by Lora Darling
“Why am I even thinking about hearts, awakened or otherwise,” she mumbled as she gathered her skirts and mounted the stairs. By this time tomorrow, she’d be settled back in the country, London and all of its distractions firmly behind her.
That included a particular Frenchman in possession of practiced kisses, warm hands, honeyed words, and a tantalizing collarbone.
“Do get a handle on your musings, Eirene. For pity’s sake, you’ve the mind of a woman trapped in a lurid novel.”
“My lady?”
Eirene halted halfway up the stairs and turned to find Petley’s butler hovering at the bottom, look of disapproval firmly in place. “Yes?”
Of course he had likely overheard her conversation with herself, but she’d not mention it and no servant worth their salary would either.
“Pardon my boldness, my lady, but you’re going the wrong direction if you mean to leave.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The street lies beyond the same door you entered.”
Grinding her teeth in an effort not to scold the man for his impertinence, Eirene somehow managed a smile, albeit one that likely looked a tad disingenuous. “I am not attempting to locate the exit, but thank you for your service. I shall leave a good word about you to your master before I depart.”
She turned her back on the gaping butler and continued up the stairs, careful to keep her thoughts to herself lest she give the man something further to discuss below stairs with his fellow servants.
After all, appearing without a chaperone upon the front stoop of a bachelor’s home was quite enough fodder to keep the servants gasping and tittering over their midday meal.
****
Adrien lay abed, staring at the canopy. The maid had come and gone with his coffee, which sat, untouched and cold, on a table across the room. The valet had made three attempts to coerce him to rise and dress, going so far as to lay a set of clothes across the foot of the bed, but Adrien lacked the motivation to stir. He’d gotten little to no sleep, thanks to a certain freckled vixen who had no desire to clap eyes on him ever ag—
“My God! I was told you were awake and decent.”
Adrien shot upright as Eirene’s voice pierced the silence of his vast bedchamber. She stood in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, the other pressed to her stomach. She looked beautiful, dressed in a dark green walking dress with a subtle edging of black lace about the hem and high collar. Her hair, unbound and glorious, caught the sunlight that spilled into his room from between the curtains the maid had pulled open without permission.
He made a mental note to kiss the maid when next he encountered her. On the cheek, of course. He had no desire to kiss any lips that were not located upon the face of the woman presently glowering at him as if he had lured her into a den of sin.
“What are you doing in my room, Eirene?” Belatedly, and thanks to the direction of Eirene’s wide gaze, he recalled his habit of sleeping in the nude. He glanced down to find the sheet safely pooled in his lap. For good measure, he tugged it a little higher lest his body decide to acknowledge her sudden appearance in a very inappropriate manner.
“I’ve come to discuss an amendment to our arrangement, but clearly this is not—”
“I was under the impression our arrangement ended last night?” He hadn’t seen the morning paper. Hadn’t wished to. No doubt it contained a sumptuous report of their behavior at Lady Palmer’s ball with details aplenty to see Eirene thoroughly ruined and his reputation as a rake unthreatened.
“Yes, had things progressed as planned, you would be correct.” While speaking, she walked farther into the room and closed the door. He did not fail to notice the way she kept her gaze averted from the bed, and it made him want to lunge to his feet, sans sheet, and beg her to pet every inch of his body. It was the very fantasy that had kept him awake all night, the thought of her hands moving over his flesh, followed by the fullness of her lips and perhaps the moisture of her tongue.
Jesu! The sheet stirred over his hardening cock, and he slapped a hand over his lap.
Meanwhile, unaware of his growing agony, Eirene wandered toward the fireplace. She halted beside the untouched breakfast tray and picked up the unread newspaper. “Have you seen the gossip?” She threw the question over her shoulder without looking at him.
“I have not.”
“It was quite accurate and damning.” She laid the paper back down, then fondled the lid of the coffee pot. He wished she would not. “Needless to say, I was elated upon reading it, believing my reputation to be in tatters.”
Adrien frowned at her choice of words. “Eirene? What has occurred?”
Abandoning the coffee pot, she drifted the rest of the distance to the fireplace. Her hand trailed along the edge of the mantle, hesitating as her fingers drew even with a small, framed portrait. She leaned close, and he braced for the inevitable question.
“What a lovely portrait.”
“Oui.” The image was of himself, Cyril, and Sir and Lady Petley. It had been commissioned months prior to his seventeenth birthday, or as he believed at the time, to commemorate Adrien Benoit’s seventeenth birthday and two year anniversary of life among the Petley’s. The artist had done an excellent job capturing the warmth that had existed within the small family. A warmth that had included him from the very beginning but one he had never known to be authentic.
Maybe someday he would allow the betrayal to fade away like a bad memory, but for now, it still rankled.
“How old were you?”
“Not quite seventeen.”
She surprised him by sending a direct smile over her shoulder. “And already breaking hearts, I imagine?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“You are too modest.” Her smile faltered, and she turned away once more. “I received numerous calling cards from various gentlemen this morning, Adrien.”
He sat up a little straighter, his instincts going on full alert at her use of his name, coupled with the slight roughening of her voice.
