LITMIR.BIZ

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lack of air, stabbing dread, self-disgust.

      Curse him, what could she say? What could she do? She faltered back, although there was no escape. Leath’s formidable form blocked the only door. She should have thought of some excuse for being in his room. But what excuse could there be?

      She dipped into a wobbly curtsy. “My lord.”

      His furious gaze didn’t waver. “Just what are you up to, Miss Trim?”

      “N-nothing, sir,” she stammered. “I’m sorry for intruding. I’ll leave you alone.”

      He didn’t budge as she scuttled toward the door. Her knees trembled so badly that she feared she might collapse in a heap before she reached it. She darted past him, and for a brief, mad moment thought that she might make it.

      Until he turned and slammed the heavy door in her face. “Not so fast, my inquisitive chit.”

      The impulse to haul at the handle died as it arose. She’d never win a physical battle against Leath. She panted, more with fright than exertion, and twisted to press her back against the door. “Let me out.”

      “Not yet,” he said mildly, placing his palms flat on either side of her head. His calmness was more frightening than shouting. It hinted at the tight rein he held over his temper. He was so huge, this was like facing down a planet. An angry planet. Dear heaven, she was in such trouble.

      “You’re scaring me,” she said, hoping to appeal to his softer side. He had one; he’d shown it to his mother. The problem was that if Dorothy’s story was true—and surely it was—his benevolence didn’t extend to women outside his class.

      “You deserve to be scared,” he said grimly.

      Without touching her, his body hemmed her against the door. The evocative scent of his skin was rich in her nostrils. Something other than fear started to beat in her blood.

      Hating herself, she met his uncompromising expression. “That’s … that’s not kind.”

      His eyes glittered. She knew he was no respecter of innocence. Even if he was, what was he to make of her invading his bedroom? Panic tasted rusty on her tongue and she licked dry lips.

      His gaze dropped to the betraying movement. The same awareness that had extended between them their first night sizzled through the pause. “I’m not feeling kind.”

      She shivered. “Please …” she whispered. “Step back.”

      He loomed above her, impervious and unforgiving. “Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

      “I …” Desperately she sought for some way to explain her presence. Nothing came to mind.

      Black brows arched in cynical inquiry. “I what?”

      “I can’t think when you stand so close,” she muttered crossly.

      Despite the nasty edge to his soft laugh, the sound stroked along her skin. Every hair on her body stood to attention. This heady mixture of desire and alarm sent her into a complete spin.

      “I don’t want you to think. I want you to tell me the truth.” He frowned. “Have you come to steal?”

      She should be grateful for the accusation. It jolted her out of cowering like a mouse. She straightened and glared at him. “Of course not.”

      “Then what are you doing?”

      She avoided his eyes. “I thought you were in the library.”

      “Catching Lady Mary.” His acerbic response made her wince. His concentration on her burned like a flame.

      “I saw Wells bring you supper.”

      “What a busy little miss you are.” It wasn’t a compliment. “I already know you’re the ghost.”

      Her eyes flashed up. “I wanted a book,” she said desperately.

      “One you can’t find during the day?” His voice bit as he continued. “With dear Mr. Crane’s advice on your choice?”

      If he was another man, she’d think he was jealous. But the great Marquess of Leath wouldn’t care about a maidservant’s flirtations.

      He went on before she could protest. “Surely you won’t say that you’re here for something to read.”

      She raised her chin. Knowing that she risked disaster, she said the only thing that came to mind. “I wanted to see where you sleep.”

      Surprise had him lurching back. “What the devil?”

      She took advantage of the few extra inches of space to draw a breath, tangy with sandalwood. Turning red as a tomato would lend credence to her explanation. “Please don’t make me admit this.”

      He watched her like a snake watched a rat. “Admit what?”

      “Must I say? You put me to the blush.” That at least was true.

      “Yes, you must.”

      She pressed her damp palms to her skirts. How she’d love to punch him, but she had a horrible inkling that his jaw would be much harder than her fist. Dear heaven, help her to sound convincing. But not too convincing.

      “Hasn’t a servant ever been besotted with you, my lord?” To her surprise, her question emerged steadily.

      “Not to my …” He spoke very deliberately. “Are you saying you have a penchant for me, Miss Trim?”

      He didn’t sound pleased. She should be relieved that he wasn’t ripping her clothes off. After all, her confession could be taken as an invitation. Yet again it struck her that he was a remarkably restrained libertine.

      She struggled to appear bashful instead of scared out of her wits. “It’s embarrassing.”

      “I’m sure.” He sounded skeptical, as well he might. “You’ve never seemed dazzled.”

      She turned her face away, staring at his hand spread against the door’s rich mahogany. Like the rest of him, his hand was big and powerful and beautifully formed. Despite everything, she couldn’t resist imagining that hand on her skin. His gold signet ring, visible symbol of his rank, gleamed evilly from his little finger. “I have my pride.”

      “Of course,” he said drily.

      She struggled to look humble and shy and innocent. All were true. Well, apart from the humble part. Her stepfather had frequently warned her that a mere sergeant major’s daughter had no right to be so stiff-necked. “I’m aware of the gulf between us.”

      “And it breaks your heart.”

      If only she could squeeze out a convincing tear. “I can’t help my feelings.”

      He didn’t move closer. It just felt that way. “Do you really expect me to credit this balderdash?”

      Her temper stirred. “You underestimate your effect on an impressionable girl.”

      He snorted disbelief. “More balderdash.”

      Damn him. A turbulent mix of desperation, anger and reckless bravado gripped her. Frantic hands grabbed the front of his shirt. “I’ll show you balderdash, my lord.”

      She stretched up until her lips crashed into his.

Chapter 7

      Leath stiffened—everywhere—under Miss Trim’s unexpected assault. He had to give her credit. She’d dare the devil. He hadn’t expected her to take this absurdity about her tendre for him to this length.

      But then, he’d cornered her, hadn’t he?

      Her lips were soft and endearingly clumsy. She kissed like

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