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shaken by the request, Rose hurried to her room before she agreed
     to do something she might later regret.

 
    Chapter Four
    Leopold sat before the fire in the private dining room for two solid hours waiting
     for Rose to return. When she did not come, his mood turned increasingly foul. He attempted
     to drown it out by finishing what was left of the brandy and berating himself for
     wanting her—when she was the one woman in the world he should not want and could not
     have.
    It shouldn’t matter that she was over him. He should, in fact, be pleased about that.
     Nor should he care if she was still angry about his detestable behavior two years
     ago and thought the worst of him—because when he ended it, he’d wanted her to despise him, for it was the only way. He knew she possessed a passionate nature
     and would never give him up, and he couldn’t very well tell her the truth—that he’d
     been groomed all his life to hate her, and to knock her vulgar usurping family off
     the throne of Petersbourg.
    Yet since that time, he’d had no respite from the regret, for he never could succeed
     at hating her, and after seeing her tonight, he knew he still desired her as ardently
     as he had the first time their lips met.
    Just thinking about her sweet, delicious mouth caused a stirring of need in his loins
     that made him wonder what the bloody hell he was doing here, waiting for her to join
     him for a drink. It would only intensify this wretched torture and drag him through
     another round of agonizing sexual resistance, and in the end he’d be forced to repeat
     what he’d done to her the last time, which was to push her away. Incite her hate.
    Deciding that it was long past time to purge such thoughts from his brain, he rose
     from the chair and moved across the room in a hazy fog of frustrated desire mixed
     with too much wine and brandy. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when he encountered
     Rose in the doorway, looking impossibly beguiling and quite thoroughly vexed.
    *   *   *
    Rose took one look at Leopold, gorgeous and godlike in the shimmering firelight, and
     wondered what the devil had been going through her head just now when she walked out
     of her room and descended the stairs.
    “I wasn’t going to come,” she explained, feeling defensive all of a sudden as she
     entered the room and shut the door behind her. “In fact, I was trying very hard to
     go to sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking of your final words after dinner. Do you
     have something you wish to say to me, Leopold?”
    It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t care at all—and she certainly shouldn’t be here
     alone with him for he looked rather menacing—but if she didn’t find out what it was,
     it would haunt her for the rest of her days.
    He gestured toward the two chairs in front of the fire. “Sit down, Rose.”
    With some hesitation, she moved past him. “I see that you’ve finished the brandy.
     Please do not ring for more. I do not wish to drink with you.” Clearly he’d already
     had enough, and for that reason she needed to keep her wits about her. “Nor do I want
     anyone to know we are alone here.”
    “Understood.”
    He locked the door behind her, which was not what she intended to suggest, but decided
     it was a good thing. Heaven forbid the dowager should find out about this.
    She sat down in front of the fire, her back ramrod straight, and folded her hands
     primly on her lap while her heart raced with trepidation. “Well, then. Let us fire
     a musket ball straight into the heart of the matter, shall we? What do you wish to
     say?”
    He took a seat across from her and stared intently with those pale blue eyes that
     never failed to quicken her blood. She glanced down at his virile body and could not
     help but admire the strength of his form—the broad shoulders, muscular legs, and large,
     capable hands. He was a heroic cavalry officer, a true flesh-and-blood warrior, and
     no other man