Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed Read Free Page B

senses in a way she couldn’t define. And didn’t like. His touch had left an invisible mark. That frightened her almost as much as what was to happen in this glittering chamber. When she pictured him crushing her into the mattress with his powerful body, a scream swelled in her constricted throat.
    Her surroundings offered no reassurance. Instead, they added to mounting dread, even as they puzzled her. This was the most bizarre room she’d ever seen. Gold proliferated. On the ornate old-fashioned furniture, the sconces along the walls, the glinting metallic thread in curtains and carpets. Everywhere Sidonie saw herself reflected in battalions of mirrors. Instead of paintings, gilt mirrorslined the walls. Cheval mirrors in each corner. A mirror above the dressing table, over the chest of drawers, between the doors of the armoire. Most surprising—and daunting—was the large oval mirror suspended from the tester above her head.
    This proof of her mercurial host’s vanity baffled her. His careless dress didn’t indicate overweening conceit. Surely any normal man would shrink from dwelling so obsessively upon his disfigurement.
    Reflected high above, she saw a pale girl lying straight and still as a cadaver under the heavy cover, gold of course. Thick brown hair was severely pulled back from her face and one fat plait snaked its way across her chest. A girl lying alone. Mr. Merrick seemed in no hurry to pursue his conquest.
    At first, Sidonie had perched on a chair. When she’d started to shiver in the damp muslin, she’d changed into her night rail. As hours passed, marked by the ormolu clock on the cabinet, she’d shifted to the bed. Why draw out the preliminaries? There was no escape from the endgame.
    Sourly she wondered whether Merrick would demonstrate more ardor if instead of an inexperienced stranger, her pretty sister awaited. But of course he hadn’t lured Roberta here because he wanted her. He’d concocted this scheme to score points against his cousin, Lord Hillbrook. This was just the latest spiteful gambit between bitter enemies.
    Tightening her grip on the covers, Sidonie struggled for fatalistic calm. But courage faltered when she imagined Merrick shoving himself inside her. Would he expect her to undress? Would she have to… touch him? Would hekiss her again? Absurdly, that seemed the greatest threat of all. His kiss left her flummoxed. It had been chaste as a child’s buss upon the lips. Although the fact that Merrick was long past childhood robbed the act of genuine innocence.
    She’d never been kissed before. Not by a man. Not with desire.
    How sad that her first kiss occurred in such sordid circumstances. Sad and insidiously shameful. Because she hadn’t hated his kiss, even though she should. Merrick’s kiss had left her intrigued rather than outraged. What would it be like when he took liberties beyond mere kissing?
    No, she wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t…
    Easier said than done when she lay in Merrick’s bed.
    Although her host had long ago lost any legal right to use the Merrick name. He should by rights employ his mother’s surname. Jonas Merrick was son to Anthony, the late Viscount Hillbrook, and the Spanish mistress purporting to be his wife. When the viscount’s younger brother successfully challenged the supposed marriage, Jonas was declared bastard. Upon Anthony’s death, his nephew William inherited the Hillbrook title and the feud between Jonas and his cousin, stemming from boyhood, had only become more vicious.
    Sidonie shivered. William’s reaction when he learned his bastard cousin had tumbled his wife—surely this scheme’s purpose was that William
would
find out—was unthinkable. Remembering that Roberta’s very life depended on what happened in this bed bolstered Sidonie’s purpose. Until the heavy door opened and Merrick prowled into the candlelit room.
    A deeply feminine fear, thick and heavy as tar, coalesced in Sidonie’s stomach as she surged up