Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (8 page)

Then she marched toward the door.

I
mpulsively, Marcus grabbed Cat’s wrist before she could take one pace toward the exit. “Very well, I will tell you the truth.”

She froze midstep, and looked down to where they joined, as if scandalized by his touch. “Unhand me!”

The skin beneath his fingers was so soft Marcus had to resist the urge to glide his thumb over the delicate flesh. “Stop being such a naysayer and I will tell you what you wish to know.”

“Release me, at once!” She tugged at her hand, obviously assuming that he would comply. But his grip only tightened.

“I don’t want to hurt you—” he offered.

“Then don’t!”

“Lower your voice, you needn’t alarm the children.”

At that, her struggles ceased.

Her pink lips set into a line and those gray eyes flashed icy fire. “You have until the count of ten to unhand me or I will scream.”

“Like a game?” Oh, how he loved a challenge.

“I don’t play with overgrown bullies,” she bit out.

This was more fun than he’d had in months. “Very well.”

Her face relaxed.

“One,” he murmured, grazing the pad of his thumb over the baby-soft skin of her wrist.

She gasped. Ah, so the lady was susceptible to distraction.

“Two.” His finger dipped into her palm and circled languidly.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly as if seeking air. She stared at her hand as if stunned speechless.

“Three.” He traced the veins leading back to her wrist, and felt her pulse hammering. Satisfaction rushed through him and he smiled.

“Four.” Leaning forward he set his lips to her pulse and licked the silky flesh. Gently, he sucked, tasting salt and inhaling the delicate scent of lemons she carried.

Her breath hitched and her long lashes fluttered.

“Five.”

Suddenly, Catherine whipped her wrist away, grasping it to her chest, feeling singed. She was quaking, she realized. From outrage…and from fear. How could he have that power? Her heart was racing, her cheeks flaming and her breath seemed difficult to catch. With one caress he’d caused an avalanche of heat from her cheeks to her hairline to her toes, to deep within her womb. She was appalled.

Was every woman so effortlessly toyed with? Or was her innocence an Achilles’ heel? Or was he an extraordinarily talented seducer? She couldn’t quite imagine any other man capable of such thing, but her inexperience made her unsure of herself.

When he’d caressed her, she’d had to fight the compul
sion to close her eyes, to allow her thoughts to drift and let him have his way with her.

If she’d considered Marcus dangerous before, now she viewed him as lethal.

“Don’t ever do that again.” She hardly recognized her own voice it was so throaty. Stepping away, she hugged herself, shaken to the core.

“Do what?” he asked with a white, wicked smile, not even bothering to look innocent.

“Just don’t.” She wasn’t going to play his game; she knew she’d lose. He was obviously a man of great experience and he clearly had no compunction about using his wiles for insidious ends.

Well, she would not be his instrument. She would not allow anyone such power over her. Catherine opened the door. “Get out.”

The blackguard didn’t even bother to stand. “We’re not finished.”

She shook her head, emphatic. “Yes, we are.”

“Don’t you want to know the truth about my return?”

She hesitated, dubious. Yet, somehow, she wanted to end this encounter without feeling so easily manipulated. Was that even possible with such a rogue?

“No more games,” he asserted. “General’s honor.”

It was an old pledge from the childhood days of wage-war. Although Catherine hadn’t played very often, she did understand the principle behind the assurance and did not think that he would breach it. Or would he? The man had no compunction about playing fast and loose with a woman he obviously had no interest in. Still, she’d gained nothing from this encounter and had given at every quarter. There had to be some way to save face.

Catherine lifted her chin. “Only if the door remains open.”

“Fine. But come sit.”

She hesitated, unsure of how to handle this wolfish man.

“It was unfair of me to try to intimidate you,” he admitted. “I apologize.”

Her eyes narrowed, she didn’t trust one word he said. Not by a hair.

Pressing his hand to his chest, he offered, “You have to know how much that apology just pained me.”

Well, perhaps a word or two.

Slowly, keeping a keen eye on the blackguard, she sat.

Relaxing back into the chair, Marcus adjusted his injured leg. She couldn’t help the tinge of sympathy that tugged at her. But that did not mean that she would allow him to manipulate her again.

