“Come now, Grace. Do not tell me you’ve come all this way to lose your nerve. I promise to act the perfect gentleman. Brooks will hold me to my vow, won’t you?” Ian glanced at Brooks.
Brooks placed a meaty palm across his heart. “I have permission to bloody his nose should he attempt to take advantage, my lady.”
Grace’s lips twitched with the urge to smile at his outrageous remark. For all she knew, the two had rehearsed the part before her arrival. Nonetheless, she took comfort from Brooks’s presence.
And if she were truthful with herself, she didn’t fear physical harm from Ian. If he had meant grave harm, there had been sufficient opportunity when she’d arrived at his home the first night.
No, she didn’t fear physical injury.
She feared other things…her own weakness toward him after his kiss, her racing pulse when he touched her arm.
“Grace?” Ian held open the door.
She strode into the room before her courage faltered. “I’m quite curious to know how many garments a tailor could complete in such a short time.”
“If you will be kind enough to wait, I’ll show you.” Ian and Brooks disappeared in an adjoining dressing room.
Once alone, she scanned the room. It was masculine but sparsely furnished with a mahogany chest of drawers and a desk in the corner. It was the enormous four-poster that drew her attention. She’d only glimpsed it before, but now that she was close, she couldn’t help but stare. It was exceptionally large, likely custom-made for his tall frame. A blue silk coverlet was spread over the bed, and plush cushions were piled high at its head.
A sudden disturbing question cut through her thoughts. Did he entertain his lovers here? Her face grew warm. Why should she care? She turned away just as Ian and Brooks emerged from the dressing room.
Her breath caught. Ian was garbed in full evening attire. She’d thought he would select black and white for the ball, but he’d surprised her with a navy coat of kerseymere and a striped navy and yellow waistcoat. A crisp, white cravat decorated with a diamond pin gleamed in the lamplight.
“Well? How do I look?” Ian asked.
She blinked. He looked magnificent. Breathtaking. He would draw all the ladies’ eyes. She could imagine a majordomo announcing him at the top of the ballroom stairs. Ladies would glance at him behind fluttering fans and whisper about his handsomeness. Men would glare at him with ill-disguised envy.
From Ian’s arrogant stance, he knew all of this.
A wicked instinct took over, and she wanted to knock his arrogance down a notch. “Somewhat acceptable.”
One dark eyebrow shot upward. “Somewhat?”
She raised her chin, and her gaze roved to the dark locks that brushed his collar. “You need a haircut.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “You’re hard to please.”
“You didn’t hire me to please you.”
Dark eyes lowered to her lips. “Oh, I know that all too well.”
Oh, he was a devil.
Brooks cleared his throat from behind them. “She’s right. Your hair is too long.”
Without breaking eye contact with Grace, Ian issued an order. “Fetch the shears, Brooks.”
Brooks hesitated. “You sure?”
“Very.”
Brooks nodded and departed.
“You want Brooks to cut your hair? Or don’t tell me that you mean to cut it yourself?” Grace asked.
“No. I mean for you to cut it,” he said.
Her defiance slipped. Her gaze returned to the dark hair that had reminded her of a raiding pirate the first moment she’d seen him on the gaming floor of the Raven Club. “Me? But I’ve never performed such a task. Not even for my young brother.”
“So? How difficult can it be?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I could accidently shear you like a sheep.”
“I’ll take my chances. You aren’t scared, are you?”
He was challenging her. She knew it and should refuse to be goaded, but she found herself capitulating. “Fine, but you are not permitted to complain afterward.”
Brooks returned with the shears.
“Give them to the lady. She will do the deed.”
A flicker of amusement crossed the large man’s face as he looked from Grace to Ian. “You sure about this, Castleton?” Brooks asked.
“Don’t call me that.”
“My lord.”
Ian gritted his teeth. “That, either.”
Brooks was clearly enjoying himself at Ian’s expense. “Pardon, Mr. Swift.”
Ian scowled.
“The first two forms of address were correct,” Grace said.
“I told you to ‘my lord’ me only when we are out and about. Only then.”
She already thought of him as Ian when she shouldn’t. She should take her own advice and think of him as Castleton. But how?
Brooks winked at Grace. “Good luck, Miss Ashton.” He bowed, then promptly departed and closed the door behind him.
She turned to Ian. “Wait! Why is he leaving?”
“You have the shears. I wouldn’t dare attempt to seduce you,” Ian drawled.
She gripped them, feeling their weight. Narrowing her eyes, she faced him. “Fine. Remove your coat.”
Ian shed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat and placed the items on the bed. As he moved a chair into the middle of the room, she tried not to stare at the muscles that bunched beneath the linen shirt.
“Not on the Oriental carpet. On the hardwood.” She motioned to where she wanted him to place the chair. “Since you have no housekeeper or a full staff of maids, it will be easier to sweep.”
He placed the chair away from the edge of the carpet and onto the polished, hardwood floor. Then he sat with his back to her.
Grace swallowed hard, and her heart fluttered. This wasn’t what she’d expected tonight. She had her notes prepared; she knew exactly what she was going to teach. Cutting the Earl of Castleton’s hair was certainly not on the list.
