Read Some Like It Sinful (Hellion's Den) for Free Online

saddle before he was reeling his mount around and charging toward the trees.
    Hawksley watched his departure before striding back toward the cottage and the woman waiting within.
    No, not the woman.
    His woman.
    At least for the moment.
     
     
    Clara was in a decided quandary.
    As a rule, she had discovered that her logical approach to life kept most troubles at bay. She did not impulsively leap into decisions or allow her heart to lead her into foolishness. Indeed, her days were carefully planned, with few opportunities for surprises to occur.
    Most maidens would no doubt find her existence tedious.
    There might even be a few occasions when she found her existence tedious.
    But her current situation did not lend itself to her usual sensible approach. Kidnappings rarely did.
    And certainly her kidnapper defied any sort of logic.
    How was she to reason with a man who utterly aggravated her one moment and the next made her heart leap with shivering excitement?
    No closer to an answer, Clara turned from the window. Her captor was returning, and his expression was once again set in those grim lines.
    More aggravation and less heart leaping, she acknowledged with a faint sigh.
    As if to prove her point, the gentleman entered the cottage and shut the door with far more force than necessary. Walking across the floor, he stood before her with his arms crossed and his gaze narrowed.
    She crossed her own arms and met his gaze squarely. “Who was that?” she demanded, referring to the dark, rather frighteningly beautiful stranger. “Is he an accomplice of yours? Does he know I am being kept here against my will?”
    “You ask a great number of questions,” he retorted.
    Clara shrugged. “So I have been told.”
    “Well, from now on I shall be the one asking the questions.”
    “That does not seem entirely fair,” she protested.
    “I rarely play fair.” He took another step closer. “You might as well have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
    Clara glanced over her shoulder at the small bench directly behind her. Then her head swiveled back to discover the impossibly blue eyes watching her closely.
    “You want me to sit there?”
    His brows drew together. “Is there a problem?”
    “I am not convinced the bench is entirely clean.”
    He regarded her for a long moment, as if not certain he had truly heard her correctly. Then, glancing toward the heavens, he reached into his pocket to remove a handkerchief.
    “Bloody hell,” he muttered, moving to dust the bench with a bristling impatience. “Now are you satisfied?”
    “Actually I believe you missed a place just—”
    Strong arms grasped her shoulders and pressed her downward. “Sit.”
    Clara pursed her lips. There had been dust. And now it was no doubt staining her best carriage gown.
    “You need not growl at me,” she said.
    Again his eyes lifted to the heavens. “How old are you?”
    “Six-and-twenty. Why?”
    “I was just curious as to how you lived to such a great age without being throttled.”
    “More luck than skill, I expect.”
    His gaze shot back to her countenance, then without warning he gave a short, reluctant laugh. Clearly he found her brilliant ability to annoy others a source of amusement.
    Ah well, at least the grim features had softened and the air of danger crackling about him lessened to a muted tingle.
    He was once again the handsome ruffian who made odd things flutter within her.
    “Enough,” he murmured. “You possess information I need.”
    Clara sighed. He was certainly persistent. Like a fly that refused to be shooed away.
    “I cannot imagine what it might be. Not unless you possess an interest in mathematics or riddles.”
    He shifted back on his heels and peered down the long length of his nose.
    “What is your relationship to Lord Doulton?”
    This was the information he desired? “Lord Doulton?”
    “Do not pretend you do not know of him.”
    She stiffened. She did not care for his tone. It sounded decidedly