“My superior officer sent me,” he began in a hushed, honeyed tone. She tried to ignore his false charm and concentrate on the facts beneath his words. “To save my hide.”

“Why did he feel the need?”

He sighed. “I got myself into a bit of a fix.”

Crossing her arms, she leaned back. “Now there’s a surprise.”

“My superior thought that I needed to get out of my regiment for a time. A break from the army altogether.” His gaze hardened to blue frost. “It was not my choice.”

“Then why comply?” She supposed that Marcus could squirm his way out of a pit of venomous snakes if he had to.

“I was made an offer that I found hard to refuse.”

She tilted her head. “What was it?”

“Court-martial.” The muscle in his clenched jaw worked. “And a few other choice punishments I’d rather not discuss in mixed company.”

Oh, such a gentleman.

“I didn’t want to come back.” The anger in his gaze was
convincing, she had to admit. “In fact, I tried various means of changing my superior’s mind.”

“To no avail,” she supplied.

“His view was fixed. And so was my fate.”

“So you’re here for…how long?”

He shrugged. “A month, mayhap two. Just until things…settle down.”

“And then?”

“Back to my unit.”

“In Spain?”

“Portugal, Spain, who knows. Wherever they decide I can best serve.” The timbre of his voice was trying to communicate, “We are underlings in arms.” It probably worked well for him.

“Then there’s the matter of the money.”

“The money?”

“What I told you before about collecting some funds was not a lie.”

She raised a brow. “So you saved a man’s life? And now the father is supposed to express his gratitude in blunt?”

“Let me simply say that a certain gentleman will be reaching deep into his pockets as evidence of his patriotism.”

“Out of the goodness of his heart, I’m sure.” Her tone was derisive.

“I can be very persuasive, when I want to be.”

Slowly, she nodded. “So while you are here, serving on the board of trustees, you are simply…”

“Ingratiating myself into his circles.”

“How politic of you.” She pasted a false grin on her face. “I would have thought that you’d simply whip out your sword and hand him a quill and a bank draft.”

“I only ‘whip out my sword’ when it pleases me.”

Belatedly, realizing her tongue slip, she wanted to smash the wickedly amused look from his features.

“Besides, as I explained, I’ve time to cool my heels.”

She inquired frostily, “So where are you staying during your visit to town?”

“Ah, so have you missed my presence at Andersen Hall already?”

She didn’t deign an answer.

“At Weatherly’s Boardinghouse, on Lamont Street. It’s not the best quarters, mind you,” he admitted. “But officers do get a special rate.”

“Are we done?” she asked, reminded of how her peevish brother often spoke to her.

“Do I have your word that you will not tell anyone of my circumstances here?”

She was betting that he knew that she always kept her word. Headmaster Dunn had probably provided the intelligence in all innocence.

“Of course.” She waved a hand. “I wouldn’t spread the tale for all the tea in China.”

He looked at her oddly as if he couldn’t decide what to make of her comment. Then he nodded. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

He smiled.

Her cheeks heated but she refused to look away.

“My father asked that you assist me with information regarding the orphanage. I would like to see the ledgers.”

She felt herself bristle, but Headmaster Dunn
had
asked her and he was her employer. Even if he was completely blinded to his son’s chicanery. “If you make an appointment—”

“Now would be fine.” He stood, looming over her as he adjusted his crutch beneath his arm.

“I’m really quite busy.”

“Aren’t those the ledgers?” He pointed to the books open on her desk.

She gritted her teeth, unable to think of an excuse. Where was the harm, really? “The price of tallow intrigues you?” she inquired, standing. She hated that she had to crane her neck to meet his treacherous gaze.

He smiled, and it was so charming, she almost felt her lips try to respond in kind. So she frowned.

“Everything intrigues me,” he murmured.

Could he coat it with any more hogwash if he tried?

“Fine.” She waved to the books. “Enjoy yourself. But if you lose my page, I will be furious.”

“But you’re so even-tempered…”

She’s never felt the urge to slap someone before but she was coming awfully close.

