Her breath caught, and words became impossible to speak while he simply stood there watching her with a hooded expression. “Good night,” she finally managed, upon which she fled. Because to remain there alone with him in that room, overcome by the masculinity he exuded, would be like playing with fire. And if there was one thing she hoped to avoid doing, it was getting burned.
Bryce watched her agitated departure with interest. She’d seemed especially flustered since entering this room and increasingly so, the closer he’d moved to where she’d stood. Sighing, he closed the jewelry box and returned it to the drawer. What the hell had he been thinking to offer her such a gift? The gesture had likely offended her in its impropriety. A man did not give jewelry to a woman unless she was his wife or his mistress. But when he’d seen her reaction to the piece–the appreciation shining in her eyes while she’d stood there admiring it–he’d felt as though it ought to be hanging around her neck instead of being hidden away from the world.
Leaving the room, he headed back to the library, removed his jacket, and kicked off his shoes. Radcliff had a point. He should not be sleeping on the same floor as Miss Potter. It would not be right, nor would it allow him a moment’s rest, knowing she was but a few doors away, tucked into the comfortable bed she’d mentioned at supper.
Groaning, he turned down the oil lamps so only a dim glow from the fire remained, then settled himself on the sofa and prepared to get some rest. But sleep was impossible to find when contemplating his houseguest produced a flare of heat in his loins. The clock chimed midnight, and Bryce blew out a breath. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he tried to find a distraction, something with which to cool his ardor.
Seventeen multiplied by eight, divided by four, and subtracted from five hundred and fifty nine…
A creak caught his attention. Pausing to listen, he heard it again. It sounded like it came from the hallway, so he held his breath and glanced at the door. Perhaps it was Radcliff making a final round to ensure no lights had been left burning, though it was rather late for that.
The door eased open, and a figure that definitely did not belong to his butler appeared. Mesmerized, Bryce watched Miss Potter enter the room. She was carrying an oil lamp, ,the glow from it bathing the nightgown she wore in golden light.
Christ!
He squinted through the darkness, aware she was unlikely to notice him, which allowed him to do what no gentleman would ever consider doing, and simply observe.
Carefully, she moved toward the bookcase, bringing her slightly closer. Setting her lamp on a nearby table, she turned up the light a little until…
Bryce clenched his hands and bit back a growl while he watched the opaque white cotton she wore turn translucent. Feeling his chest work against his attempt at keeping his ragged breathing as soft as possible, he watched her rise up onto her toes and pick a book from a higher shelf. The nightgown rose with her, sliding up over her legs. And then, as if that weren’t enough, she grabbed the book and turned around, allowing him a blatant view of her perfectly rounded breasts, outlined by the fabric.
Closing his eyes, Bryce began counting backward from one thousand.
He was going to die, plain and simple.
“What happened to him?” some would ask, and others would answer, “I hear he was consumed by lust.”
A limerick would probably mark his headstone. Something along the lines of:
This randy fellow would not be appeased,
His appetites grew but could not be pleased.
Sadly unsated,
He miscalculated,
The dangerous outcome of being teased.
A quick intake of breath–something much like a gasp–had him opening his eyes to find Miss Potter staring straight at him. He sat up, because pretending he wasn’t there was no longer an option.
“Miss Potter,” he said, doing his best to sound surprised. Which was bloody difficult when she was standing closer than before. Especially since the light from her lamp washed away her nightgown completely, leaving nothing but soft feminine curves.
“Oh dear,” she murmured, her eyes wide and stricken and…something else…
Aware.
He thanked the Lord he remained shrouded in darkness so she wouldn’t see his expression too well or the inappropriate effect she was having on him. Because since she was standing, he had to do so too, which meant a certain part of him would become embarrassingly visible if any more light spilled his way.
“What are you doing here?” he tried to ask by way of continuing to pretend he’d awoken to find her there.
“I, er, I could not sleep, so I decided to come down and find a book.”
“Very good.”
A moment of silence fell between them, and then she asked, “How about you?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to sleep,” he said. “Radcliff suggested it might be better if you and I did not occupy the same floor at night.”
“Oh.” She clutched the book she’d selected against her chest. “Then I should leave. This…” She waved her hand in an awkward way. “I’m so sorry to have intruded.”
“You needn’t worry. I do not plan on mentioning it to anyone, though I would advise you to wear a dressing gown when venturing beyond your bedchamber in the future. That nightgown you’re wearing…” He allowed his gaze to travel over the length of her body. “It reveals a lot more than you’d wish to know.”
A sharp breath was her only response before she turned on her heel and practically ran. He knew he’d behaved like a cad, but he also believed in honesty. If the woman thought there was nothing wrong with what she’d been wearing, he’d hopefully taught her otherwise. Because if a lesser man had seen her in such a state of dishabille, she would likely have been on her back in a second, with her scandalous nightgown hitched up around her waist.
As it was, Bryce had pushed back the urge to approach her and to seduce her, not because she would have resisted–he was starting to sense she might be more open to such an advance than even she was aware–but because he still liked to think of himself as an honorable man. Even if his thoughts did belong in the gutter.
