“There is no need to be bashful, Cynfell. I did see everything only hours ago.”
A flash of teeth signalled his amusement. “I was merely thinking of your sensibilities, Evelyn.”
“I am a woman of five and thirty with an adult son. I am no delicate debutante, I can assure you.”
“Five and thirty, surely not?”
“I was a young bride. You need not flatter me.”
“I don’t intend to. I am truly surprised, and it takes a lot to surprise me.”
“Apparently, I managed.”
He chuckled. “I had thought you were the maid coming to steal a look.”
Evelyn stole a look. She stole a long one. If the maid had, she couldn’t have blamed her. Pierce Cynfell was a fine specimen of a man. A long, slow pulse that seemed to run from her head to her toes told her how much she appreciated him and just how long it had been since she’d had a man in her life.
“You must have a high opinion of yourself if you think all my servants are desperate for a look at you.”
“And yet, you are here.” His green gaze pierced her, intelligent and knowing.
“I am.” She let the words linger in the air. There was no use in denying it. Curiosity burned through her. She couldn’t wait until dinner to learn more of this man. If he were truly a wastrel, then she would send him on his way. But if there was more to him...
“I’m sorry our facilities are a little outdated at Fairchester. Modernising an old house like this is a costly business. No doubt you are used to better in London.”
There, she had put it out there. Now let him tell her more of his life.
“My brother’s manor house is much the same though his wife is intending to have indoor plumbing installed. But you did not need to apologise. You saved me from further embarrassment. Had you lived in a humble cottage I still would have been grateful for your charity.”
She didn’t point out that most people would have been embarrassed by the duchess visiting them while they bathed. Apparently this man didn’t embarrass easily.
The temptation to test as much urged her forward.
“Am I to scrub your back then?”
Both brows rose this time. “I think it doubtful you have ever scrubbed a man’s back.”
“You profess to know me after so short a time?”
Pierce pushed a hand through his damp hair. “You are in my bedchamber, Your Grace, and I am entirely naked. We might not know one another but I think I am allowed to make some assumptions. I cannot imagine a more intimate situation.”
His eyes dared her. The nonchalant way he lounged back as if he had not a care in the world begged her to challenge him.
“I can,” she mused.
Pierce’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. She managed to suppress a triumphant smile. She had shocked this bold man. He wasn’t the first man she’d shocked—he certainly would be the last—but he was the first man she’d wanted to shock.
But there was a shift in the air. A thickening. The scent of the bath oils filled her lungs more deeply and steam clung to her skin. Suddenly she wanted that fan again.
Pierce moved. Water sloshed. He rose, the towel slipping from his nether regions. Evelyn might have caught glimpses of everything already, but it didn’t prepare her for the sight of water running rivulets down his body like a stream finding its way down the gulley of a mountain. Her mouth dried as she followed one of those drips until it hung in the dark curls—
She snapped her gaze back up, feeling heat fill her face. He smirked and held out a hand. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he wanted her. Her legs were fixed like great roots digging into the earth. She couldn’t, for the life of her, move.
“A towel, if you please.”
“Yes.” Her voice came out husky and thin. “Yes, of course.” She whirled and found the towel hanging over the dressing screen.
She should look away. She wanted to. But at the same time, she couldn’t give him the satisfaction, and she had to admit, the brazen part of her that so often ruled her head wanted to see more. Tonight, when she took to her bed, she wanted to close her eyes and recall the firm ridges of his stomach and imagine how his skin would taste. How would he react if she simply stepped forward stroked her tongue over his flat abdomen?
She met his gaze. It was hard to tell. He certainly didn’t seem the sort of man to turn down a tumble, but with a duchess? There were few men who were up to the task. Complications would inevitably arise with any of the men she knew—mostly because they would be hoping for marriage. And marriage was something she could not do. Not again.
But a brief moment of pleasure? She was tempted indeed.
Evelyn thrust out the towel and he took it slowly, as though he had not a care in the world. As though he was not naked and beautiful in front of her.
Their fingers grazed, and she fought the need to recoil her hand in shock when a tingling sensation bolted through her. It was the first time they’d touched.
A smile teased her lips at her own foolishness. She’d now seen this man naked twice, yet a mere brush of fingertips excited her beyond comprehension.
“I hope I do not amuse you.”
She swallowed. “No, I amuse myself.”
“Pity.”
She swallowed again. What did he mean by that? That it was a pity she had to see to her own amusement? Was there a deeper meaning here or was she simply reading too much into the situation? She couldn’t be sure. Being around his naked body addled her wits somewhat.
However, as addled as they were, she wouldn’t turn and flee. She feared little, save from going through such grief ever again. But the loss of her husband had taught her to grab interesting moments with both hands.
That smile threatened to grow. She could hardly grab him with both hands, however.
Pierce stepped from the bath, leaving wet footprints on the pale blue carpet. As he shifted to dry himself off, she eyed the large, manly print of his foot. It had been a long time since there had been anything manly in this house. Her son had been studying in Europe since he was sixteen, and he certainly hadn’t been a man before then. Really, he was still a boy to her, in spite of being eighteen. He always would be, she suspected.
