Another horror-stricken ack vibrated in her throat. Good God almighty, her mouth had totally run amok. It was as if she had no control over her own words. Her lips parted, and lies spewed forth like steam from a boiling kettle.
His gaze narrowed. "When?"
I haven't the faintest idea. "Last night."
"What happened?"
I lay alone in my bed. And thought of you. "I…I was awakened by strange groaning sounds."
"Did anyone else in the household hear them?"
"Not that anyone said." That much at least was true.
"Did you report these noises to your father?"
"No." As he seemed more interested than suspicious, she warmed to her fabrication and improvised, "I'd assumed what I heard was the wind and actually didn't think of it again until…" just now. "Until I read the story about Mrs. Greeley this morning in the Times. I checked our valuables and found nothing missing."
He was silent for several seconds, tiny spaces of time during which she wondered if he could smell the stench of her lies rising from her skin like a noxious cloud.
"What made you decide that the sounds you heard weren't actually the wind?" he asked.
The question felt like a bottomless chasm yawning in front of her. One misstep on her part, and she'd fall into the depths of hell-and he'd realize she was lying faster than a horse could trot.
After considering for several seconds, she said, "Upon reflection, I realized that the sounds came from the direction of the corridor rather than outside."
"Did you enter the corridor to investigate?"
Good heavens, the man was full of questions. Not wishing him to picture her cowering beneath her covers like a molly-coddled milksop, she raised her chin and said, "Of course I investigated. I'm not a coward."
"I see," he said, his tone so dry it was clear he didn't believe her claim-which only served to irk her and make her want to prove him wrong. "Was anyone in the corridor?"
"No."
"What if there had been?" He leaned a bit closer, and she drew in a sharp breath. Dear God, he was so… large. Broad. Tall. Had the sun been out, his sheer size would have cast her in a shadow. "What if you'd happened upon the murdering ghost robber absconding with your jewels?" he whispered close to her ear.
Heat sizzled through her, and she had to swallow to find her voice. "I… I would have screamed. Coshed him with my candlestick. As I said, I'm not a coward."
"Brave words from a brave woman. What if he'd coshed you first?"
Unlikely, as I'd have swooned at the first sight of him. "Unlikely as I'd have… stabbed him first with my embroidery scissors." Yes. That's what a brave woman would have done.
"Oh? Like you did to me?"
"Naturally I don't carry my embroidery scissors to formal gatherings."
"But you carry them in your nightclothes?"
Blast. He had a point. Thinking quickly she fabricated, "Except for formal occasions, I always carry embroidery scissors. I leave them on my night table before retiring. When I heard the noises, I slipped them into my robe's pocket."
"How resourceful, although I feel it my duty to inform you that such a puny weapon, yielded by such a pu-petite woman, would prove little or no use against a man. Especially one who caught you unawares."
The silky timbre of his voice wasn't lost upon her, nor was his nearly calling her puny. Clearly the man was making sport of her. And clearly he didn't believe she was brave. You aren't brave, her annoyingly honest inner voice informed her.
Very well, she wasn't brave. At all. Never had been. Indeed, the bravest thing she'd ever done was follow him into this garden, and look how that had turned out. Obviously she was far from the adventurous, confident woman she longed to be. Her one chance for an adventure, and she'd mucked it up and made a total fool out of herself.
To her horror, her bottom lip trembled. She bit down on it, hard, and blinked back the tears threatening to flood her eyes. Yes, her first adventure had proven naught but a lie-filled calamity. He obviously thought her a foolish, senseless chit, and at the moment she felt like one. Anger-at herself for not listening to her common sense and for starting this crescendo of falsehoods-filtered through her with disheartening humiliation. It was time to abandon this disastrous outing and return to the party. Before she made an even bigger bird-wit of herself.
Before she could move, however, he continued, "Do you know what I think?"
That I'm a liar. And a fool. And you're correct. Some modicum of her shredded pride made her hike up her chin a notch. "No, but based on your tone, I'm certain you're going to tell me."
"I think you'd have swooned at the first sight of an intruder and would have lain on the floor until one of the maids happened by and saw you."
How annoying that he was most likely correct. But she wasn't about to confirm his suspicions. And what was one more lie at this point?
Stretching up to her full height, she said in her iciest tone, "You clearly don't know me as well as you believe, Mr. Mayne. However, if your scenario were correct-and I assure you it is not-then I can only surmise a doctor would have been summoned, and at this very moment I'd be nestled in my bed, rather than here, listening to you laugh at me."
"Assuming the intruder hadn't killed you."
"Yes. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
She made to push away from the tree but found herself caged in when he slapped his other hand on the massive trunk next to her head. "So the rose has thorns," he murmured. "Interesting." Then he shook his head. "I wasn't laughing."
"You most certainly were."
"Then I can only deduce you don't know what laughter sounds like."
"I most certainly do, although I have to wonder if you do. Has anyone ever told you you're very dour?"
Although his expression didn't change, she sensed his surprise at her boldness. Indeed, she surprised herself. But since he already held her in such low regard, she at least could regain some respect for herself by standing up to him.
"Dour? No one who's lived to repeat the sentiment. Has anyone ever told you you're a spoiled princess?"
His question instantly deflated her, draining her momentary bravado. Of course he would think so. He'd only see what everyone else saw. He wouldn't see the daring adventuress lurking beneath the surface who desperately longed to break free from the constraints of her position in society and soar from her gilded prison. He wouldn't perceive the urgency that had driven her to enter the garden or the courage it had taken for her to walk alone into the darkness.
Feeling utterly defeated and suddenly exhausted, she said quietly, "Yes, I've been told I'm a spoiled princess. Actually, it is but one of several similar endearments I'm subjected to every day." Again she made to push from the tree, and again he stopped her, this time by shifting closer. Now no more than six inches separated them.
She leaned her head against the rough bark and looked up at him. She couldn't decipher his expression, but it was clear he wasn't happy.
"You shouldn't have come out here." His voice resembled a growl.
"Yes. That is obvious."
His gaze bored into hers with a heated intensity that burned her from the inside out. Dear God, the way he was looking at her… as if he were a starving beast and she was a tasty morsel he'd happened upon. And the way he made her feel… as if she were gasping for air and he was the last bit of oxygen on earth.
Holding her breath, she stood in an aching jumble of desperate want, need, apprehension, and anticipation, unable to move, waiting to see what he'd do next.
Just when she thought his hot scrutiny would incinerate her where she stood, his gaze shifted to study each of her features. When he came to her mouth, he lingered for several breath-stealing seconds before slowly raising his gaze back to hers.