Suzanne Robinson by The Rescue

room, pausing a few feet from her chair and lifting an eyebrow. “Well?”
    “I decline to tell you.”
    “Young blighted Prim, you tell me this instant.”
    “I shall not place you in danger.”
    “I’ve lived in fear o’ my life since I was old enough to spit.”
    “Sir, your language.”
    “I ain’t having no Miss Prim put herself between me and peril. Rot you! First you’re afraid of me, and now you’re afraid for me, and for no reason.”
    As he spoke, he approached her and Prim stood, ready to flee. “It’s not just you—” She closed her mouth quickly, and her tongue peeked at the corner.
    “Oy! What do you mean?” He eyed her closely.
    It was then that Nightshade made his appearance. Sir Lucas’s gentleness vanished, submerged in the molten fierceness of the black-souled ruffian she’d come to know. Silken tones caused a shiver to run through her.
    “Now my precious little imp, tell me, my well-bred lady, my sweet, who else knows your secret.”
    “I—” Her voice cracked and she had to start again, wishing she didn’t sound so fainthearted. “I decline to tell you.”
    He moved nearer then; she was forced to step back and landed in the chair. Nightshade swiftly bent down and placed his hands on the arms of her chair so that she couldn’t escape. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body and catch the spiced-wood scent of him. Prim’s mouth felt like an old carpet. She shrankback, all the while trying to meet his dark-eyed, vandal’s stare.
    “Miss Dane,” he whispered. “I’ve persuaded many to do what I wish. Don’t make me have to persuade you.”
    Shaking inside like a sheet of parchment in a gale, Prim forced herself to hold his gaze. “Sir Lucas,” she snapped, “you’re going to have to decide whether you’re a criminal or a gentleman. You will do me the courtesy of making that decision at once, for I won’t be battered by your sudden changes of character any further.”
    “We’ll see whether you will or won’t,” he murmured.
    It was then that a knock on the door made Nightshade whirl around and Sir Lucas seek his place in a chair opposite Prim. He responded to the knock and a parlormaid and footman entered. Relieved, Prim almost smiled at the way the knock elicited in him a sudden attack of civility. It was like watching a dark room burst into illumination from a gaslight.
    The footman brought in a heavy silver tray laden with a tea service and china, while the maid followed with a smaller one piled with food. Prim couldn’t help watching Sir Lucas’s reaction to the intrusion. He beheld the approach of the servants, a general watching the advance of a dangerous and better-armed army. When the footman stopped beside him and looked at him in inquiry, Sir Lucas glared back and said nothing. It was then that Prim realized he had no notion of what was expected, wasembarrassed that he didn’t know, and was prepared to sit glaring at the poor servant to conceal his ignorance.
    Prim found that she could not contemplate Sir Lucas’s embarrassment with pleasure. “If you will allow me, Sir Lucas?”
    “What? Oh, yes, of course, Miss Prim—Miss Dane.”
    Prim gave instructions with the ease and assurance of a lifetime of being waited on. The trays were placed on a table situated between a settee and two armchairs.
    “Thank you,” she said to the footman. “That will be all.”
    “Yes, miss.”
    When the two were gone, she waited for her host to indicate whether she should serve or not, but he was occupied with scowling at the door through which the servants had disappeared.
    “Sir Lucas, would you like me to pour?”
    “Hmmm?”
    “The tea, would you like me to pour?”
    “If it will make you happy.” He appeared to find the door of immeasurable interest, for he was still contemplating it when she tried to hand him his cup.
    “Sir Lucas.”
    “Yes,” he said in a distracted tone.
    Prim raised her voice and shoved the cup and saucer at him. “What