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tone, indignant. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
    His gaze slid downward, drawing her attention to the fact that by half rising, she had revealed a good portion of the flimsy red attire she had on beneath her cape, as well as all the things it did not hide. Flushing bright pink at the view she was presenting, Maggie again hunched forward against the bed. Lord Ramsey’s gaze immediately returned to her face. Feeling the mask she wore cold against her hot blush, Maggie felt an instant need to explain. Clearing her throat, she said, “This is just a disguise. I could hardly move about in there without one, could I?”
    â€œDear God, no!” the man agreed with sharp horror. Becoming stern again, he added, “You should not have been there at all. A lady of your standing has no business being in such a place, or working at such a…” Whenhe paused, obviously in search of a suitable description, Maggie interrupted.
    â€œYes, well…I do have to earn a living, my lord. Someone must pay for the upkeep of that mausoleum my brother left me, keep the servants paid and fed.” She pointed it out staunchly, but that only seemed to make the man’s lips tighten with further displeasure.
    Turning away, Lord Ramsey moved toward the door. “I am sure you did not rest much in the carriage. As for myself, I have not slept at all. We shall discuss alternate sources of income after we have both rested and refreshed ourselves.”
    â€œJust a moment!” Maggie cried in alarm. Her kidnapper stopped and looked back at her wearily, one brow arched in question. “My hands.” She held them above the bed as if to show him the bindings. He hesitated, his eyes shifting warily to her face; then he shrugged and started back toward her.
    â€œI suppose it will not hurt to untie you. There is nowhere for you to run, anyway. My servants are quite loyal to me.” Moving around the side of the bed, Lord Ramsey dropped onto his haunches beside her and waited for her to turn so that he could reach her hands. When she hesitated, remaining positioned the way she was, the bed hiding her sheer gown, a crooked smile quirked his lips. “Suddenly shy? Is that not a bit like stirring the pot after the stew is burnt?”
    Maggie felt her face flush but held her pose. He may well have seen all while she was unconscious in the carriage, but she was not offering any exhibitions now. Appearing to realize that, Lord Ramsey shifted to kneel closer to her and reached for her hands. Biting her lip,Maggie tried to ignore the way his shoulder and hip rubbed against hers as he worked on her bonds, and the musky scent of him as it wafted up to her nose. He smelled of fine brandy and expensive cigars—a scent she had always found pleasantly drifting around her father and brother when they had just returned from the clubs. She idly wondered if that had been where he was before kidnapping her.
    â€œThere we are,” he said. “Now your ankles.” He turned slightly, shifting back a bit so that she could turn and slide her legs out for him, but Maggie remained as she was, unwilling to risk giving him an indecent view.
    â€œI-I can manage those, I think,” she murmured huskily, avoiding his gaze. She sensed his hesitation, but after a moment he stood and moved away.
    â€œRing the bell by the bed when you wake, and a maid shall bring you something more comfortable to wear.” The bedroom door closed behind him on Lord Ramsey’s last word, and Maggie slowly relaxed, realizing only then how tense she had been. His close proximity had caused her to tighten up like a snail retreating into its shell.
    Shaking her head at her behavior, she shifted her position and reached for her ankles, untying them much slower than he had done. But then, her hands were somewhat numb from their confinement, and they gave her some trouble with the task.
    Sighing in relief as the rope finally fell