Scheherazade straightened her spine and moved down the corridor pretending confidence. It was the only weapon she had and she would hold onto it for as long as possible.
At the end, she paused, took a breath, then pushed the curtain aside and entered the room. She curtseyed. “My Lord.”
The figure at the window, a dark silhouette against the sunset, turned. “I did not hear you request entry.”
She raised a brow. “You said this was to be my home. Why should I ask permission to walk through it?”
She heard a frown in his answer. “These are my quarters, you should have asked.”
She scanned the room, then moved to sit on a wide cushioned bench by the fireplace, continuing to speak as she walked. “And if I’d hovered about outside like a timid little mouse, awaiting your permission, you would have berated me as well. Make up your mind what you want of me, Sir. Or not. I’ll go my own way regardless.”
“I had heard you were headstrong. I’d also heard you were intelligent, well-mannered and gracious. I wonder what was true and what was sauce to induce me to buy.”
His voice grew closer to her, but she refused to turn, refused to see what manner of man he might resolve into once the light shone on his face.
She set her chin. “I am well-mannered when manners are warranted, however since you lack them, I don’t see why I should hold to them.”
A finger ran across her bare shoulder, barely brushing her skin. It passed across the back of her neck, making her shiver, then drifted off as it traced the line of her other shoulder. “And so I’m ill-mannered. What else?”
Scheherazade pretended to consider the question. “Unreasonable, unfriendly, autocratic and arrogant.”