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understand that I desired you long before I ever met you.”
    The painting. Because he had had the painting before he’d met her. She swallowed her disgust and tried to dislodge his hold on her wrist without success.
    “You humiliated me and risked my reputation for selfish reasons.”
    “Emma, give me a chance to prove my worth and devotion to you.”
    He kissed her hand, lingering before he finally let her pull away. She stood from the settee, needing to put distance between them.
    Waverly had never acted so brazen with her before. He’d never shown any interest in her before. Had never attempted to kiss or touch her in any way that was inappropriate.
    “You can’t do this. I’m a married woman.” She rubbed at her wrist. He had hurt her when he’d grasped her so tightly. “I’ve counted you amongst my friends without realizing the depth of deception you were playing at.”
    Getting to his feet, he followed her retreating steps. Apprehension stiffened her body at his rapacious approach, but she refused to take another step away from him. She would not be bullied in her own home. Her heart pounded so hard, it felt as though it would leap right out of her chest. She was like a cornered rabbit, and she didn’t like the feeling.
    “I’ve adored you since the moment we were introduced. But knew I couldn’t court you, so I courted your widowed sister to get closer to you.”
    There was only one thing left to determine: How had he figured out she was the painter? She was always careful with her signature.
    “We could never have been more than friends, Waverly. Now we are nothing to each other.”
    His calm was lost with her pronouncement. His eyes were ablaze with deep loathing, the blue storming to a thundering gray. She’d not really noticed how haggard he was until now. His eyes were bloodshot where she could see the whites of them, and his skin was sallow. His clothes were not freshly pressed, his nails unbuffed.
    “You’re wrong. We are everything to each other, my dear.” One side of his mouth kicked up in a depraved grin.
    “Our friendship was at an end when I received your last letter. Leave, Waverly. Now.”
    She’d find another way to get her painting back. She was washing her hands of Waverly from this point forward.
    She felt foolish for not keeping a servant in the room when her guest seemed likely to snap or strike out at her at any moment. The fire in his eyes told her his intention before he moved. Like a snake catching a mouse, his arms twisted around her waist and held tight. The stale smell of whiskey permeated him like a blanket of sour perfume. So suffocating. So wrong.
    “We are far from done, my little lady. I need you.”
    She tried squirming free of his hold, but his arms would not budge. With a pained protest, he was given an unguarded opportunity to assault her lips. His cold tongue slithered into her mouth, causing her to gag. She renewed her struggle, trying desperately to free herself.
    Pushing against his chest did nothing. Hitting him didn’t help, either. Her attempts at release were futile. She did the next best thing she could think of under the circumstance—she kicked his shin.
    More suddenly than she expected, he released her.
    She’d been pushing so firmly against him that she landed hard on her rear, forcing the air out of her lungs. She gathered the last of her waning courage to face Waverly and stood with the help of the walnut table beside one of the chairs.
    She pointed her finger to the door. “Get out!”
    The pinprick of some profound antipathy remained in his gaze. She dared not blink or move. He stepped forward, ran his finger down the side of her face, and smiled. A snake’s smile. A self-satisfied smile that told her he was far from done with her.
    It took every ounce of resolve she had in her not to flinch away. She would not cower before this man.
    “We have a great deal left unresolved between us. I have something you value. I know all your secrets,