Page 43 of The Rogue’s Offer

“A leopard can no more change spots than you could change your manipulative, controlling nature, Edgar. You are cut from the same cloth as your father, and I want nothing to do with you.”

“You do me a grave injustice, Ophelia.” Although his voice was well-controlled and devoid of anger. She saw the glint of outrage in his dark eyes. “I am not the cruel, perverse, impotent man my father was. In fact, I am quite certain you would find bedroom sport with me quite enjoyable. I also have no doubt of your ability to perform acts many married women refuse to do.”

Appalled by his comments, she took a step back from him. Dear God, had George actually confessed to his son the most intimate of details of their marriage? Her stomach lurched as she remembered the substance of her conversation with the Earl of Chelmsford last night. If Gideon had heard rumors as to George’s displeasure with her ability to arouse him, it was more than likely her husband had told Edgar the same thing.

The difference was that she was certain George had done so in far greater detail. Humiliation rolled over her in the same way a large wave would. It threatened to pull her out to sea with no hope of any mooring to save her.

“Do not look so dismayed, my dear.” Edgar closed the distance between them until the heavy scent of poorly rolled cigars permeated her senses. The smell made her stomach churn. “It’s not as if you didn’t suspect my father would express his displeasure at your performance.”

“Get out, Edgar.”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty in that command, sweet Ophelia.” The calculating gleam in his eyes made her heart slam into her chest. “You see, I took the liberty of paying off a few of your father’s debts. Naturally, I did this out of the goodness of my heart, but you can hardly expect me not to ask for a few concessions.”

“You know damn well, you’re the one who controls the money your father left to me. No doubt you paid my father’s debts using my money.”

“Tch, tch, such language from a lady of your standing. While it’s true I have control of your finances, I know you’ll find me more than generous when it comes to returning control of those monies to you.”

“And what am I to do to be the recipient of your generosity?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

The sly smile curling his lips made Ophelia quickly sidestep him to move out of reach, but she wasn’t quick enough. Edgar’s fingers dug into her arm as he tugged her into his chest.

“Let me go,” she snapped.

“You really have no choice, my pet.” The moment his mouth sought hers, she turned her head away. Edgar’s lips made their way across her cheek to her ear. “I like a woman with spirit, Ophelia. I will enjoy our tussles in the bedroom.”

The moment his hand clawed at her breast, she summoned every bit of her strength and broke free of his grasp. She managed to put several feet between them as she glared at him with loathing.

“I’ll not tell you again, Edgar. I have no intention of marrying you. Now Get. Out.” Despite the ferocity in her voice it was obvious it hadn’t fazed him at all.

“Did I mention marriage?” Cold amusement settled on his face. Startled, she met his gaze. There was something in his eyes that frightened her. His smile was one of disdain. “Yes, I suppose I did. I actually gave you the choice of marriage or simply being my mistress.”

“And I refused you on every occasion you’ve made those vile propositions.”

“Yes, you have. But things change, and I believe I’m in a far better position than Gilchrist to meet any financial arrangement you’ve made with him.”

“I beg your pardon,” she exclaimed angrily as she ignored the fear spreading a layer of ice over her skin.

“Come now, Ophelia. We both know you’ve been sharing Mathias Gilchrist’s bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grateful her voice echoed with cold outrage, she struggled to hide her fear from him.

“Don’t you?” There was a triumphant gleam in Edgar’s eyes as he started walking toward her. “I have it on good authority from a pretty little seamstress in Madame Sabine’s shop that one Mathias Gilchrist paid the balance of your bill for your most recent dress order.”

“You’re lying,” she said angrily. “I paid an installment on my bill from Madame Sabine yesterday.”

“Are you really that naïve, Ophelia?” he asked in amazement. A brief moment later, he shook his head. “It appears you are. I shall enjoy making you far worldlier, my dear.”

Edgar moved too fast for her to avoid being caught in his arms. The moment his mouth covered hers, she wanted to retch. She shoved at him with a strength born of anger, but was unable to break free of his clutches. Her hand groped behind her in search of some weapon with which to save herself. The cool feel of porcelain against her fingers made her grab the fairly large-sized clock off the table.

With every ounce of strength she possessed, she slammed the time piece against Edgar’s head. Instantly, he slumped into her. Ophelia shoved his heavy weight off of her, and he slid to the floor. Trembling with a mixture of horror and fear, Ophelia stared down at Edgar’s still form. There was an angry cut on his head, and a trickle of blood meandered its way down over his cheek. Had she killed him? The thought made her stomach roil as she quickly crossed the room and tugged hard several times on the bell cord. Taggert was in the room almost immediately. Concern darkened his face as he looked at the man.

“Is he dead?” she rasped in fear. The butler moved quickly to Edgar’s side and bent over him.

“He’s still breathing, my lady.”

“Thank God,” she whispered, and her breathing slowed to a more manageable rate. “Have his driver help you remove him. I don’t ever want him to enter this house, or Marymont, again. Is that understood?’