Hunter Of My Heart. Janet Kendall

him.”

      “How did I accumulate such a debt?” His tone was very dry.

      Shifting, she bunched her cloak in her hands. “The debt is for the gowns you allowed your three mistresses to purchase.”

      “I doubt that I’d forget one mistress let alone three. You should have given your tale more thought. Right title, wrong man. Until recently, my grandfather on my mother’s side carried the title.”

      She gave him a tight smile. “Sir, your family history is of no interest to me, only the money you owe me.”

      “A lesson in my family history is exactly what you need. Seven months ago, my grandfather died. He was seventy-four years old, bedridden for the past two, and incapable of satisfying a mistress.”

      The implications made her heart skip. “I’ve three letters of promise signed by Lord Kenilworth. You hold the tide and must honor the debt.”

      He slipped the paper she had given him into his frock coat pocket, then patted it. “Evidence for extortion. I’ll not honor a debt that isn’t mine, but I’ll seek justice.”

      “You’ll pay me, or I’ll...” What could she do?

      “You will what?” Kenilworth tapped the whip against his palm. “So far, I could charge you with trespassing. Extortion. Swindling. Exploitation. Forgery. Defamation.” He paused. “Do you know what those words mean?”

      Sabrina straightened and thrust her chin forward. “In four languages.” She enunciated the words. “Five if you count English!”

      Kenilworth looked unimpressed. “They also mean that if you’re guilty, you’d go to prison or hang.”

      Thunder boomed.

      The thought sent a chill down her spine. Anger and frustration clashed. Clutching her reticule, she sought mercy in his cold eyes. They appeared like green ice chips. Afraid for the twins’ well-being, Sabrina pressed her point. “Milord, you might have reason to be suspicious, but I swear, I speak the truth. I used my savings to pay your bills. I’m in quite desperate financial straits.”

      He frowned. “Would you give the money to a stranger?”

      So the rumors were true. He distrusted outsiders. “No, but—”

      “Nor will I. Now. Leave and I’ll forget this affair.”

      At his dismissal, she heaved a frustrated breath but wouldn’t retreat. Her father, who had been a military strategist, said no one won a battle until one side stood alone. She wasn’t dead yet. She had no choice but to continue with her feigned strategy. “I’ll go straight to court.”

      He pressed his face close. For a fleeting second, she noticed an emotion not spawned by arrogance. Fear?

      “Really? If you’re telling the truth, who and how will you pay for a defense?”

      Sabrina couldn’t seek more legal help for lack of funds and because of her false identity. According to her solicitor and the only other person who knew her secret, she would commit perjury if she used the Beaumont name. Now if she used her real name, her grandfather would find her again because of the publicity. Despite this, Kenilworth’s staunch refusal fueled her ploy.

      “Maybe I’ll request that you pay the legal fees.”

      “You want to use every opportunity to demand money from me, is that it?”

      She pursed her lips. Perhaps he disliked the notion of settling in court. Could she goad him into paying her where honesty and reason had failed?

      “Imagine the Times headline. ‘Earl of Kenilworth Cheats Poor Merchant.’ Now, that would be a scandal in these unsettled political times. Parliamentary reform has England in an uproar. The news would contrast with their recent portrayal of you.”

      He stared at her hard, then rammed a hand into his trouser pocket. “An investigation should settle this matter. I’ll start with some questions and forward what I learn to my solicitor.”

      Investigation?

      A tremor skipped down her spine. What if he succeeded in revealing her heritage? What would happen to the twins?

      Maybe answering a few questions would satisfy his curiosity. What choice did she have if she hoped to get the money? She said a quick prayer and asked forgiveness if she had to lie for the twins’ sake. “If I can answer them, I will.”

      He nodded and slowly walked behind her. “You’re a couturiere? I’ve never seen one dressed in such plain attire.”

      “I usually work in the back of the shop. Ledgers. Organizing the fabrics for orders. Why spend money on expensive clothes?”

      When he snorted, Sabrina sensed his closeness and edged forward. Why did he cause her pulse to race? He had been so gentle with the filly. Though calmed by the thought and feeling no cause for alarm, she wanted to bolt off the barrel. Instead, she rose with her back straight. She felt like a rabbit running from a fox, all cunning, sleek and too sure of himself. How could she convince him he owed her the money without an investigation?

      “Pray that you’re not lying. They hang people for lesser crimes than those I’ve mentioned. I’d hate to see a noose around that lovely neck.” With the crop, he traced an arc beneath her chin.

      The smooth leather felt cold against her skin and caused gooseflesh. Sabrina had an irrational urge to pull up the collar of her cloak. His hooded eyes reminded her of a bird of prey scouting for its next meal. “Noose? I’d hate it more.”

      Although he smiled faintly, his eyes remained cold. “Well, I don’t need the court to decide if a debt exists. Nor do I need them to order me to pay if it does. I’ll decide both issues based on my investigation. Justice, Miss Beaumont. I want justice.” He retraced the arc.

      She touched the clasp at her throat. A rope...he was serious! Her palms grew damp.

      “So, you intend to play a judge.” She batted the whip away. “Threats and intimidation won’t change the truth. I’m no simpleton.” Their eyes locked in a battle of beliefs. His shadowed jaw remained resolute, not a stubble of black hair moved.

      “Are you a courtesan?”

      Stinging warmth ebbed into her cheeks. She grasped her cloak to keep from hitting him. Recalling his insults, she said in French, “I don’t care if you’re the tenth Earl of Kenil-worth.” In Italian, she added, “You owe me the money.” She continued in Portuguese. “I’ll prove it!” With a flowering Spanish finish, she asked, “Is that clear?”

      “Unusual. A couturiere more educated than most men I know. Who are you? What do you really want of me?”

      Suddenly she realized her error. Anger had overwhelmed caution and she had revealed too much of herself. “The money.”

      In French, he said softly, “Baizer moi, Sabrina.”

      Her body grew hot from spinning emotions. Kiss me, Sabrina! “For six thousand pounds plus interest,” she replied in French.

      “Really?” Kenilworth drawled.

      “Well...”

      His mouth curved into a baiting smile. “Well?”

      As she considered the enormity of allowing him one kiss, she immediately berated herself. Perhaps his threats and speculations had been for naught but to somehow lead to this moment. Despite his handsome facade, she couldn’t kiss a man who thought so ill of her. She narrowed her eyes. “You can go to the devil.”

      Thunder rattled the windows of the stable.

      He shrugged. “You’re becoming more interesting by the moment.”

      The whip’s rhythmic tap against his solid thigh reminded her of a drum in a death march. Rain pelting the roof created a chorus. She fought for a nonchalant look. “So are you.”

      “What