in the early morning. He should appreciate what an effort it had taken.
‘That was a mannered way of telling you to go away.’ He lay back down, rolled away from her and pulled the covers over his shoulders.
* * *
Barrett could feel her eyes on his back. He should never have spoken with her. Never have convinced his brother to arrange a meeting—wager or no. The damn little innocent was standing in his room in the middle of the night. And he was naked and the bed was warm and big and cosy. Way too comfortable for one. A perfect bed.
But not for him and this naive miss. She was little more than a pretty piece of pottery. Much too young. Younger than he’d been at birth. She was too naive for her own good. And she wasn’t doing him any favours.
‘I...I would prefer to hit you.’ Her voice moved like music along the air. ‘Hitting a pillow alone is not as intimidating. It doesn’t have eyes.’
‘Hire a footman.’ If he rolled towards her, he would not be able to go back to sleep. Well, that didn’t matter. He was unlikely to fall back asleep this night.
‘My parents would never let me punch a footman.’ She sounded shocked.
Heaven save him from an artless miss shocked at the thought of hitting a footman.
‘Go away.’ He put force into the words. No man would dare ignore such a command.
‘I don’t think it’s polite to keep your back to me as you talk.’
Much better than telling you to get the hell out of my room. A thread of civility remained in him. ‘Said the woman holding a lamp near the man’s bed.’
‘I’m across the room and you wouldn’t answer the door.’
He slung his body into a sitting position, using both hands to comb back the hair that had moved to cover his face. ‘Because knocks in the middle of the night never bring peace.’ He bit out the words.
Now she flattened her back against the wood, but her feet remained still.
‘Reach down. A little to the left. Open the latch. And go to your room and practise hitting the pillow. I will speak with your father about sending a maid to you so you can practise dodging punches.
‘Oh, that would never do. If you make him think I am in any kind of danger, he will have me sleeping in my mother’s room the rest of my life.’ She took in a quavering breath. ‘I would have thought you would want me to be safe. After what you said about shouts in the night not waking anyone...and then we have the physician in our house.’
‘You have no need to worry about the physician,’ he grumbled. ‘The man has a strict code of honour. He only lies on weekdays and is careful not to speak on Sunday.’
‘How do you know him?’ she asked.
He shook his head, causing his hair to move over his vision. ‘Everyone knows Gavin.’
‘Well, that doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.’
‘He’s a whole damn lot more trustworthy than I am.’
He threw back the covers and she dived for the doorknob. She scurried.
‘Portrait gallery.’ He bit out the words before the door shut.
He would teach the wench to fight. And he was not in the mood to take pity on her. A woman who woke a man in the middle of the night needed to learn that was the number one thing not to do for safety.
He stopped. And a man who woke in the middle of the night should not be following along after a chaste woman like a puppy on a string. He was going to need that knee in the bollocks.
Annie waited. And waited. She crossed her arms, sitting straight on the chair. Tapping her foot. He was taking his time. But she wasn’t going to go back and knock again. She would let him know just what she thought of him for keeping her waiting. She could tie a corset faster than he could manage a few waistcoat buttons.
She would tell him that surely combing a bit of hair didn’t take nearly as long as putting it in a knot on top of the head.
Guilt grew in her, but she brushed it away. He thought she wanted to learn to defend herself in case something happened in her own household, but she wanted to be stronger in case a highwayman or a cutpurse might be in her path.
Punching out at a pillow was like punching a pillow. And poor Myrtle tried, but no matter how she rushed at Annie it was a little like swatting a gnat.
When he stood close, trembles of fear started inside her. Or something. It was not the same as Myrtle, who Annie feared she’d injure, or the pillow, which slept through the attack.
Goodness, he took his time.
Her mind stopped thinking of how long he’d taken when he strode into the room.
He hadn’t put on a waistcoat. He hadn’t tied a cravat at the neck of his shirt. He was bare—naked under his clothing—just like he’d been in the bedchamber.
It hadn’t seemed so wrong when she’d been the one trespassing. But for him to walk about in an area where anyone might see him... That little triangle at the top of his shirt, for instance, where the shadow made a V. That was frightful—frightfully fascinating.
She stood, the movement making her feel bigger and not quite so overpowered as she was in the chair.
She put her hands behind her back and clenched them into the fists he’d been talking about before, but she didn’t care whether the thumbs were on the inside or outside, just that her hands were secured.
He kept getting taller and broader in her eyes and that wasn’t possible. Her eyes told her his head didn’t touch the ceiling and he walked through the door frame easily enough, but still, he did seem bigger. Perhaps it was the darkness in his eyes.
She really should search out an undernourished footman to help practise her defence. That might be much—less daunting.
‘You took a bit of time to get here,’ she said, covering the lump in her throat with strength in her words.
‘I was hoping you’d tire of waiting and leave.’ His voice reverberated into the room. He looked past her and then at the floor, a small negative movement in his head. He had two pillows clasped in one hand. She didn’t know how she’d missed seeing those before.
He tossed the pillows on to the chair and one tumbled to the rug.
Whip-fast, he stood in front of her, hardly giving her legs any room between the chair and him.
He leaned closer, bringing the scent of a rosewater shaving soap so close she would never think of roses as delicate again. She could almost see the reflection of the thorns in his eyes. He moved closer and she had to tilt her head all the way back.
‘The first rule. The rule that is hard and fast—’
She’d read about pirates, but they’d all been worlds away. This man was in front of her and she didn’t quite know which direction to step. He surrounded her. And she couldn’t even see the V in his shirt and he wasn’t touching her, but her body didn’t know that. When she breathed in it seemed to pull him closer and closer, but he couldn’t actually be moving against her. His eyes held her in a vice.
The strength left her body, but she couldn’t fall back into the chair. His hand snaked around her and rested against the small of her back, trapping her upright. Lightning moved through her body and the sensations of his hand seared into her back.
‘The rule is to never, ever, put yourself in a position without thinking about whether it could be dangerous to you. Such as this one.’
‘This shouldn’t