“I am no schoolroom chit,” she insisted. “I am four and twenty years of age, and know far more about the world than you might think. For instance, I know there are men like you who delight in hurting others, in taking what does not belong to you, pilfering things like some great dragon gathering treasure in his dark cave.”

He smirked at that, bringing the thumb of his left hand against his fingers. Rubbing the thumb against the pad of each digit, he eyed her boldly, assessing. The motion repeating over and over, he issued a silent challenge. She tore her gaze from his, only to find it falling to that hand, to the thumb caressing each finger in what felt like a calculated gesture.

“I would pilfer you, little dove. I’d drag your cage into my lair and hang you from the ceiling, admiring you whenever I wish. Is that why you’ve come?”

A bitter taste filled her mouth at his insinuation, her face heating at what his words implied. “How dare you—”

“No, my lady, how dare you,” he snapped, suddenly straightening and allowing his feet to fall to the floor, the boots echoing with a loud thud. “You come here—in the middle of the night, no less—and demand answers of me. Answers to questions which you are not ready for, may never be fully prepared to hear. I warn you again to turn around and walk back through that door. Leave this place, now, and take the last shred of your dignity with you. This is the last time I will make such an offer.”

The weight of his words hung heavy on the air between them, the threat in them clear. What would he do if she refused to leave? Would he hurt her physically? Tear her down with cruel words? Perhaps he spoke true—turning around and leaving now might be best. If she rode hard and fast, she could be back in London before any lasting damage had been done to her reputation. Her family would cover her disappearance as well as they were able until she returned. It was not too late to go back.

But no … she could not go back. Not now. Not when she’d already lost so much.

“I would have the answers to my questions, and damn your notions of what I can or cannot handle!” she cried, her voice quivering with the force of her frustration.

She’d asked her brother why such bad blood existed between them and Lord Hartmoor, but Bertram had simply shrugged and given her a baffled look.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea, Daff,” he had replied. “I’d never met the man in my life before he set about ruining me.”

Which could only mean Hartmoor had his own motives—something driving him that she must uncover if she had any hope of making things right.

Not that she possessed any idea how to go about doing so.

Slowly rising from his chair, he curled his hands into fists and braced them upon the surface of the desk. He leaned forward a bit, the powerful muscles in his shoulders bunching beneath his shirt. He stared up at her, and the firelight turned his eyes to liquid gold.

“Very well,” he said, his voice ominously low. “Have it your way. I shall reveal the reason behind my actions to you … over the span of thirty days, and thirty nights.”

Daphne frowned, bemused. “I do not understand.”

“No,” he murmured, coming upright and circling the desk to approach her again. “But I will explain. I am aware of your family’s … desperate situation.”

“Naturally,” she growled from between clenched teeth. “You caused it.”

He shrugged as if they were discussing the weather and continued. “I am prepared to write you a bank draft for thirty thousand pounds.”

Her eyes widened at the absurd sum. It was three times the amount of her dowry, which her father had used to pay his debts. And even then, it hadn’t been enough. The debts had continued to pile up, threatening their livelihood more and more by the day.

Thirty thousand pounds … it would be enough to set everything right, though it might never repair Bertram’s broken engagement. No matter. Her brother was a handsome man, sharing her auburn hair and blue eyes—Fairchild traits passed down through the generations. He was known among the members of the ton for his quick smile and easy charm. There would be other women, other chances for Bertram to make a good match.

But, the money … there would never be another opportunity like this one. A chance to earn enough to pull the Fairchilds back from the brink of poverty.

“And in return?” she prodded, certain this man—this monster—would not simply offer her the money for nothing.

“In return, you will remain here at Dunnottar for thirty days and nights, with me,” he murmured, reaching up to grasp the plait running down into the collar of her jacket. He yanked it free—not gently—and fisted it in his massive hand, studying it as if it fascinated him to no end.

She stiffened, offended at what he suggested. “I am a lady, not a whore.”

He glanced up to meet her gaze once more and smiled, a slow, lazy curving of lips and flash of teeth. Was it her imagination, or were his canines a bit longer than any she’d ever seen?

Dear God, she was going mad.

“You will be one when I’m done with you, Daphne,” he stated, running her braid through his fingers and releasing it once he’d reached its end. “Give yourself to me for thirty days, and not only will I reveal to you—in my own time—the answers you seek, but I will restore what I took from your family by giving you the funds to set things right.”

Her neck heated as he perused her body from head to toe with an undoubtedly lascivious glance. Despite the heavy, damp wool coat concealing her form, she remained aware of how indecent her attire was; breeches clinging to her hips and legs, and a man’s shirt with nothing underneath. It left her feeling disarmed, when she usually had her corset and petticoats to don beneath her gowns like a form of armor.

She opened her mouth to rebuke him, but one heavy, blunt finger fell against her lips, silencing her.

“Before you take me to task for being indecent, allow me to enlighten you,” he said, his eyes appearing darker when he stood so close—like polished brass. “I do not care for your maidenly sensibilities. I know you are a virgin like most unwed chits, and I do not care. I will take your maidenhead with relish, with no concern to what state you go to your future husband in. I will debase you and own you for every single one of the thirty days and nights I require. You will submit to my will and obey, or there will be consequences. If you are strong enough to endure, in the end, you shall have your reward—the truth you seek, plus the grand sum of thirty thousand pounds.”

A stinging retort died on her lips. His promises of debasement and the loss of her virtue should have frightened her. They should have sent her running through that door and back out into the stormy night. However, her mind chose to latch on to the only words he could have said to make her consider going through with it.

If you are strong enough to endure …