Amanda Quick - Dangerous

"Very true. Apologies are extremely foreign to my nature. And so is the business of granting favors."

"I'm sure you'll survive the experience."

"That remains to be seen," Sebastian said. "I should perhaps re­mind you that when one grants a favor, one expects to be able to collect payment in return at some future time."

A fresh flash of alarm went through Prudence. She eyed him warily. "What, exactly, are you suggesting, my lord?"

"Merely that in return for my doing you this favor tonight, you will agree to do one for me should I ever request it."

Prudence held herself very still. "What sort of favor would you expect in return for sparing my brother's life?"

"Who knows? One cannot see into the future, Miss Merryweather. I have no notion now of what sort of boon I might someday require of you."

"I see." She drew her brows together in concern. "But you expect to collect this favor from me at some point?"

Sebastian smiled slowly. His eyes and those of his cat reflected the firelight. "Yes, Miss Merryweather. Someday I shall most definitely collect what is owed to me. Do we have a bargain?"

A dangerous silence settled on the shadowed library. It was broken only by the crackle of the flames on the hearth. Prudence could not look away from Sebastian's steady, unreadable gaze.

She would have to take the chance that her intuition about this man was correct. He might be dangerous, but she did not believe he was evil.

"Very well, my lord," Prudence said quietly. "I will agree to this bargain."

Sebastian studied her for a long while, as if seeking to see beneath the surface, just as she had sought to penetrate his secrets. "I do believe you are a woman who keeps her bargains, Miss Mer­ryweather."

Prudence scowled. "Of course I am."

"You need not be offended. Genuine honor is a rare enough com­modity in either men or women."

"If you say so. Does this mean you will apologize to my brother?"

"Yes. I shall see to it that the duel is called off."

Relief poured through her. "Thank you, my lord. I am so very grateful. It is really very good of you to do this."

"Enough, Miss Merryweather. I do not need your thanks. We have struck a bargain, you and I. You will repay me soon enough." Sebas­tian set the cat down on the carpet.

Lucifer blinked at Prudence in irritation, as if he blamed her for being disturbed from his comfortable position. Then he flicked his tail and strolled off to settle himself onto a red and gold silk pillow.

Sebastian uncoiled from his chair and reached down to take hold of both of Prudence's hands. He pulled her to her feet.

"My lord?"

He did not reply, but his eyes were banked flames as he drew her close. He bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers.

Sebastian's kiss was a deliberate, calculated statement of sensual intent. Prudence had never received such a kiss in her entire life, yet some part of her recognized it instantly for what it was. A shocking thrill went through her all the way to her toes as she realized that in some indefinable manner, Sebastian was claiming her for his own.

Prudence was stunned.

She trembled. She could hardly breathe. A fierce excitement shim­mered within her. Her entire body was suddenly alive with a new, pulsing energy.

The whole thing was over before Prudence could even begin to adjust to the sensual onslaught. She gasped when Sebastian raised his head.

"Now that we have sealed our bargain, Miss Merryweather, it is time you went home."

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course." Prudence struggled to adjust the hood of her cloak with shaking fingers. She told herself she must be as noncha­lant as he was. She was five and twenty, not a green girl. "No one will have missed me, however. Lady Pembroke's household is extremely well run and I left distinct instructions when I retired to my bedcham­ber that I was not to be disturbed."

"How did you get out of the house?"

"Through the kitchens. It was a bit difficult to find a carriage, but I managed. The coachman said he would wait."

"The hackney in which you arrived has already been sent on its way."

Prudence looked up sharply. "It has?"

"Do not concern yourself. I shall see you home, Miss Mer-ryweather."

"That's really quite unnecessary," she said quickly.

"I have already ordered my carriage brought around."

"I see." She could not think of anything else to say.

Sebastian guided Prudence out of the library, into the hall where the hound-faced butler was waiting.

"My coat, Flowers." Sebastian smiled his strange, humorless smile. "By the by, it appears I do not have an appointment at dawn, after all. Please see that breakfast is served at the usual hour."

"Yes, my lord." Flowers cast Prudence a startled, questioning glance as he assisted Sebastian into a black greatcoat. But like the well-trained servant that he was, he said nothing. He opened the front door without another word.

