Her deep green eyes brightened, her cheeks flushed to the palest of pinks, her lips widened with her considerable smile and looked all the more appealing and ready to kiss. Even her hair, tangled and unkempt as it appeared, added to her allure.
He was about to pour himself a generous portion and drink heartily of it when he realized the control of the situation had slipped away from him, forcing him to seek comfort from stronger spirits. He had never allowed a woman to have such power over him and he wasn’t about to start now.
His body lusted after her, but his mind was his to control and his body would have no choice but to follow his dictates. He was in command. He gave the orders. He demanded obedience. She would learn.
Her beauty made no difference, but her gentle voice? He laughed beneath his breath. Her tender voice was nothing more than a mere subterfuge to conceal her wanton nature. She was the master at the art of luring men into her web of deceit. He would not be drawn in by her honeyed ways.
He turned, his face expressionless and his voice in calm control. “You demonstrate such joy over a minor matter. I would have imagined it took expensive gifts to gain such a notable reaction.”
Apprehension caused her smile to falter, but her strong-willed nature forced her to retain her composure. She had forgotten how foolishly most aristocratic women reacted to gifts their husbands lavished on them.
“You hesitate. Don’t tell me you never demanded trinkets from your lovers?”
His tone, so full of scorn, irritated Catherine and her defenses emerged for battle. She sat up straighter, her shoulders going back, her chest out and her chin up. Her hands immediately sought her pearls. “I don’t accept trinkets.”
Lucian gave her a mocking bow. “Excuse me, m’lady, for the insult. I suppose gems and gold are more to your taste. Like that strand of pearls you seem to favor. A gift from a satisfied lover?”
Catherine surprised herself with her hasty response, especially since she had no idea where it came from. “An earl presented me with this lovely strand in gratitude for a brief affair that he insisted gave him pleasure beyond his wildest fantasies.”
Lucian felt his skin prickled. Damn, but her little barb frustrated him. Fantasies. That was a dangerous word for her to mention. It was a rare woman willing to fulfill a man’s fantasies and he wondered just how rare Catherine Abelard was.
Catherine once again felt the need to force him into leaving the cabin. She required time alone, to see to her needs and to think. Lord, how she needed to think things over. “If you would like to see various other pieces of fine jewelry presented to me by grateful gentlemen, then bring my traveling case to me and I’ll be glad to detail each gift. Of course, I can detail the affair if you prefer.”
Catherine held her breath for his answer. She could no more detail an affair than she could swim. She had a strange feeling that she might just drown in her own words.
His retort was biting. “Your affairs hold no interest for me. And I will bring you nothing. You, Lady Catherine, are in no position to give orders.”
One look at him reminded her just how precarious her position was. She just couldn’t get over the size and muscled bulk of him. She had never imagined a man structured so superbly and powerfully. She could understand how women would find him appealing, but strangely enough it was his eyes and hair that Catherine found her glances returning to.
“Don’t play your games with me, Catherine,” he nearly shouted. “That innocently yearning look will not work on me. You may yearn, but you’re far from innocent.”
Catherine had no idea what he was referring to and thought when in doubt it was best to agree. “You’re right, Captain. I do apologize if I caused you discomfort.”
Damn, but she was good with those cunning barbs. It was time to take his leave before he lost his temper and did something he would regret.
He moved to the door.
“Captain,” she called out to him, halting him in his tracks.
He turned once again and with annoyance asked, “What now?”
“My comb.”
He looked at her oddly.
She clarified. “I would like my comb if you could possibly have it sent to me.”
“Sweetness,” he said with a strange laugh. “It doesn’t suit you, Catherine.” He left the room, slamming the door and causing Catherine to jump.
Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily and then as though throwing off her cloak of despair, she bounded out of bed. She had no time to feel sorry for herself. There was work to be done. A lazy mind or body would get her nowhere and she ached desperately to return home.
While having a quick wash from the white ceramic water basin in the wooden-and-brass stand near the stove, she gave more thought to her father. She wondered about his condition. Had he improved? Would his condition worsen when he learned of her fate? Would he attempt to search for her?