Stepping over, he removed his hat and lifted the book. He traced his large, nimble hand down the page of the open ledger, as if he could caress the information he wanted out of it. She felt violated for herself and her poor ledger.

She crossed her arms, staring daggers at his broad back.

“Where is the solicitation schedule?” he asked, not even bothering to look up.

“The what?”

He turned, a look of mockery on his wretchedly gorgeous features. “The list of all of the donors to Andersen Hall and what they’ve given.”

“Oh, that.” She gritted her teeth, wondering how he knew such an intimate detail of the workings of Andersen Hall.

“Please give it to me.”

She stood, indecisive.

“Or must I ask my father like the boy whose nurse has refused to give him his milk?”

She didn’t see that she had much choice. Headmaster Dunn had been quite adamant about cooperating with his son. He didn’t want to hear any more of her theories about Marcus Dunn.

“Excuse me,” she muttered.

Marcus watched as Cat stepped behind him and grasped his now vacant chair. She picked it up, then slammed it down with a loud thump next to the bookcase. She really was quite stiff-necked, a trait he appreciated only in himself, he mused.

He held out his hand for support, but the peevish chit ignored it. Stepping onto the seat and reaching for the highest shelf, she thumbed through the books. The gray fabric of her gown stretched taut over her firm breasts, completely eradicating the dreary effect of the high-necked, long-sleeved twill gown. It was a wholly artless motion, yet it couldn’t have been done better by a seductress at Madame Foulard’s House of Pleasure for the effect it had on him.

He swallowed, reminding himself that she was out of reach, figuratively, if not literally. He had not intended to tease her as he’d done before. It had not been well-done of him. But her challenges had been too tempting to ignore. And oh, to witness the shocked look on her face. To see the ice in her gaze thaw to flame. The woman was directing all of her passions into her arguments, instead of the bedchamber where they belonged. He could just imagine how fiery she could be between the covers. She had a natural sensuality that begged to be ignited. He could just see her with her silky blond hair splayed across a white pillow, her pink mouth open, inviting, her stormy gray eyes hooded as she cried out—

Blast if he wasn’t going to have to do something about his randy thoughts. But he had few options. He’d lost his
taste for pleasure houses long ago, when he’d won at cards and had paid for the entire night with a certain lass named Lucinda. Spending a whole night in a house of infamy might seem like heaven on earth to most men, but to Marcus, waking up in the morning and seeing the effect the night had had on the women had ended his brothel days forever. He’d stayed with the women all morning, listening to their stories, all the while noticing the bruises, the vacant looks, the suffering and despair. He’d never thought of the pleasure trade in the same light and would never partake again.

So relief from that quarter was not an option. And neither was Catherine Miller. He did not debauch innocents. Inwardly, he sighed, knowing it was for the better. It was not just her honor he was upholding by remaining aloof, but getting involved with a maiden would be a messy proposition. Cat, in particular, he suspected. And if there was one thing Marcus was good at, it was at keeping his life uncomplicated.

Seizing a thick volume, Cat turned in the chair, toppling slightly. Without thought, his arms reached for her, grasping her slim waist. Her small hand rested lightly on his shoulder, the other held the book.

“Oh,” she breathed as her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of cherry. How he loved when she was discomfited. “I’m fine, really.”

Everything at Andersen Hall smelled slightly earthy and damp. Except for the lemon-scented lady in his arms. Lemons, of all things. It was not perfume, but scented soap perhaps. He found himself partial to the clean, citrus scent, and wondered if there was anyone else in her life who appreciated it as well. A suitor, perhaps? But that was none of his affair.

She cleared her throat, looking anywhere but at him.
“Ah, thank you.” Her voice was throaty with just a hint of unease. “But I’m fine.”

“I won’t bite,” he assured, wanting to do exactly that. He had to fight his reluctance to release her. But after a moment, he stepped back and extended his hand.

She hesitated, then lifted her chin. Bully for her; she wasn’t going to show him any weakness. Her fingers were warm and dainty in his palm as she stepped down, not meeting his eye.

“If that will be all?” she bit out, obviously unhappy with him and yet unable to do a thing about it.

“For now.” He couldn’t help himself.