A black carriage horsed with two black stallions waited in the fog. Sebastian handed Prudence up into the cab. Then he climbed in and sat down across from her. The coach lamps cast a fiery glow across his stark, forbidding features. In that moment Prudence had no difficulty understanding why the gossips had given him the title of the Fallen Angel.

"I appreciate your escort, my lord, but this really isn't necessary." Prudence wrapped her old cloak more securely about her as the coach started down the dark street.

"Ah, but it is necessary, Miss Merryweather. You and I are bound by a bargain now. And until I have collected the favor that you owe me, it is in my own best interests to keep you safe." He smiled again. "Have you not heard that the devil looks after his own?"

Sebastian waited silently in the shadows as Prudence opened the back door of Lady Pembroke's elegant town house. He smiled to himself as she paused briefly and lifted a hand in farewell. The lady might not appreciate being labeled an Original, but she most definitely qualified as one.

He had never met anyone like Miss Prudence Merryweather. She was certainly the only other person he had ever encountered whose intellectual curiosity had led her into a hobby that was as unusual as his own.

A most fascinating creature. And now she owed him a favor. Se­bastian preferred having people in his debt. It gave him an advantage.

He turned and walked slowly back toward the waiting carriage. In the distance the vehicle's lamps were dim beacons that were barely able to pierce the heavy fog.

Sebastian hated the fog, yet he knew it might be his natural ele­ment. Or his ultimate fate.

His boot heels rang with a hollow echo on the sidewalk. Cold tendrils of mist ebbed and flowed around him, threatening to trap him forever in an endless gray void. He knew what waited for him in that vast emptiness. It would be a place where there was no sensation at all, not even the feeling of unrelenting cold.

On occasion lately he thought he had caught glimpses of that emp­tiness waiting behind the icy barrier he had created to protect himself.

He had recognized it as the same gray nothingness that had been waiting for him four years ago at dawn in the mountains of Saragstan.

A small, scraping sound emanating from a nearby alley brought Sebastian's attention instantly back to the present. He paused, listen-ing carefully. His fingers curled around the pistol in his pocket. His instinct for survival was still strong, he noted wryly, in spite of the strange mood that plagued him more and more of late.

The soft, scurrying noise faded quickly. A rat or perhaps a cat, Sebastian thought. He walked on toward the waiting carriage.

It was a dangerous night to be abroad. But then, all nights were times of great risk.

Miss Prudence Merryweather had braved the danger and the dark­ness to see him, Sebastian reflected. He smiled faintly. She was, in­deed, made of sturdy stuff.

Sebastian opened the door of his carriage himself. "To my club," he said to the coachman.

"Aye, m'lord."

The carriage rolled forward. Sebastian leaned back against the cushions, gazed out into the fog, and contemplated Prudence.

She was more than brave; she was headstrong. A decidedly diffi­cult trait in a female. He suspected that not many men could deal with her. She was too intelligent, too fearless, too bold, and too curious for the majority of males. She was also full of lively spirit and a staunch, rather naive faith in the basic goodness of others.

The fact that Prudence was twenty-five and still unmarried was a strong indication that the men she had encountered thus far had ei­ther failed to comprehend the subtle feminine challenge she offered or chosen to ignore it. The men must have been blind, Sebastian decided.

Either that or they had been put off by the spectacles which Pru­dence wore like a battle shield. Sebastian gazed out at the darkened streets and thought about the eyes behind the spectacles. Fantastic eyes. Deep, clear pools of an indescribable shade of green. Intelligent eyes. The eyes of an honest woman, a woman of deep, unshakable integrity. Such eyes made her very much a novelty in Sebastian's world.

There was, he realized, an earnest, thoroughly wholesome quality about Prudence that he found inexplicably enthralling. He thirsted for a taste of her refreshing, invigorating goodness even as he mocked it.

Sitting there in his library lecturing him about his responsibilities, she had made him feel every heavy ounce of the darkness that weighed down his soul. Prudence was a creature of the sunlight and she made him very conscious of the fact that he was a man who dwelt in the deepest shadows of the night.