Ian glanced over his shoulder, his gaze dark and mysteriously compelling. “Are you ready?”
Chapter Nine
Grace wasn’t sure she would ever be ready for this man. She took a deep breath, then stepped close.
Reaching out tentatively, she touched Ian’s dark hair. It was softer than she’d expected, like silk. Once it was trimmed, there would be nothing soft about him. He was already a muscular prizefighter, a hardened owner of a gaming club, and most confusingly, a man who resented inheriting an earldom. Yet, he’d kept to their agreement and refused her father admittance into his club not once, but twice. He was a complex man, not easy to predict or understand.
What new side of him would she next discover?
“Go on.”
She swallowed and reached for the longest lock at his nape. She raised it to reveal a glimpse of skin, paler than the rest of his bronzed neck. Raising the shears, she snipped the piece of hair and watched as it fell to the floor.
She caught the slight tensing of his jaw. “I can stop now if you say the word.”
“Keep going.”
The maddening hint of arrogance in his tone drove her to continue.
She cut and snipped, her brow set in concentration. Cutting hair wasn’t the simple task it had seemed. She smoothed his thick hair to be sure her cuts were even. All the while he sat straight and silent. She was aware of the breadth and strength of his shoulders and the warmth of his body as she worked. The scent of his shaving soap teased her senses. Her thumbs ran down the back of his neck, caressing the strong tendons there.
He inhaled deeply at her touch but never turned.
The task was much more intimate than she’d initially imagined. She was extremely conscious of his virile appeal. In the quiet room, she was sure he could hear the blood rushing through her veins. Deep down, she’d wanted an excuse to touch him and she had it now. She brushed loose hair from his shoulders, and memories of his kiss returned in an unwanted rush. The ravishment of his
mouth had turned surprisingly gentle. She’d never forget when his tongue had traced the soft fullness of her lower lip.
She cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected. She knew such an attraction was perilous and that she would have to guard her own actions as well as his.
She moved to the side to cut the hair near his ear and—despite her resolve—her gaze fell to his mouth. She felt the all-too-familiar sweeping pull in her stomach.
Madness.
Her feelings for him had nothing to do with reason.
While she felt warm and fluttery inside, he sat still and unaffected. She knew he’d had lovers. Women at the club probably threw themselves at him.
What could one mere kiss mean to a rake?
It wasn’t fair. He’d brought her untried senses to life with the ease of an experienced lover. Her knees were weak and her heart was hammering in her chest, while he appeared to be merely tolerating her ministrations. She touched his cheek, pretending to brush aside loose hair.
He continued to sit ramrod straight.
She ran her finger along his jawline, attempting to assess his unreadable profile.
He turned then. His intense gaze captured her own, and she gasped and nearly dropped the shears. She realized her mistake.
He wasn’t unaffected.
There was a wild look in his dark eyes, a smoldering promise of more to come. His chest expanded and his fingers tightened on the arm rests of the chair. The tensing of his powerful body was not from cold disinterest but from measured restraint. He looked like a predator ready to pounce…and she was his prey.
Oh my.
Rather than experience fear, a thrill passed down her spine that she had so affected him.
Don’t play with fire, Grace!
She quickly stepped back and set the shears on the chest of drawers. “I’m finished.”
He stood and turned around slowly. The cut emphasized the chiseled planes of his face and made him appear even more attractive. How was that possible?
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his shorn locks. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Was he referring to the act of cutting his hair or the closeness that was required?
She raised her chin and tried to calm her racing heart. “It was a necessary task, but not one I’d like to repeat.”
A flash of emotion swiftly crossed his face…admiration…challenge? She wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that she had to flee this room before she succumbed to wickedness. “The hour is late, I must leave.”
“I’ll see you home.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“It’s not a request.”
…
Ian settled across from Grace on the padded bench of his carriage. She stared out the window, her posture stiff as she nibbled on her lower lip. Even though she remained silent and kept her gaze averted, he sensed her disquiet. He purposely moved forward on the bench. She stole a wary glance at him, then quickly looked away again.
He watched her, leisurely studying her profile. There was both delicacy and strength in her lovely features. Her temptingly curved mouth spoke of a man’s fantasies. Her blue eyes were tilted at the corners and framed by thick lashes. Curly tendrils of dark hair had escaped the heavy mass at her nape and framed her face.
His heart thundered with a fierce longing he was powerless to resist. Even though he’d been resolved to keep his distance, he’d found himself devising an excuse to keep her close. He’d been the one to insist upon her cutting his hair. He’d thought by having her touch him, without him touching her in return, it might awaken her senses.
What a fool he’d been.
Her simple touch had tested him beyond measure. It had been erotic torture to sit still and not look at her as she’d worked. The air in the room had turned thick with barely suppressed desire.
Even now, the cool evening air did little to quench his need. His body was tense, his muscles tight at the thought of pushing her down on the bench seat and kissing her senseless.
He continued to study her instead.