“At first, I believed the gentlemen were renewing their efforts to win my hand despite my scandalous behavior.”
“They were not?” Mon Dieu, if the calling cards were what he suspected—
“They were offering carte blanche.”
To hell with propriety. Adrien left the bed and went to Eirene. She visibly stiffened but made no move to avoid his touch as he took hold of her shoulders and gently spun her to face him. “I demand to know their names.”
Her smile was as brittle as old paint. “You cannot think to challenge all of them.”
“I can and I will.”
“No, you will not.” She slipped free of his grasp and brushed by him, close enough to drag her hem along the tops of his bare feet. He shivered at the contact. “I have formulated a new plan to counter this unwanted development.” She glanced back, then quickly away. “I will need your help.”
Adrien returned to the bed to tug the sheet free and wrap it about his hips. “You can turn around, Eirene.” She gave a little peek first, then turned to face him, her gaze drifting along his exposed torso then up his neck to finally find his eyes. Jesu, her look could boil water. He forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. “What do you need me to do?”
She twisted her hands together, then buried them in the folds of her skirt. “It is obvious I have successfully rendered myself unmarriageable, but now I am tasked with having to render myself unfit to be a mistress.”
“Short of contracting some foul disease, I do not see how you could possibly—”
“You and I must become engaged.”
It took Adrien a moment to shake free of his thoughts and process what she had said. “Engaged?” He croaked the word as if a frog had lodged itself in his throat. “I thought the entire point of this maddening endeavor of yours was to avoid marriage?”
“Becoming affianced does not have to mean marriage, Adrien.”
“In my world it most certainly does.”
“We are not
discussing your world or even the real world. We are discussing my great dilemma and how best to solve the latest development.”
“An engagement is not the solution. Trust me.” Was the woman daft? Could she not see the complications that would surely arise from such an—
“It is the only solution.”
Adrien bit the inside of his cheek and counted to ten so as not to give into the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. When he felt in control of his emotions, he attempted to explain why her view of things was askew. “Couples who are affianced have a tendency to anticipate their vows.”
“I see.” She shifted her focus away from him while worrying her lower lip with her teeth. A deep look of contemplation came over her followed by a brightening of her copper eyes that should have served as a warning, and yet, Adrien was still caught unaware when she said, “Anticipating the vows is an excellent idea.”
Lord have mercy on his soul. The woman was a loon. A beautiful, sweet-smelling, deliciously curved loon.
He raked a hand through his sleep tangled hair. “It is a terrible idea.” God help him if she asked him to expl—
“Nonsense. If we become engaged, then call off the arrangement after we have anticipated our vows, surely the scandal will be extraordinary? No man wants a notorious mistress, do they?” She clapped her hands together. “It is brilliant!”
He backed up for fear she meant to hug him in triumph. “It is not brilliant. It is yet another one of your schemes doomed to fail because you have not considered the consequences.”
“I am quite certain your reputation will survive a broken engagement, Adrien.”
“That is not the consequence I speak of.” He moved closer, forcing her to back up until she bumped the edge of a chair.
She put up her hands but did not place them against his bare chest. “Must you stand so close?”
“Oui.” Proximity would help him make his point.
She lowered her hands, oh so carefully so as not to brush even a single fingertip against his skin. The caution made him want to grab her hands and put them all over his body, beginning with the parts under the sheet.
“What consequence do you speak of then?” Her voice had lowered an octave, and he could not mistake the sudden fluttering of her pulse at the base of her throat for anything other than what it was. Arousal.
He fixed his attention upon that pulse point long enough to make her breath catch, then he slowly dragged his gaze up until it clashed with hers. “You have not considered the consequence of allowing me inside your body.”
Her eyes flared wide, her mouth fell open, and a wash of bright red suffused her freckled cheeks. “Well, I…I mean to say…”
She took another step back, but there was nowhere to go but into the chair. The sudden shift in elevation put her eye level with his groin. A gentleman would have stepped back. He certainly would not have leaned forward and braced his hands upon the chair arms.
He felt the sheet part over his left thigh. If he weren’t careful, the damn thing would fall off into Eirene’s lap. Funny, at the moment he could not fathom why that would be bad.
“Given your reputation as a rake, I highly doubt the two of us—” She gestured wildly. “—would leave that lasting of an impression upon you.”
“And what of you?” He bent his arms to bring his face closer. “What if being intimate leaves a lasting impression upon yourself? Have you thought of that?”
She turned her face away. “I am far too sensible to allow such an act to—”
“Eirene.”
She snapped her mouth shut and turned to face him. “Is this the part where you kiss me in an attempt to prove a point?” Despite the scolding tone, her gaze drifted toward his mouth.
He smiled. “No.” That earned him a narrow glare. “This is the part when I tell you to touch me.”
“Touch you?” She nearly shrieked the question.
“Go on. Anywhere you wish.”
She frantically shook her head. “That is a horrible idea.”
“Why?” Go on, admit it. “Are you afraid?”
