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understood her rather too well. She did not care for the evidence of that.
    He looked down much more kindly. Their closeness, born of his fury, became inappropriate suddenly. As his anger ebbed that other tension tightened again.
    He did not retreat the way he should. The way her raised eyebrows demanded. Instead he lifted a strand of her hair and looked at it while he gently wove it between his fingers.
    "Did your father include the name of either of these men, Miss Blair'? The young diplomat at the dinner party or the officer who was suspected?"
    He did not touch her as such, but his toying with her hair implied things she should not allow to stand. Their isolation in this bedchamber, even their confrontation, had demolished the most protective formalities. The subtle tingling he created on her scalp was delicious, cajoling her to speculate about other physical excitements.
    Conquering, possessing, protecting—she did not doubt that he was prepared to be ruthless and toy with more than hair if he thought it would achieve what he wanted. Nor was she confident she could defeat the challenge should it come.
    "The young diplomat they invited to dinner was Jonathan Merriweather."
    He looked in her eyes, suspicious again. "Merriweather is now an assistant to the British envoy here in Naples."
    "How convenient for you."
    His hand wound in her hair more firmly. The subtle play became controlling. "Did you journey here to speak to him? Is that why you are in Naples? Do you intend to annotate those memoirs and fill in the names and facts that your father discreetly omitted? The book will sell all the better then, and I daresay your press could use the income."
    She purposefully took hold of the hair he held and pried his fingers off. Her indignation helped her ignore the sensation of his warm hand beneath hers, and the way his eyes reflected his awareness of her touch.
    "I expect my father's memoirs to be popular without annotations, but I thank you for the suggestion. I am not here for that purpose, however.”
    That was a bald lie, but she felt no compunction about misleading this man. Her main interest in filling in the memoirs' gaps did not bear on his family in any way.
    "Lord Elliot, I have come to visit the excavations and ruins to the south. I need to prepare to leave this city at once and continue my journey as I originally planned. Therefore, I must ask you, once more, to leave."
    "Your tour will have to be delayed a few days more. I cannot allow you to go just yet."
    She laughed. The man's presumptions had become ridiculous. "What you would allow is of no interest to me."
    "It is of essential interest to you. I warned that freeing you might entail conditions, and you promised to accommodate them."
    "You said nothing about conditions when you arrived."
    "Your warm embrace distracted me." She peered at him distrustfully. "What are these conditions?"
    He slowly looked down her flowing locks, which meant he looked down most of her body. She thought she detected a possessive interest, as if he had just received a gift and judged its value.
    "Gentile Sansoni would only release you if you entered my custody. I had to accept total responsibility for you and promise to regulate your behavior."
    Hot anger flared in her head. No wonder Lord Elliot was preening with arrogance and command all of a sudden today. "That is intolerable. I have never answered to a man. To do so would make my mother turn in her grave. I refuse to agree to this."
    "Would you prefer to take your chances with Sansoni? It can be arranged."
    The threat left her speechless.
    Lord Elliot did not exactly laugh as he strode to the door, but he did not hide his amusement at her dilemma either.
    "We will journey on to Pompeii together, Miss Blair, after I speak with Merriweather. Until then, you are not to leave these chambers without my escort. Oh, and there will be no Marsilio or Pietro visiting you either. I'll be damned if you will provoke more duels while you are