“Ouch!” The blue eyes flashed open.
“I’m so sorry. Let me see. No, I haven’t drawn blood—it’s only a scratch. I need to change my position.” Tongue clamped between her teeth, Tia shifted around, cutting and snipping as speedily as she dared, more aware than ever this haircutting was an extremely bad idea.
Soon the towel was covered with damp curls, and part of the back of Hal’s neck was revealed, as were his ears. Although the hair was wet and not yet properly arranged into the ‘Windswept’ style she was hoping for, she could see the transformation already. If only he would do away with that lowering expression of his, he could be quite the buck and would have the ladies falling at his feet.
Ha, what ladies?
If he wouldn’t go out or invite anyone to visit, he would continue to rot away here in his loneliness, hiding in his folly.
Only he was no longer alone. He had her. She was his friend, and she’d never abandon him, certainly not before she’d returned him to the world. Mama was right. She was making a project of the baron, exactly as she had with Mr. Roach. But her reasons were so very different.
Facing Hal again to ensure the hair at the sides was even, Tia was subjected once more to his penetrating scrutiny. He couldn’t take his eyes off her today, it seemed. She mustn’t give him any reason to berate her.
Avoiding the lure of his gaze, she lowered her eyes—and spotted the key hung around his neck.
Her heart sank. How could she be a true friend to him when this secret lay like a chasm between them? She had every hope now of being able to change his mind about Polly—all she needed to do was to teach the girl how to deal with taunts and bullies. That could be done without turning Polly into a heartless, wooden puppet.
But the issue of the folly, and the mysterious circumstances of the late Lady Ansford’s fall continued to goad her.
Shaking away the thought, she dug her hands into the hair on either side of his face and pushed it back, searching for any unevenness. His breath hitched at her touch, but she forced herself to do it again and peered closely at her handiwork. Now the hair was drying and had been relieved of so much weight, it had developed a pleasing wave.
Hal raised his head slightly to look at her, and she retreated a pace to admire the overall effect.
Her knees trembled.
God, he was beautiful. And he gazed at her as if she might be the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. But with her stupid apron, stray locks of her hair hanging down, and a good quantity of his own shorn hair adhering to her, he couldn’t possibly be admiring her. She must be reading it wrong.
“Tia.”
She backed away quickly, unpinned her apron, and shook it out before brushing at her dress. “Stand up, please.”
He had to stop looking at her like that. It made her want to throw herself into his arms. Grabbing a clothes brush from his dressing table, she cleared the stray hairs from his shoulders.
His broad, powerful shoulders.
The floor was now covered in hair. A servant could clean it up later. She needed to get out of this room.
“Tia.”
She avoided his eyes. “I must be getting back. They’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.”
“Wait. Don’t you want to know what I think of your handiwork?”
He peeled off his dressing gown and shook it off, then threw it over a screen before bending to admire himself in the mirror. She hovered behind him, staring at his reflection, and met his eyes in the glass. He straightened and turned to face her. His pupils were huge, almost eclipsing the blue.
“Capital job, capital. Do you think I pass muster now?”
Staring up at him, her gaze snagged on his firm, masculine mouth. He smiled at her, a rare, devastating glory, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
She forgot to breathe. Oh Lord.
Slowly, daringly, she stretched out her palm to caress his cheek. Immediately he pressed his hand atop hers and closed his eyes.
There was no denying the message that passed between their bodies. When Hal opened his eyes again, the heat she saw in them was like an open fire on a winter’s day, hot, inviting.
Ravenous.
It came as no surprise to Tia that a kiss should follow such a feral, triumphant grin. And what a kiss. Hard, possessive, hungry.
The pulse of desire she’d felt that night by the river flooded back, her body taut with a hunger of its own. But how to assuage it?
His lips pressed against hers, massaging and manipulating them, and she felt her own blossom beneath the pressure, increasing the delectable sensation.
What would happen if she kissed him back?
He pulled away for a moment, and she gazed at his sumptuous mouth, aching to feel it again. Instinct took over, and she tugged his head down, tracing the intriguing contours of his mouth with her tongue. This elicited a low growl from him, and instantly she was held fast as his tongue invaded her mouth, penetrating her with masculine potency.
As their kiss deepened, her mind reeled. Would he notice, would he mind, if she touched him?
She lowered one hand, sliding it tentatively down his side, relishing the firm flesh beneath the crisp linen of his shirt. Her throat went dry at the thought of what it might be like to palm his skin beneath the shirt, to examine all the places a woman’s hands were not supposed to go, except in the arms of her lover.
A lover? Tia broke the kiss abruptly, pushing out of Hal’s embrace. Her lips burned for him, her body ached for him, but was she prepared to take him as a lover? For surely this was what, by welcoming his kiss, she was inviting him to become.
She’d no idea where such a situation might end, but there was too high a risk of it not working out in her favor. So many young women had fallen foul of the wiles of men. In the poorhouse such women, and their bastard children, were legion.
Did she genuinely believe Hal the kind of man to take a woman’s virginity without the benefit of marriage?