Thoughts of her son flew from her mind when Pierce began rubbing the towel across his body. He eyed her, daring her to run. She wasn’t sure if she could. Her legs were as useful as a carriage without wheels. And nor did she wish to. Evelyn let her tongue dart out over her bottom lip, and she saw him watch the movement. When she glanced down, she realised he’d grown hard. He desired her.
Any remaining playfulness—not that there was much—vanished in a puff of smoke.
He finished drying his chest and slung the towel around his waist. She bit back a disappointed sigh. That same sigh trapped in her throat when he stalked forward, pausing a mere pace away from her. She lifted her chin and met his bold gaze. She might be clothed but she felt stripped bare under that look.
“Have you seen all you need to see?” he asked, his voice gruff.
She shook her head. “No.”
Evelyn almost expected amusement to crinkle his eyes but apparently she could not yet read this man. His face remained deadly serious. Breathing grew difficult, and she pressed a hand to her bodice.
“The lady isn’t pleased?”
No. No, she wasn’t. She had wanted to see more. To feel more. To taste more. At present, all she could think on was what it might feel like to have that wet body pressed against hers and to feel his firm lips over her own.
“My pleasure is your concern?” she asked.
Oh, she wanted it to be. She’d been alone for so long. She couldn’t even remember the last time a person other than her son had given her some affection. To have someone care for her body was mightily tempting.
Those appealing lips lifted in one corner. “As your guest, you would think it would be the other way around.”
Her lips dropped open. Oh, he was bold indeed. Did he
expect that she, the lady of the house, should drop to her knees and bring him pleasure? She suspected he didn’t really but he enjoyed toying with her.
Well, she was not so easily toyed with.
“Need I remind you I found you in a vulnerable position?”
“A position of which you could take advantage.”
“But I did not.”
“You are in my bedchamber, are you not?”
“I have done nothing.”
“Yet.”
The word drifted about the air. Yet. It held the promise of more. Evelyn fought to find something wrong with this state of affairs. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in an inappropriate situation. It wouldn’t be the last. She certainly hoped it wouldn’t. This man had lit something inside her that had remained dulled for so very long. And he wanted her, did he not?
His mossy gaze travelled over her body, lingering on the curves of her breasts before coming back up and locking with hers. She eyed the whiskers on his jaw and wondered what they’d feel like against her skin. Her fingers itched to press into the slight dip in his chin then between his lips to feel the warmth in there.
Breaths heavy, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze on his.
“Evelyn,” he murmured, the word a seduction in itself.
Kiss me, her mind begged. It didn’t matter that she hardly knew the man. Her body knew what it wanted. It strained against her corsets to get to him.
You kiss me, his gaze seemed to say.
And so they were at an impasse. She couldn’t say for how many more minutes they remained like that, the quiet tick of the mantel clock reminding her of the passing of time. All she knew was that by the time someone knocked on the door, jolting her, she had memorised every fleck of brown in those green eyes and knew beyond all doubt this man would be her match in the bedroom, and perhaps in other ways.
It was risky.
“Yes?” she called out, her voice but a harsh shadow of itself. She realised her mistake when her maid answered in stammering tones.
“I-I brought some...”
Evelyn chuckled. “Betsy will no doubt have some of my late husband’s clothes for you. He was about your size. I hope you do not find it morbid.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“You are far from a beggar, Cynfell.”
Indeed, a man like himself likely never had to beg for anything. Women would take one look at him—as she had—and offer him everything. She’d have to remain cautious. It wouldn’t do to let herself be vulnerable around him.
She turned to put her hand to the door and a strong set of fingers curled around her upper arm. “I’m willing to wager you can make a man beg.”
She eyed him over her shoulder. “Perhaps.”
Was this him begging? Did he feel the same heat curling between them? He had to. It was impossible to miss. But whether he had any thoughts of pursuing it, she didn’t know.
“Dinner is at eight. Please explore at your leisure,” she told him in an attempt to put them back on a formal footing. For the moment at least.
Evelyn needed some time away from his naked body to straighten her thoughts, and she had no concerns of him finding her in her favourite spot in the house.
“Good day, Your Grace.”
Somehow those four words felt like the most seductive and beautiful words she’d ever heard. Her stomach twisted itself into knots that would never be undone. She pulled open the door to find an astonished Betsy, trying to look as though there was nothing unusual about her mistress occupying a room with a naked stranger.
Evelyn didn’t say anything to the maid. She didn’t even feel like offering explanations. What explanation was there? She was curious, and she didn’t think her curiosity had been fully satisfied yet.
She strolled down the hallway. There was time, however.
Chapter Three
“So what exactly was this wager that caused you to end up losing your clothes, Cynfell?”