She’d raised the carriage shade another inch and continued to look into the night. Clearly, the discomfort of looking at him outweighed her fear of being recognized by a late-night passerby.
“Rumor has it your father wants you wed to Viscount Newton’s youngest son.”
She turned from the window to fully face him, surprise reflected in her eyes. “Where did you hear that?”
“Knowledge is as important as money in my business. Are you going to marry him?”
She smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her skirts. “My father would be most pleased.”
“And what do you want?”
“To resolve our financial burdens, but by a different means.”
“Ah, fortunate for me.”
He didn’t know the viscount’s youngest son. He shouldn’t care. Grace was to tutor him, nothing more. His immediate concern must be his sisters. He needed to be accepted as the new earl, a member of the beau monde. He must be able to escort Ellie and Olivia to balls and parties and not blemish them with his black reputation or embarrass them with his coarse manners and dress.
What did he care who the baron sought for his daughter? An uncomfortable heat centered in his chest. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He was never jealous of the women he’d been with. And he had never even bedded Grace. He’d also never pursued a woman or become emotionally attached. Women came to him, and his intentions had always been made clear. When a liaison had run its course, he had easily parted from them.
Don’t be a fool, he mused. She was not for him.
What he was feeling was lust, simple lust. He’d been working long hours at the club and had neglected his base needs.
She worked her lower lip again and met his gaze. “I cannot come tomorrow night.”
“Why?”
“I have to attend a ball.”
“Need I remind you the Crowley ball is not long away,” he said tersely.
“I’m aware.”
“We cannot afford to miss an evening of instruction.”
Her lips thinned with irritation. “It’s only one evening, and you needn’t behave rudely. That’s not the way a gentleman speaks to a lady.”
“Was I being rude?”
“Quite. I’ve done everything you’ve asked so far of me. I even cut your hair.”
He ran his hand through the clipped locks. “I suppose I should be grateful.”
“Yes, you should.”
Frustration roiled in his gut. Was it because she wouldn’t come tomorrow? Or because another man would dance with Grace, hold her in his arms. Take a turn with her in the gardens. Steal a kiss.
His frustration made his iron-clad control slip.
He leaned across the bench seat, watching as her eyes widened in slight alarm.
“I enjoyed it when you touched me.” His knees brushed her skirts. “Tell me. Did you enjoy it as well?”
Her breath hitched, and she stirred uneasily across from him. “You mustn’t ask such questions.”
His gaze fell to the creamy expanse of her neck above her cloak. She was a challenge he needed to conquer. He knew she felt desire for him as she’d stroked his hair. He needed her to acknowledge it.
“Since you seem unable to speak the truth,” he said, “let me confess. I liked it very much. I didn’t want you to stop.”
She gasped. “You didn’t?”
“That’s right. I longed for you to touch me more, to touch me elsewhere.”
Her pink lips parted.
He leaned closer until he could see the darker blue specks in her magnificent eyes. He had an undeniable urge to have his kiss be the last on her mind…for his kiss to block out the possibility of any others.
“I wanted to turn in that damned chair, pull your head down to mine, and kiss you senseless.”
“Oh my.”
He was treading on forbidden ground. He needed her to tutor him, but
at the moment, his stronger need was to claim her mouth. The time spent in his bedchamber sitting like a statue as she tormented him with her touch had made him stiff in his breeches and his chest ache until it felt as if it would burst.
Her head pressed back on the padded squabs, and her eyes slipped to his lips.
It was an irresistible invitation.
Lowering his head, his lips brushed hers, once…twice. Unlike the first time, he was infinitely gentle. She sighed and parted her lips for him. He slipped his tongue in and slowly stroked hers. She came alive and kissed him back, clutching his shoulders. He pulled her closer, groaning into the kiss and slanting his mouth over hers to deepen it. Her lips were warm and sweet, and her soft mewls of pleasure drove him onward. Her corseted breasts brushed his chest and left him burning with a desire to possess.
His hands explored the hollows of her back, rose to graze the sides of her breasts, until his finger brushed her nipple. She gasped and squirmed beneath him. The peak hardened beneath the silk, and he grew harder in his trousers as he imagined suckling her there. He fully cupped her breast, and she cried out in pleasure. If he didn’t touch her flesh, he’d go mad.
He reached for the tiny buttons on the back of her gown just as he became aware of the slowing of the carriage.
If she realized they had arrived in the back of her father’s home, she showed no response. Rather, she continued to kiss him, her tongue tangling with his. He was worldly experienced, yet she was driving him to distraction.
With great effort, he pulled back. “We’re here,” he said, his voice hoarse with need.
Her eyes flew open. “Oh,” she said, then scooted across the bench and smoothed her hair. When she met his gaze, her cheeks were flushed and her lips glistened from their kissing.
“Enjoy your ball, Grace. I shall expect you promptly the night after tomorrow.”
…
“I like her,” Brooks said.
Ian reached for the crystal decanter and refilled his tumbler with expensive whisky. After he’d safely seen Grace home, he’d gone straight to his library. Brooks had followed him and poured his own drink.
How to Tempt an Earl_Raven Club Page 7