Afraid to ask herself, Tia seized her scissors, muttered, “I’m sorry,” and stumbled out of the room, cheeks burning.
Chapter 20
The baron hadn’t joined Tia and Mama for luncheon, nor for dinner later the same day. This had been an enormous relief to Tia, convinced she’d thrown herself at him like a complete wanton, no better than the meanest doxy in Selbury.
An uncomfortable night had been spent fretting about her terrible lapse of self-control, partly because she didn’t know how she could live with herself. Mostly because she didn’t know how she could live with Hal either, certainly not without wanting to progress what had started between them.
She bolted down her breakfast in hopes of being finished before he came down, needing time to ascertain what on earth she was going to do.
“I saw the baron yesterday evening,” Mama remarked casually, glancing up from a letter she’d been reading. “He’d had his hair cut and appeared most presentable.”
Tia’s cup rattled back onto its saucer, splashing tea on her hand.
“What is it?” Mama put down the letter and eyed her closely.
Tia grabbed a napkin to mop up the spill. “Nothing at all. The cup slipped.”
“Tell me. I always know when you’re hiding something.”
I very much hope you don’t. But cutting Ansford’s hair was a minor misdemeanor compared with her other sins. “I cut it, Mama,” she confessed.
“You?”
“You must admit it needed cutting.”
“I can’t argue there. But it was outrageously improper, Galatea. How could you not know?”
“Nothing happened.” Tia hoped the heat flooding her cheeks would be put down to the warm day, and the hot cup of tea.
“Not in front of his valet. Who was present, I assume? But it doesn�
�t make your behavior any more acceptable.”
Tia had to pray Mama didn’t think to question Symons about the incident. “Ansford’s not that sort of man anyway.” Although she’d proved herself to be that sort of lady.
“One can never tell with a dark horse like Lord Ansford,” came the crisp reply. “I find him impossible to read. Don’t you?”
“I think I may be growing accustomed to his ways.”
Her mother eyed her keenly. “Good. But don’t ever let the man take advantage of your innocence, child. If it seems he’s interested in you in the wrong sort of way, if he makes you at all uncomfortable, we’ll simply save up the allowance he gives us and leave. We’re part of Society again, no longer alone and friendless. Why, I have received another invitation from Lady Douglas only this morning.”
Tia was no longer listening. Go? Leave Foxleaze?
Leave Hal?
Her stomach contracted painfully. “There’s no need to leave, is there? Besides, if Ansford were to develop a tendre for me, would you really object? Aren’t all mothers keen to see their daughters wed—”
“Good morning, Mrs. Wyndham, Miss Wyndham. I trust I find you well this morning?”
Hal.
The atmosphere hummed like a bowstring. After mumbling a response, Mama hid herself behind her letter while Tia dabbed her napkin at an invisible spot on the tablecloth.
How much had he heard? Wretched man. Why couldn’t he make a noise when he approached, like any thoughtful person?
There was an awkward silence while Hal’s chair was drawn up for him and his paper set by his elbow. Tia finally dared raise her eyes, fearing to see a knowing look on his face. If he thought for one moment she wanted, nay, expected, him to offer for her, she would die of shame.
Her heart gave a lurch when she saw him.
The haircut had truly transformed him from ascetic hermit to resplendent Adonis, perfect in form and feature, bright-eyed, intelligent, and devilishly attractive. He’d shaved, dressed with care—albeit in his habitual black—and observed his companions with interest rather than indifference, with pleasure rather than anger.
He looked, in fact, very nearly . . . normal. If anyone so devastatingly handsome could be called such.
“You must think me rude, reading my paper at table.” His tone was easy, relaxed.
“Oh, not at all,” Mama replied, “so long as you don’t object to me perusing my correspondence.”
“Not in the least.”
Tia watched this exchange, inwardly congratulating her mother on appearing so poised in light of what Hal might—or might not—have overheard.
The small teapot was brought in. He was still trying the St. John’s Wort, even though it must taste foul. He genuinely was taking some of her suggestions to heart.
Triumph upon triumph!
If only it weren’t for that damned folly, and his blind refusal to accept what was best for his daughter, she could almost . . . she could almost like the man.
“I trust the room is feline-free at present? I’ve had two pairs of breeches ruined already by the mountaineering monster.”
“I believe so, sir.” Tia was thankful to have her thoughts steered in another direction. “One might imagine the kitten has taken to you.”
“Indeed. I have the scratches to prove it.” He gazed at her intently. “Not because I’ve been unkind to it, you realize. It simply plays a trifle too . . . enthusiastically.”
She acknowledged the hit with a brief nod and waited to see if he was prepared to make any further attempt at ‘normal’ conversation.
His long fingers caressed the curved sides of the small teapot, making her recall with a shock how those same fingers had caressed her naked breast that mad midsummer’s night. Damn the man. Was he doing it on purpose?
“Is your preserve not to your liking, Miss Wyndham?”
What preserve? Oh, her breakfast, or what remained of it. Forgotten, apparently.
