Suzanne Robinson by The Rescue Page B

peril. He was doing it again, trying to intimidate her. Prim squared her shoulders and set her clasped hands in her lap as she returned his stare. They remained in this contest for a few moments before Sir Lucas’s smile took possession of Nightshade. She heard him chuckle, and eyed him with suspicion.
    “Rot me if we’re not at an impasse, Miss Dane.”
    “I’m pleased that my misfortunes and afflictions provide you with amusement,” Prim snapped.
    “Now don’t get yourself in an infernal stew. I got a proposal.”
    “Really?”
    “Damn I hate the way you get all high-flown and royal and make a bloke feel like a Thames water rat.”
    “How unfortunate for you.”
    “See what I mean? But that ain’t what I got to say. What I was going to say is that you got to agree you’ll have the devil of a time leaving if I set me mind to keeping you here. Right?”
    Irritated beyond politeness, Prim merely nodded.
    “Right,” he said with a grin that made her want to kick him in the knee. “So we’re in the same rain barrel we were back in London. Want to give your word you won’t run off until we can settle this tangle, or should I pull up the drawbridge and find a nice dungeon for you? I’ll put some furniture in it, o’ course.”
    It disgusted her that he could be so logical. A long silence ensued while she did battle with her ire. In the end, Prim realized she had too few alternatives and that leaving Sir Lucas’s protection without a plan might cost her her life.
    “For the moment,” she said coldly, “I shall remain.”
    “Not just for the moment. You got to promise—”
    “Sir Lucas, that is my final offer.”
    He looked her up and down as if measuring the strength of her resolve. “Very well, Miss Prim.”
    “Now, if you will excuse me, Sir Lucas.” Prim rose from the settee.
    “Wait,” Sir Lucas said. “You haven’t heard everything.”
    Prim resumed her perch on the settee as far away from him as possible. “Yes?”
    “I got something to ask you.”
    “I won’t tell you—”
    “Not that.” Sir Lucas cleared his throat. “What I was going to say was that since you’re here, how aboutteaching me manners like you got? I’m going to get married, and my fiancée is well-bred, like you. I’m going to need Society manners.”
    It was the last thing Prim expected to hear. Her mouth fell open; she snapped it shut. He had a fiancée, and she was shocked. No, she was angry. He couldn’t be engaged. She did not want him to be engaged. Her thoughts turned into scorpions that battled and stung each other. Damn him. He was engaged, and he wanted her to teach him manners. Teach him manners, manners he intended to use to impress a fiancée!
    “What do you say?” he asked.
    “Certainly not.”
    He regarded her silently. Then, without warning, he laughed Nightshade’s demon laugh. “Think carefully, Miss Prim. The more manners you teach me, the less you’ll see of Nightshade.” He leaned close to her, causing Prim to edge away from him as he pursued her to the corner of the settee.
    “What do you say, Miss Prim?” he murmured, calling up visions of a pirate captain standing on a deck red with blood. “Who do you want to spend your days with—Sir Lucas, or me?”
    Prim thrust at his immovable shoulder and slipped off the settee to land on the floor. Nightshade bent over her, offering his hand. Avoiding his touch, Prim scrambled to her feet and rushed to the door. Turning the knob, she looked back, fearing he’d followed her, but he was standing by the settee smiling at her with all the wickedness of a pagan god.
    “We’ll begin the lessons at dinner, Sir Lucas.”
    Nightshade favored her with the kind of grin the devil must wear after condemning a soul, and swept an elaborate bow to her. “I knew you’d see it my way, Miss Dane.”

7

    Castle Beaufort had once been the home of dukes and princes. Luke bought it from a baron whose family had the distinction of providing mistresses to