Panting from the exertion of racing up a long flight of stairs and darting through a hallway, Eve leapt inside the sanctuary of her bedchamber, shutting the door behind her and locking it for good measure.
Good Lord!
Heart pounding, she crossed the floor to the mirror with hesitant steps, paused while she gathered her courage, and then raised the oil lamp so she would see what he had seen. A hot shiver raked her skin as she took in the image she presented. It hadn’t occurred to her that her nightgown might be see-through, but aided by the light from the lamp, it most certainly was. And the worst part was she was totally and completely, undeniably naked underneath, which meant he had seen… Dear God, Lord Ravenworth had seen… Swallowing, she set the lamp on her nightstand and turned down the light before climbing back into bed.
Her heart still beat a frantic rhythm. So she drew a calming breath and allowed herself to think back on the incident. He’d been in the dark, so she hadn’t noticed him until she’d prepared to leave. And although he’d been silhouetted against the shadows, she’d known he’d been without his jacket. That knowledge alone had been enough to make liquid heat pool in the deepest part of her belly.
But then he’d told her what he’d seen and she’d fled. The knowledge had stirred a fire within her, and in that moment, she had been terrified. Which now made her thump her fist against her mattress. The earl was no gentleman to say such things to a woman. He was a scoundrel, and she could not afford to lose the chance she had of securing her future on account of him.
Which meant it was just as well she would leave his home and go to Amberly Hall tomorrow. Her only hope was of Margaret not questioning her explanation about a coach delay on account of the weather. Because if she did, Eve feared she might stand to lose an important friendship. And she was not pr
epared to do so for a man she’d met that same afternoon.
But when she descended to breakfast the following morning intent on facing her host with resolve, her decision to quit his company was swiftly expelled the moment she entered the dining room and met his gaze.
He stood and moved to pull out her chair. “I fear you must stay here at least one more day,” he told her. “It snowed heavily last night. The horses will not be able to make their way through it, never mind a carriage.”
“But… No.” She shook her head. “I cannot stay here any longer.”
“As eager as you are to leave my company, I regret to tell you that you are solidly stuck.” He gestured for her to sit, and when she failed to do so, eyeing the empty chair with a wariness that must have showed, he expelled a breath and came toward her. Lowering his voice so the nearby footman wouldn’t hear, he whispered, “Please rest assured I will remain on my best behavior. What I told you last night was unforgiveable. I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies.”
“It doesn’t change what you saw or the fact I know you saw it,” she muttered. Try as she might, she could not stop her cheeks from flushing. But she held her head high and kept her spine straight in an effort to maintain some pride.
“No. But if it is any consolation, you may rest assured there was nothing wrong with what I did see. Quite the contrary.”
His mischievous smirk and the devilish gleam in his eyes were so unsettling, she balled her hand into a tight fist and punched his upper arm. “You are insufferable,” she declared. She marched across to her chair and sat before he had a chance to assist her.
“You hit me!”
He stared at her, but she didn’t care. She was much too annoyed to let his dismayed expression affect her. Instead, she busied herself by piling food onto her plate: bacon, eggs, toast, and kippers. Perhaps if she ate, her mood would improve.
“I tried to apologize.” He sat back down in his chair.
Grabbing the butter, she sliced off a glob and proceeded to spread it across her toast with tight little movements. “Yes. You did. And then you went and ruined it with the sort of comment for which you apologized seconds earlier.” Ugh! The man was really getting on her nerves today. Especially the part of him that sent little butterflies fluttering about in her belly.
“Should I insult you instead? Would it be better if I told you I found you displeasing or if I suggested you eat less cake?”
That did it!
She set down her knife and glared at him with as much disdain as she could give a man who’d offered her shelter, a nice warm bed, and some excellent food. “I am beginning to understand why there is no Lady Ravenworth,” she bit out between clenched teeth. “No woman in her right mind would want to subject herself to…” Her words trailed off as she watched his expression harden.
Without warning, he shoved back from the table and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a pressing matter to which I must attend,” he told her crisply. “Do make yourself at home, Miss Potter. My servants are at your disposal.” And on that note, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Eve with a sour taste in her mouth and a shameful feeling of guilt in her heart.
3
Shutting the door behind him, Bryce locked it and pushed out a breath. Her words should not have stung. She was a virtual stranger, a woman he’d never laid eyes on before she’d arrived at his house, shivering from cold, yesterday afternoon. And yet, there was no denying the tightness squeezing his chest or the tension constricting his veins. With a few angry words, she’d managed to hurl his past toward him so fast it had hit him with full force, bringing with it the pain and resentment he was certain he’d buried so long ago.
For three years he’d kept mostly to himself, and whenever he’d ventured out, he’d held his head high and ignored the reproachful looks being sent his way. He’d told himself he did not care, that other people’s opinions did not matter. Well, apparently Miss Potter’s did. And although she couldn’t possibly know about the incident that had changed his life for the worse, her comment still grated. I am beginning to understand why there is no Lady Ravenworth.