“I’m not as hungry as I thought, my lord.”
Her mother folded up her letter and placed it beside her plate. “Are you content to have us call you by your title, sir? It seems rather formal at the breakfast table.”
“Quite right,” he agreed affably. “We are family after all. I’m happy to be Henry, or Hal, whatever you prefer.”
Family? This was a development of enormous significance. Tia had never heard him use the word ‘family’ before. Surely this augured well for her plans for Polly?
The next moment, he spoiled it all by saying, “Although I believe I should call Galatea ‘Miss Wyndham’ in front of Polly. The child needs to respect her elders and betters, at least while Tia remains her teacher.”
At least while Tia remains her teacher . . . What on earth did he mean?
That he intended to send Polly off to the dreaded Academy earlier than planned? Or that Tia might soon be connected with Polly in a different capacity entirely?
If only she hadn’t made that comment about marriage. She was going to have to have a private word with Hal. He needed to explain his cryptic remark.
An explanation she needed, and soon.
Chapter 21
It was proving harder to be in close proximity to Tia than Hal had imagined. Every time he saw her, his thoughts darted up inappropriate avenues, recalling her soft breasts in his palms, the silk of her rose-petal lips as they surrendered their honeyed secrets. The vivid imaginings which laid siege to his brain were wholly unsuited to the breakfast table, and most definitely not the kind of thing one should be thinking about in the presence of a young lady’s mother.
Thus, it was with great trepidation that he allowed Tia to lead him into the Great Hall as soon as their meal was done. He wasn’t afraid of her, of course—only of his own ability to keep her at arms’ length. She was meant to be under his protection, for heaven’s sake. What kind of a rake would he be if he were to despoil an innocent under his own roof? Mary’s shade would most certainly not approve.
As he closed the door behind him, it struck him with full force he hadn’t worked in the folly yesterday, probably the first time in years he’d missed a day. Mary’s restless spirit wouldn’t approve of that either.
He gave Tia his full attention. “So, what did you want to inquire about that was best dealt with in private? You will have aroused your mama’s suspicions, you know. She’s nobody’s fool.”
Tia’s eyes scanned his face. He raised an eyebrow. Was there something wanting in his appearance? He’d done his best to live up to her expectations today—at least her expectations concerning his outward appearance.
“Is there . . . is there something you have planned I don’t know about?” Her voice sounded unusually tight, even hesitant.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you made any particular decisions concerning Polly’s future? Or . . . or mine?”
He smiled. Was she insecure? “Why no, I haven’t changed my mind about anything, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh.” She frowned.
He was missing something, wasn’t he? If he hadn’t shut himself off from the rest of the world these last three years, he might have been better at working out what it was. “Please tell me what’s bothering you. I’m no good at nuance.”
She chewed on her lip, and he clenched his jaw. What was to stop him sweeping her into his arms and kissing the abused flesh, or abusing it himself with all the force of his pent-up passion?
They needed to get this conversation done with quickly before he made a fool of himself.
Again.
Tia tilted her chin. “I only wanted to remind you we are taking Polly to the fair at Chippenham later this month.”
Deuce take it—he’d forgotten. He was nowhere near ready to go out in public. Especially not wit
h Tia and Polly, when he was finding it such a struggle to keep the lid on his desires.
“I’ve considered it further and find I have deep reservations.” Hal wouldn’t go into the reasons why. That would be putting too much power into those small, female hands.
“I know you think it too frivolous when this is meant to be a house of mourning,” she countered. “But Polly is ready to move on, even if you are not. You may deny yourself pleasure if you wish, but there’s no need to starve her of enjoyment.”
They were back to that argument, were they? Perhaps it was just as well. “You’ve been in this household barely six weeks, yet you presume to know the innermost thoughts and needs of its occupants.”
“I don’t mean to belittle your feelings.” Tia came closer. “Your devotion to your wife’s memory does you credit. But anyone will tell you it’s excessive, especially when imposed on a nine-year-old girl.”
Far too close to the bone. “You’re certainly free with your opinions, Tia.”
“As you pointed out earlier, Hal, we are a family—though distantly related—and families are frank with one another, even when they know their words will hurt.”
He rolled his eyes at the terracotta statues in their niches. “Now I remember why I chose to stop speaking to people. So my words couldn’t be used against me. All the same, my mind is made up. Polly is not going to the fair.”
Tia’s expression was no longer earnest. A spark of flinty anger lurked in the depths of those melting brown eyes. “Surely the baroness would have wanted her to go about and enjoy herself? You keep the poor child locked up like a caged bird, and it does neither of you any good.”
He went cold and gave an involuntary shudder. “That was what Mary used to say.” The memory was all too painfully clear. “She said I was so bound up in my ideals, and my political machinations, I’d forgotten how to enjoy life. We didn’t go out enough, we didn’t travel, I was always working and she felt caged . . . Don’t women perceive such pleasures have to be earned and are thus all the sweeter in moderation?”
Beguiling the Baron Page 10