Housemaid Heiress. Elizabeth Beacon

them, however he tried to deny it, and she tried not to exult at the transformation.

      No, she was ruined in the eyes of the world and he didn’t want her even as Hetty Smith, foundling! Thea gasped at the bitter memory of that day at the crossroads and almost shrank away from him, shocked at her own stupidity in laying herself open to such hurt a second time. She stood and faced him, raising her chin to spark dumb defiance at him; set on defying him even if it cost her the place she needed so badly.

      ‘You know I don’t trifle with innocents,’ he ground out, as if the very idea outraged his peculiar notions of honour. ‘But if you trap any more unwary gentlemen in otherwise empty rooms you won’t be one of those for very much longer, you foolish child.’

      Child—how dare he? Thea gritted her teeth and managed to remember why she had to stay here undetected for at least two more months. By dint of promising herself that she would seek him out the moment she came of age—and give him her unvarnished opinion of his dubious morals and scurvy manners—she somehow mastered her fury. Unfortunately a mental picture of him, faced with a vaguely familiar female haranguing him over the breakfast table, presented itself to her inner eye, and an appreciative chuckle escaped her before she could check it.

      For a second his remote façade seemed about to crack and his chilly grey eyes warmed, as if he too realised how ridiculous they must look, facing one another across Sir Edward Darraine’s library like duellists. Then his expression became bleak and unreadable again, even as all manner of forbidden questions trembled on her unruly tongue. She blinked to rid her mind of a ridiculous image of those grey eyes hot with passion, a smile of infinite promise on a firm mouth that had suddenly become sensual rather than hard and angry, as he moved ever nearer to her own waiting one and…and nothing!

      ‘I ain’t got all day to waste gossiping, even if you have, m’lord.’

      ‘No, I dare say you have work to catch up on.’

      ‘Most likely I have at that.’

      ‘Just make sure you don’t get caught next time, Hetty.’

      ‘There won’t be a next time,’ she assured him emphatically, and swore privately that it was true.

      Some risks were not worth taking twice, and my Lord Strensham was one of them.

      ‘If I catch you out in one more misdeed, your mistress will hear of it,’ he warned and his mistrust hurt.

      ‘Maybe she’ll wonder why you care,’ she was stung into replying pertly, wondering why that threat tormented her so much she had to blink back tears.

      They could never be more than master and housemaid after all, the Winfordes had seen to that.

      ‘Try that tack and you’ll soon find out your mistake, my enterprising little doxy, and maybe I was mistaken about that innocence after all,’ he ground out harshly, and she was helpless in his powerful embrace before she had even registered the fact that he had moved closer.

      Lost for words and even breath as the potent reality of being locked in his arms once more hit her, she forced air into her protesting lungs. Breathing in the scent of clean linen, warm male and fine broadcloth, she forgot all else. Strength so certain it knew nothing about force wrapped her round and she had the most absurd desire to nuzzle deeper into his arms and forget all her troubles, even as common sense was vainly ordering her to drag herself out of them by whatever means needed, fair or foul.

      His touch was gentle and sure, and she felt as if she alone knew the breadth and depths that made up Marcus Ashfield, the person under the lordly cynicism. Even that foolish notion flew out of her head as he stroked down her cheek to her chin in a caress that had her obediently raising her head before her brain managed to inform her she was making life too easy for a practised seducer.

      Even as her wiser self was ordering her to struggle, to kick or bite if that was what it took to get him to let go, the fool in charge angled her mouth to meet his descending one and determinedly shut her eyes to reality. His lips were gentle on hers and her eyelids fluttered open again so her dazzled eyes could meet stormy grey ones. She gasped in a breath that carried his unique scent and an echo of his latent power right to the heart of her. Then, as the blue faded from her turquoise eyes and they became green under such extreme emotion, his own need burnt hotter, and his kiss seemed about to draw the very essence of her into his powerful protection.

      ‘Sea-witch,’ he murmured, his lips so reluctant to leave hers that she felt his words as much as heard them.

      Then he ran his tongue along the softening gap between her lips and they parted for him on a sigh, as if she spent her entire life waiting around for his kisses. Sensible Thea was screaming at the willing and needy creature who seemed to have been born fully formed and defiantly wanton in his arms that morning in the woods, but the thunder of his heartbeat where her wondering fingers rested against his powerful chest all but drowned her out.

      She was putting the few dreams she had left at risk, for a few moments of enchantment in the arms of a philanderer. Yet his mouth firmed and demanded on hers, and he explored her lips with a wholehearted pleasure that was a seduction all on its own. Despite everything, she longed to explore this heady passion with this unique man. Stern Thea snapped something very rude at melting, desiring Thea, who just murmured something foolish and felt Marcus’s tongue explore her all-too-willing mouth with irrepressible delight as he asked more than her pride should grant him. A request she unhesitatingly allowed as her mouth opened under his, and the feel of him dipping between her lips and flirting with her tongue sent shivers of longing down her spine.

      ‘No,’ sensible Thea murmured a protest that she knew was half at losing his warmth as he raised his head.

      She saw a blaze of emotion light his grey gaze to silver, and knew all that heated desire was for her. Then he put his hands on her upper arms and set her at a distance as she realised just what she had done.

      ‘Oh, no!’ she whispered and it sounded like a parade-ground bellow in the sunny room she had previously found so peaceful.

      ‘Oh, no, indeed,’ he murmured softly.

      Wasn’t it just like him to act as if he had just discovered her committing some trifling misdeed? Especially when she felt as if caught by such wonder she was surprised the world had not changed by more than seconds since he shook the foundations of it again. It had never occurred to her that he might be as amazed by that tumultuous kiss as she was herself, so she took his light tone for mockery and her temper lashed the hurt aside to blaze at him.

      ‘I hope you marry the high-nosed bitch who runs us all ragged from dawn to dusk with her demands and her megrims!’ she raged, what had to be hot fury stinging her eyes. ‘You richly deserve one another, and at least then you won’t inflict yourselves on better people,’ she finished triumphantly and stamped a sensibly shod foot so there could be no mistake about her outrage.

      ‘Indeed,’ he replied blandly, all expression vanishing from his face as he stepped back from her, looking as if he had just encountered a flying artillery shell and was unsure where it might explode.

      ‘Oh, get out of the way, you, you…man, you,’ she demanded in reply to such blatant provocation and could have kicked him when he obligingly did so. ‘Somehow I’ll make you pay, my lord, if it’s the last thing I do,’ she threatened, once she was so far out of his reach that even he had no hope of catching her.

      Thea marched out of the library with a seething mass of confused emotions powering her about her neglected duties so effectively that she had finished them in record time, despite that shocking interlude in Sir Edward Darraine’s well-stocked library.

      ‘No doubt you will, you little shrew,’ the rueful gentleman she left behind her murmured as the echoes of the door slamming still resounded.

      Marcus had never intended to touch the girl again, let alone kiss her. Now he was half-willing to sell his soul to the devil for a night of insanity in her arms. It could not happen, he informed himself sternly. It must not happen. He hadn’t spent so long battling his inner demons to succumb within minutes of setting eyes