It took a moment for Anna to understand that he teased her, but she let out a cry of frustration and reared back. “What is the matter with you?”
Now he was laughing. “Ah, if ye’d seen yer eyes, lass!” he exclaimed through his laughter. “Big as moons, they were!”
“You’re not the least amusing!” she cried. “It’s absolutely wretched of you!”
“Aye, right ye are—’tis wretched of me, for ye will lose yer virtue without the help of the beastie, will ye no’?”
His implication shamed her, and she raised her arm, intending to slap him, but Grif easily caught her wrist and twisted her arm so that she fell against the back of the settee.
“What has angered ye, lass? That ye heard the truth? Or that ye will believe anything a man tells ye?”
“You bastard!” she hissed, but Grif just laughed irreverently and tightened his grip on her wrist.
Her eyes were shimmering with wrath, and Grif unexpectedly and uncharacteristically took sensual delight in them. Anna struggled to free herself, but he easily pushed her back, trapping her with one arm against the settee, letting her squirm.
“You’re a liar!” she hissed at him.
“What, did ye think I’d confess all to ye, then?” he asked. “Did ye believe that holding me beastie hostage somehow gives ye the right to know me and mine?”
“I should think that having agreed to our arrangement, you might at least act the gentleman!”
“God blind me, why should I do that?” he asked, stopping her attempt to slide off the settee by pressing one knee on top of her leg. “Did ye no’ come here to learn how to seduce a man?”
That riled her to furious indignation and she struggled much harder.
“Ah, but its no’ a gentleman ye want, Anna. Ye want a man—a man to touch ye like ye desire to be touched.”
Her indignation turned to a shriek of pure fury, and she struggled violently now, managing to push his leg off of her and almost escaping him. But Grif was too strong for her—she could not prevent him from twisting her arm around her back and pushing her into him. They were half on, half off the settee; he dragged her across his lap, so that they were face to face, her body against his.
He could see Anna’s rage in the harsh rise of her chest. “You are a scoundrel,” she bit out through clenched teeth. “A blackguard, a rake—”
“But ye like that in a man, leannan.”
She floundered frantically like a large fish in his arms, but Grif was not of a mind to let go, and, in fact, he clamped his free hand on her shoulder. He was angry, too, had been for days, even weeks now, and worse, he enjoyed seeing the rabid flush of her skin, the fury filling her eyes. It was a taste, he thought, of her own medicine, a well-deserved call to truth.
“I should have gone to the authorities,” she hissed at him. “I should have handed them that blasted thing!”
“But if ye’d done so, ye’d no’ have had the opportunity to torment me!”
“Do you think I torment you?” she cried, incredulous, and threw back her head, shouting her laughter like a madwoman. “You’ve not even begun to know my torment!” And to prove it, she tried to kick him, but Grif pressed her leg against the settee with his thigh, effectively trapping her again. “What in God’s name is wrong with you?”
“I merely do as ye bid. And here is the last of today’s lesson,” he said, breathing harder from the exertion of restraining such a wild banshee. “Always make yer conversation engaging, for above all else, that will draw a man to ye. A keen wit and a pleasant way with words—no’ vitriol!”
“Vitriol!” she cried, ceasing her struggles for the moment to argue with him. “I have tried to converse with you, you blasted scoundrel, and I can say with all confidence that you’d not recognize a keen wit and pleasant way with words if they should rise up from the ash and poke you in the bum!”
Grif grinned at that. “Aye, ye’re quite the clever one, are ye no’? If ye could manage to be clever without being so bloody vile, and do so with an enchanting smile, there is naugh’ that would draw a man faster to yer side. A real man.”
“A real man does not appreciate either wit or conversation,” she said, panting. “His interest is drawn only to the palest of skin!”
“Ach,” he grunted, dropping his gaze to her bosom, enjoying the closeness of such a lovely pair of breasts. “’Tis no’ entirely true. A woman’s fair skin will indeed draw a man, but a man is equally drawn to vibrancy and intelligence in women.”
“Ha!” she scoffed. “Then what is it that draws you to my sister? For she is frightfully pretty, and perhaps even clever, but she does not spend as much as a moment practicing the art of conversation!”
“I’m attracted to her beauty—a liar I’d be if I said otherwise,” he admitted, moving his hand from her shoulder to her neck. “But I am drawn to more than beauty—I am drawn to a woman who can think on her own, who can parry with me, word for word.”