Pierce paused, leaving his fork halfway up to his mouth before he lowered it. He eyed the woman at the head of the long table, her fiery hair gilded by the lights. She fit the room perfectly. Bold, like the gold and red damask wallpaper. Beautiful like the elegant arrangement of whatever these flowers in front of him were. Curvaceous like the exquisitely made furnishings. And yet, she did not fade amongst these decadent surroundings. No, instead they only seemed to work to draw his gaze to her. He suspected she knew it well if her performance in his bedchamber was anything to go by.
“You are a curious creature.”
“I have a right to be, do I not? I have brought you, a stranger, into my home. For all I know you could be a dangerous highwayman simply using the Cynfell name as a cover.”
“I doubt there would be many criminals careless enough to masquerade as one of us. Our reputations precede us and few could live up to it.”
“And yet, I know nothing of you. Does that disappoint?”
He lowered his fork completely, giving up his hopes of continuing his enjoyment of the succulent pheasant. But, the truth was, he’d far rather speak with this woman who intrigued him so. She wasn’t intimidated by him—a rarity. He might not have the rank of his eldest brother but he had a reputation, and as far as anyone but those he owed money to knew, he had wealth. It left most women nervous around him. Of course, he knew well enough how to soothe those nerves but still, it was refreshing.
“It does not. It simply means none of my sins have yet reached your ears and therefore I can start afresh.”
“And that appeals does it? Starting afresh?”
God, yes. More than she knew. If he could go back and never place that first wager. If he could never have that first taste of a win. Never believe that the next hand would be the making of him. Yes, starting afresh sounded appealing indeed.
“I can’t think of many people who would not like to go back and ensure they didn’t make the same mistakes again, can you?”
“It’s our mistakes that make us who we are.”
He wondered at that. He wondered at her. Her confidence, her boldness. Was it simply because she was five and thirty or was it something else? Now he thought about it, he could see her age. Not in her face—she still appeared not much older than him to his mind—but in the way she carried herself.
“Have you made many?” He reached for the glass of wine to his right and took a slow sip of the rich merlot.
“Hundreds.” She too took a sip of wine and smiled at him over the rim of the glass. “I intend to make many more, Cynfell.”
Pierce also wondered at the use of his surname. His friends called him Cynfell or Cyn. Most of his brothers were called similarly. It often got confusing when they spent time together in London, but thankfully Julian and Dante spent most of their time in the country and Gideon hated London society. That left him with only three other brothers to compete with. However, no woman had ever called them Cynfell. Until now.
“Would it not be better to learn from your mistakes?”
“Oh, I never make the same mistake twice, but one is not really living if one is too cautious.”
He couldn’t help but agree, although that same notion was what had put him in debt to most of the gambling dens in London. What was the harm? He’d say. Was this life not short? Shouldn’t he enjoy every moment while he still could?
“You talk a good game, Evelyn,” he said instead of admitting to his doubts, “but I don’t believe you make every decision in your life without some caution.”
Or else she might have done more than simply slip into his bedchamber. She desired him. Perhaps as much as he desired her. He could think of nothing he’d wanted more than to pull her close and strip her bare. This woman heated his blood in a way he couldn’t remember many others doing.
She took another sip of wine and put the glass down. “It’s hard for a man to believe a woman might act selfishly, I suppose. Or like a man.” A daring smile curved her lips.
“The male of the species
are indeed selfish creatures.”
He was fairly certain he could count himself as one of those. It was the reason he hadn’t attached himself to anyone. Too busy enjoying and worrying about himself. One day, he might consider finding someone to concern himself with, but for now, he had no interest in changing his circumstances.
With the exception of the debt. He’d like to change that. If Julian was serious about cutting him off, it was going to take a lot of charm to see himself out of it. And apparently, he didn’t have enough of it. If he had, Evelyn Chesworth would not be toying with him at every corner, redirecting him and playing with his words. He couldn’t help but enjoy it, though.
“However,” he continued, “I don’t believe you to be selfish. You stopped to pick this poor waif off the side of the road, after all. And as for behaving like a man—” he eyed her “—there is nothing manly about you, Your Grace.”
A slight stain appeared on her cheeks. When was the last time she’d been complimented? He wracked his brain for knowledge of her but could come up with none. Even if her husband was recently deceased, he thought it unlikely she would remain unmarried for long, and she was clearly out of mourning if her vibrant emerald dress was anything to go by. A beautiful, wealthy duchess...either the men of society were mad or they knew something of her that he did not.
She returned her attention back to the meal and the conversation grew lighter again. Her husband had been dead for years it seemed and her son had been abroad for two years. She was entirely alone and something about this remarkable woman having no one saddened him.
“Do you spend much time in London?”
She shook her head. “Not if I can help it. Being Lady of the House affords one many luxuries. The freedom to speak, think, and act however one wishes. It means I’m not the best of company in polite society. I have a few good friends I visit with when I’m there, but if I travel, I prefer Scotland or Cornwall.”
Well, that explained why he hadn’t met her before. He was sure he would have recalled such a woman.
“You’re a duchess,” he pointed out. “Is it not up to society to conform to you and not the other way around?”
The Cynfell Brothers Page 21