Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page B

another, but this cocoon of darkness was like a steam bath. Invalids needed heat, didn’t they? If only he’d let her open a window. Though this dark room probably didn’t even have windows. Didn’t Salvatore say Winslowe hated sunlight?
    â€œYou aren’t leaving until I say you can go, Ms. Carey,” he said, very gently. “And I’m not ready to let you.”
    Maybe if she ate something she’d feel better, she thought. She was feeling light-headed and dizzy, probably from disorientation and lack of sleep. She certainly wasn’t going to pass out in front of this dark nemesis, but she didn’t feel capable of making the long trek back up to her room without something in her stomach. At least she had the dubious security of knowing that a wheelchair couldn’t maneuver the long, winding stairs to her turret room. Once she was up there, she’d be safe from the man in front of her.
    She took a bite of chicken, eating slowly, stalling for time. “What do you want from me, Mr. Winslowe?”
    â€œCall me Ethan. And I believe I’ll call you Meg. After all, we’re going to be together for a while.”
    She ignored the taunt. “What do you want from me?” she asked again.
    â€œIsn’t it more a question of what you want from me? I wasn’t the one who showed up uninvited. Where’s your father? Cowering back in Chicago, hoping you’ll pull his fat from the fire?”
    â€œMy father made a mistake. People do that, you know. People who don’t sit in the middle of some crazy mansion passing judgment.”
    â€œI have a reason to sit in the middle of my crazy mansion.”
    â€œI’m sure you do.” She refused to let herself feel guilty. The man in the shadows in front of her might be a poor invalid, but he was also a brilliant, vindictive man who was, for all intents and purposes, holding her prisoner. “But what right do you have to pass judgment?”
    â€œThe right of a man whose reputation was damaged by your father. The right of the injured party for revenge.”
    â€œI would have thought that the men who were killed were the injured parties.”
    â€œHe told you that much, did he? What else did he tell you?”
    Meg ate another bite of chicken. What had smelled so fiendishly delicious earlier now tasted like paper. And why was her head pounding so abominably; why did her throat feel raw? She reached blindly for the glass beside her plate and took too large a gulp of wine. “He told me he made a mistake. He was worried and upset and not thinking clearly.” The rawness in her throat reached into her voice, and she realized she was pleading. “For God’s sake, my mother had just died. Can’t you make allowances for human frailty? Don’t you realize how guilty he feels? How much he’s suffered?”
    â€œI know just how guilty he feels. How much he’s suffered.” Ethan Winslowe’s voice was icy cold in the overheated room. Meg could feel the sweat forming at her temples, between her breasts, and yet she was shivering.
    â€œThen why can’t you leave him alone?”
    â€œI will leave him alone.”
    For a moment, she couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. She shook her head, a useless physical gesture to try to drive the fogginess away. “What?”
    â€œI said I’ll leave him alone. As long as you stay.”
    This time she knew she’d understood him. “You can’t be serious.”
    â€œCompletely. As long as you stay here, I’ll leave your father in peace. The moment you leave or the moment I tire of you, then I’ll destroy him.”
    The silence filled the inky black room. Once more she heard the watery gurgle that had to come from his respirator and the tiny little blips and beeps from the machines that were probably keeping him alive. If she only had the determination, the sheer cold-blooded courage, she