Inhaling deeply, he went to his work table where a bit of mistletoe waited. Snatching it up by its stem, he twirled it between his fingers. Somehow, in no more than twelve short hours, Miss Potter had breached his defenses.
What a fool he was to have allowed such a thing to happen. He, of all people, should have known better. But he’d been taken with her from the moment she’d turned her dazzling blue eyes upon him. Little by little, she’d drawn him in, until last night… His mouth went dry once more as he reflected on how tempting she’d been in her nightgown. Her body…
He winced and tossed the piece of mistletoe aside. He’d do well not to think of it. No good would come of doing so since they were destined to part tomorrow. Somehow, he would get her out of his life by then, because not doing so was bound to drive him mad.
Removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, he sat. A few hours of working on his flowers ought to distract him from his alluring houseguest. She has a vicious tongue, he reminded himself as his mind began to betray his determination to think of anything other than her. Only because I incensed her. She’d been right to get angry with him. What he’d told her had been inexcusable. It only confirmed what everyone already had concluded–that he was the worst sort of scoundrel to walk the earth, a man so selfish and cruel not even his own family wished to stand by him.
A gentle knock sounded at the door. Bryce stared at the rose before him, propped up by a cleverly crafted stand. It was almost covered in gold, painted by the brush he held between his fingers. Blinking, he wondered how long he’d been lost in his musings. An hour or two at least, considering his progress.
The knock came again, and Bryce sucked in a breath. It was her. He knew it in the pit of his stomach. And although he wanted to let her in, he also wanted to keep her away. Doing so was best for both of them. Neither could allow themselves to give in to temptation. Not when the stakes were as high as they were, with her intending to make a good match and him more than likely to ruin that for her.
So he didn’t respond, waiting instead for the gentle tread of retreating footsteps. Regret welled up inside him, but it was for the best. This way, they could both go on with their lives as if crossing paths with each other was nothing more than a slight inconvenience.
He didn’t want to speak with her. That much was clear. While his withdrawal annoyed her, she couldn’t blame him for it. Not when she’d behaved so abominably. She felt awful about what she’d said. Her words had clearly struck him with greater force than she’d ever expected. Which made her wonder. Why wasn’t he married? Perhaps he had been, and his wife had died? It would certainly explain why her cutting remark had bothered him so.
Intent on offering him an apology, she’d sought him out. But he’d refused to let her into the room where he’d secluded himself, and after knocking a couple of times, she’d granted him the solitude he wished for. Which meant she would have to entertain herself until it was time to eat again. Because surely he would show up for luncheon.
But he didn’t. Nor did he put in an appearance for dinner. At which point it became clear he had no intention of seeing her ever again. She would depart the following morning, and she doubted he would be there to see her off. It was as if he’d banished her from his life already, and although she should not care, she did–a lot more than she’d like to.
After retiring that evening, she remained in her bedchamber. She would not venture downstairs in hope of encountering him in the library. No. She would respect his wishes and allow the distance he wished for to sink between them. And then she would leave, intent on enjoying Christmas with Margaret and her family, in a home that would not contain a man with a serious frown and eyes as black as the darkest night.
She would forget him and go on to live a happy life with a suitable gentleman of her choosing. Or so she told herself even though, somewhere deep dow
n inside, a little voice whispered no other man would ever affect her as Ravenworth did. The feelings he stirred in her were like little whirlwinds, spinning out of control.
Staring up at the ceiling, she pictured his face, the intensity of his gaze, and the tight lines bracketing his mouth. He was not a man prone to amusement, the severity of his features suggesting he’d had his fair share of troubles. But whenever she caught him observing her, she came alive in ways she’d never imagined she might. It was intoxicating and frightening in equal measure, and since she’d no experience with such things, she hadn’t a clue how to deal with it besides doing what she could to preserve her reputation and leave the source of these strange new sensations.
Which was why, when Radcliff informed her of a fallen tree the following morning, she determined it would not be enough to keep her in Ravenworth’s home for one more second. Not after eating breakfast alone and being told his lordship had said she was welcome to play the piano or stroll through the gallery or pass her time with some painting. He, however, would not be joining her.
So she’d returned upstairs and packed the few things she’d removed from her bag. Looking out of her bedchamber window, she considered the thick snow blanketing the ground. Travelling through it on foot was going to be tiresome but not impossible. And since it was daylight, she was confident she’d find her way to Amberly Hall, even if she had to climb over a fallen tree in order to do so.
With her mind made up, she penned a note of thanks to Ravenworth, put on her pelisse, and wrapped her shawls around her. Tying her bonnet into place, she slipped on her gloves, took one last look at the room, and carefully entered the hallway. Pausing there, she listened for any approaching footsteps. All was silent. She expelled a sigh of relief and made her way toward the stairs. She stopped there again, her heart leaping a little when Radcliff crossed the foyer below. He didn’t look up, however. Nor did the footman who followed him through to the hallway.
The Earl Who Loved Her (The Honorable Scoundrels Book 2) Page 3