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swaying freely at the small taper of her waist. In the scuffle, her cloak had parted, the front pleats working their way to the back so the coarse wool now flowed freely over her shoulders. The parting served only to draw attention to the low-scooped neckline of her dress.
    Noticing where the man’s attention lay, she quickly flipped the cloak into place, nestling into its folds as though she hadn’t so much as a stitch on beneath. Indeed from the way those sea-green eyes had ravished her exposed flesh, she might as well not have. There were rumors of the way some men could look at a woman as though undressing her with their eyes, but never had she experienced the sensation—until now.
    Planting balled fists on her hips, she valiantly gathered what was left of her courage and proudly returned his glare, measure for angry measure. “I demand you let me out of here.”
    One golden brow arched, and she would have sworn she saw a fleeting trace of amusement. “You demand? You demand?” The chuckle that filled the room was brief and filled with sarcasm. “You are hardly in a position to demand anything, sunshine. And I’m not your jailer. If you want to leave, leave.” The tanned brow was much too innocently smooth for Hope’s liking as he cut a mock bow and swept the interior of the room with a large palm. A crooked smile twisted his lips. “If you can.”
    Instantly, she turned back to the window, but the voice behind her stopped her cold before the pane was halfway up.
    “But not that way.”
    She dropped the heavy casing as though it had just burst into flames. The thing crashed down onto the sill, the echo of splintering wood loud against the backdrop of piano music drifting up from downstairs.
    Hope whirled on him. Not since her mother died could she remember being so angry. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, itching to reach out and slap his arrogant face, and at the same time not daring to do so.
    Taking a deep breath, she took hold of her emotions and forced her expression into simpering sweetness. “Whah, mistah, ah don’t know why yer so suspicious of a little ol’ gal like me.” The man turned slowly around and regarded Hope as though she’d just sprouted another head. She batted her dark lashes and smiled coyly. “Ah assure you, sir, ah mean ya no harm.”
    The trace of a grin tugged at sensuous lips as his assessing gaze raked her full length, twice. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
    “Rotten Yankee,” she muttered under her breath. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tapped out an aggravated rhythm with her toe. “How the hell do you expect me to leave when you’ve bolted the door and won’t let me out through the window?”
    “Locked the door,” he corrected, slipping his hand into the front pocket of his trousers and extracting a key. He swung it teasingly beneath her nose. “Ah don’t know where y’all are from,” he said with a heavily satirical, and dreadfully bad, southern accent, “but ‘round here, we’all call ‘em locks.”
    She made a grab for the key but his lightning-quick reflexes easily snatched it away. She watched glumly as he tucked it back in his pocket, a cocky smile curling his lips.
    “As for leaving,” he shrugged. “You got in here all by yourself—you can leave the same way.”
    “The door wasn’t locked when I came in,” she reminded him, her gaze spitting fire as it settled on his smug countenance.
    “It is now,” he countered, just as coldly. “You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.”
    If she thought it would have done any good, Hope would have lunged for his throat the second he turned his back on her and returned to his chair. There was nothing hurried in the way he lifted his feet and crossed his ankles atop the ivory comforter. Was his position supposed to be a mockery of her first true look at him, she wondered? Probably. The only difference was, where before his arms had rested on the wooded armrests, they were now crossed