Page 45 of The Rogue’s Offer

The accusation made his muscles grow rock hard with tension as he met her cold gaze. Havenstock had said something to make her label him as deceitful. The strong possibility it involved Sabine made Mathias’s heart sink as he narrowed his gaze at her.

“A liar?”

“You lied to me about Madame Sabine. Edgar told me you paid for my gowns. How much did you pay?”

“It was an insignificant amount,” he replied quietly. While he knew it was an insignificant sum to him, to her it was almost a quarter of her annual allowance.

“As you once asked me, how much?” The gleam of outrage in her brown eyes made him hesitate, and she narrowed her gaze at him. “How much, Mathias?”

“Thirty-six pounds,” he murmured as his gut twisted viciously.

“Thirty-six…”The color that had been returning to her face faded almost instantly. He took a step forward only to halt at the look of fury and contempt on her face. “Even though I refused to let you pay—refused to be your mistress—you ignored my express wishes.”

The bitterly cold condemnation made his jaw tighten hard with anger. The next time he saw the new Viscount Havenstock, the man would rue the day he’d been born. Mathias had no idea how the bastard had learned of his agreement with Sabine, but he was certain someone would have to hold him back to prevent him from doing considerable harm to Havenstock.

“I said I would ask Sabine to give you every consideration, and I did that.”

“But you paid the lion's share of the bill like any man would for his mistress.”

“I won’t deny telling Sabine to send me a bill for any balance you were unable to pay. And if I’d known the full extent of your financial status, which borders on the edge of poverty, I would have convinced you to let me pay the entire damn bill,” he snapped.

The moment she stiffened, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Losing his temper was a mistake. She was right. He’d bought her new wardrobe as if she were his mistress. He’d gone against her wishes without her knowledge, and he understood why she was so angry. Ophelia’s cold fury made him realize if she’d been a man they would have come to blows. She glared at him.

“I told you I wouldn’t be your mistress, and yet you proceed to treat me as if I were.”

The contemptuous arch of her brow made him clench his jaw to avoid saying something that would only make matters worse. He hesitated for a long moment, before clearing his throat before he met her gaze steadily.

“It was not my intent to do so,” he said struggling not to sound angry.

“And yet you did—something I’m certain you planned from the start.”

“As I recall, I delivered the deed to Marymont and was on my way out the front door when you stopped me. Hardly the actions of a man intent on weaving a web of deceit to make you his mistress,” he snarled. He immediately regretted his fierce response when she grew still as a statue. Slowly, she tilted her chin upward as she looked at him coldly.

“And it was a terrible mistake to invite a spider back into my parlor.”

“A spider who remembered your desperation when you came to me with your original proposition.” Mathias took a step toward her, expecting her to shy away, but she didn’t. Her pallor was still pale, but her anger had begun to restore a hint of color in her cheeks. “I wanted to prove to you that Havenstock was wrong, and I did that. As we discovered last night, you are capable of great passion.”

“Last night was an error in judgement.” Her acerbic words made his muscles knot with anger underlined with a sense of foreboding.

“An error—tell me, Ophelia, is this really about my contribution to your new wardrobe or are you experiencing fear.”

“Fear of what? Entering your bed again?”

“No, the fear of being human enough to experience—to want—something more than passion. The fear that you might actually consider it possible to marry…again.”

Christ what the hell was he doing mentioning the possibility she might marry someone? She flinched at his quiet words, and there was an air of vulnerability about her that aroused an urgent need to take her into his arms and comfort her. He buried the urge knowing it would be a mistake to touch her. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back as they balled up into tight fists.

It was bad enough he’d almost mentioned Chelmsford’s name as a possible husband. The last thing he was going to do was push her in that direction. The thought triggered something in the back of his head, while a voice cried out for him to stop speaking and simply leave.

“And I told you I had no intention of ever marrying again,” she snapped bitterly.

“Your father’s behavior might leave you with little choice…or worse being forced to do something far more humiliating.” Angered by her stubbornness, his words were brutal, almost cruel.

Ophelia immediately jerked her head back in fearful surprise. As he watched a multitude of emotions sweep across her lovely features, he experienced the urge to close the distance between them and shake her hard before pulling her into his arms. It was obvious she’d not contemplated the possibility of finding herself forced to deal with a man who might not be a gentleman. Scornful laughter echoed in the back of his head at the idea he was any more of a gentleman where she was concerned.

“Is that your way of suggesting I become your mistress?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. But I’ll not deny I’d hoped we might enjoy each other’s company on a regular basis.”

“I suppose that’s not an unreasonable assumption considering how much I owe you,” she said bitterly. “Exactly how many times am I expected to share your bed before my debt has been worked off?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what you think you’re worth?” he snarled at the insinuation he was demanding payment in the form of bedding her. But it was the savagery of his words that made him mutter an oath as her entire body jerked as if he’d slapped her. Christ Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him.

“Get out, Mathias.” The flat note in her voice caused a vise to tighten around his chest until he found it almost impossible to breathe. He pulled in a deep breath before bowing slightly in her direction.

“As you wish.”

A moment later he was striding out of the house and cursing himself for having coerced her into their bargain. He should have simply courted her as any other gentleman would have done—as Chelmsford would do. Anger pounded its way into his blood at the thought of the earl catering to Ophelia’s every whim. He’d see the man in hell first.

The thought pulled him up short as he reached the sidewalk outside her door. Frozen in place he tried to comprehend what his brain was telling him. It wasn’t possible. He knew better than to become enthralled with any woman, let alone come to care for her.

With a snort of self-disgust, he moved forward. A round of exercise at the club would clear his head and put an end to this nonsense. It wasn’t possible for him to care for Ophelia, let alone any woman for that matter. The mocking laughter in his mind at the thought sent despair crashing through him. Exercise might not work after all.