Her chin came up as she drew her shoulders back. “Afraid? Of what? Touching you? Ha! It is not as though doing so will injure me. I touched you last night, and here I sit, hale and hearty.”
“Then go ahead,” he goaded. “I dare you.”
Chapter Eleven
Goodness, he had dared her to touch him.
The last time anyone had dared Eirene to do anything, she had ended up flat on her back, unable to breathe for several moments. Touching Adrien would hardly end the same as her failed attempt to climb a stupid tree. First of all, she was sitting down. One could not fall and end up flat on their back from such a position. Secondly, if she did not fall, there was no threat of knocking the air from her lungs so breathing should not be an issue.
All in all, there seemed no logical reason to ignore the dare.
Besides, as she had pointed out to him, she had already touched him. She had touched his collarbone. His chest. His lips. Why did he believe the current situation different? Her gaze skittered across his very bare chest. Unlike last night’s touching, which had been conducted while he had remained fully clothed, save for jacket and cravat, he stood before her now in naught but a sheet. And a poorly knotted one at that. If he so much as sneezed…
“I am waiting.”
Decision made, she reached out and traced the ridge of his collarbone. It felt much the same as it had the previous night. Reaching the end of the bone, she retraced her path back toward his throat then lowered her hand onto her lap and lifted her gaze to his.
“There. I touched you and am none the worse for wear for—”
He took hold of her hand and pressed it against the makeshift knot holding the sheet around his hips. “You touched me there last night so it does not satisfy the dare.”
“You did not specify where I was—”
“Do not play coy, Eirene. It does not suit you.”
“My grandfather would have agreed with you.”
“Let us not bring your grandfather into this right now, hmm? I am not sure he would approve of where your hand is.”
His words drew her attention to her hand. When the devil had she moved it from the knot at his hip to the top of his thigh? A little to the right and she would find herself with a handful of—
“Go on.”
She imagined those two words, spoken precisely in that husky, seductive tone, had preceded Eve taking the apple from Satan. Adrien laughed when she said as much out loud.
“Oui, you likened me to the serpent and the apple upon on our first meeting, if you recall, but I am not Satan and it’s not an apple I offer.”
Careful not to move her hand even the slightest bit, she looked in his eyes. “Remind me what you are attempting to prove?”
“I am attempting to illustrate my belief that you will not be able to forget a moment of intimacy between us, but damned if I remember why.”
“Because I claimed myself too sensible to allow such a thing?”
“Oui, that was it.” He flicked his gaze toward her hand. “Well? Will you admit I am correct and discard your new scheme or will you prove me wrong and convince me to go along with the faux engagement?”
“You will agree to my new plan if I accept your dare?”
“Oui, but only if you manage to remain unaffected, and given the way you reacted to my kisses last evening, I’d say your chance of success is slim.”
“Your kisses scramble my mind.”
“But touching me will not?” He nodded once. “I see. Very well. Have at it.”
Eirene curled her fingers around the edge of the knot. The sheet was fashioned from the softest linen, its hem edged with a thick band of satin. The color, a rich, deep burgundy. A perfect match to the gown she’d worn at their first meeting. Had he taken note of such a detail?
The backs of her fingers brushed the hardness of his hipbone as she tugged at the knot. He
inhaled, forcing the muscles of his lower stomach to constrict. The knot gave way, and the weight of the blanket did the rest, leaving her hand hovering over the taut skin of his furred thigh. She made a fist in the air, suddenly unsure if any of this was wise. Perhaps there was another solution to her new dilemma? Another option not considered. A convent, for instance.
“Eirene?”
She shook her head and closed her eyes against the sight of her pale fist hovering close to his tantalizing thigh. Good heavens, had she ever wished to lay her hand upon anything as desperately as his flesh? To feel the crisp hairs and the muscle. A pain seared her chest. Heavens, was that longing? Desire? Arousal? Hunger for him?
“Eirene?” He repeated her name then his hands framed her face.
She opened her eyes to look at him. “You win.”
He shook his head while dropping to his knees. “No. This is not a game. I had no right to even hint otherwise. Forgive me.”
“If I say you are forgiven, will you kiss me?”
“Do you want me to kiss you, Eirene?”
“Oui.” He smiled at that, as she had hoped he might.
He leaned in then kissed her…cheek?
Eirene frowned. “I meant upon the mouth.”
In one motion, he stood and dragged the sheet back around his hips. “I need a moment.” Without further explanation, he left her sitting in the chair, staring after him as he crossed the room and passed through a narrow, paneled door, which he closed behind him.
Well then!
She spent a few minutes simply sitting in the chair before it occurred to her to do something productive. If the kiss she had requested progressed in the direction she suspected it may, the current chill in the room might prove inconvenient. Thankfully, everything she required to make a decent fire was at hand. In no time, thanks to the many lessons at her grandfather’s side, a lovely blaze roared in the hearth. She poked at it a few times with the wolf’s head fire iron then replaced the tool alongside its matching mate.
“There are servants on Cyril’s payroll who cannot fashion as impressive a fire.” Adrien had returned without making a sound. He stood directly behind her, his voice in her ear, his breath in her hair.