with discomforting directness. “If you will excuse me for saying so, Lord Andrews, you are much more likely to have enemies than I am.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed with a hint of cynical practicality. “But would they exact vengeance by locking me in a room with a beautiful young lady?”

T
here was something very civilized about pouring a cup of tea, even in the middle of a
very
unconventional conversation, and though it had taken some effort, she’d actually gotten her husband to abandon the paper.

“May I offer you more, my lord?” Alicia Wallace, Lady Heathton, offered the delicate cup, her hand remarkably steady in her estimation, the saucer wobbling only for a moment.

The man sitting across from her just stared at her as if she’d gone mad.

And perhaps she had.

But
something
had to be done.

“You can’t be serious.” The words were said through his teeth, his fine-boned face drawn into a mask of disbelief.

“Of course I am,” she said with what could hopefully be called admirable composure. “You are out of tea and I poured you another cup. Would you like sugar?”

His gaze flickered to the porcelain cup and he took it almost savagely, some of the liquid slopping over the side to drip on the extremely expensive Oriental rug. “No, thank you,” he bit out.

She strove for the same poise she’d promised herself she would maintain when she’d begun this conversation. “Now, then, would you care to hear my terms?”

“Alicia, there are no terms. You are my
wife
.”

“I am so glad you recognize that fact.” She smiled, but in truth she was shaking inside. It was difficult to challenge her husband in this way, but maybe it was necessary.

No, it
was
necessary.

Benjamin’s mouth tightened. “Of course I do. Are you attempting to make some sort of point?”

“What is my favorite color?”

Sweeping back an errant lock of hair from his brow, he said with obvious exasperation, “What?”

“Just answer the question.”

His handsome face was a study in confusion, and, truthfully, that alone was progress, for he rarely showed any emotion beyond composed, distant, and preoccupied. Though she had to admit when he chose he could be charming, those instances were few and far between. Not because he was cold by nature—she knew firsthand he was not just intelligent, but also a passionate man—but because he evidently did not feel the need to share with her anything about his feelings.

About his life.

That
needed to change.

She was tired of living with a stranger.

After trying several different methods of getting his attention, she’d unfortunately come to the dismal conclusion they were going to have
to talk
about it. Six months into their marriage, she knew him little better than she had before they’d said their vows.

Perhaps
he
liked it that way, but
she
did not.

“I have to confess I haven’t the slightest idea what your favorite color might be.” Ben sat back with an ironic smile. “I don’t think men dwell on such things. For that matter, I doubt you know what mine is either. For—”

“Dark green,” she interrupted serenely. “You favor it in your waistcoats, the racing colors you chose for your stable, even the hangings on your bed.”

Vivid hazel eyes narrowed. “I’ve never really considered it. What if I told you that your conclusion is incorrect?”

“Then you would be lying, and while I acknowledge you are not perfect, you do not usually tell falsehoods.”

That silenced him and he even smiled, albeit a bit reluctantly. “No, I don’t, but I admit to not being sure exactly what is going on here, madam. I believe you just told me you would not share my bed any longer.”

“No,” she corrected softly, hoping he saw the poignancy of her expression. “I said I do not think we should be together as husband and wife in that way until we know each other better. That isn’t a refusal but a suggestion.”

“Lord, Alicia, we’ve been married for nearly half a year.”