Plop, plop, plop.
What on earth was that dripping? He spun, nearly spilling the brandy, his gaze searching for the culprit, his movements jerky and jittery from the ghost-like shivering state of Lady Felicity. His gaze landed on a black cloak thrown over an armchair, a steady trickle puddling up on the floor beneath. Her thick wool coat was completely soaked through. Bloody hell, did she walk here from London?
He hurried back over to her and handed her the glass of brandy, but her hands trembled too violently to drink it. He clasped his hands over hers and slowly brought the glass to her lips, carefully angling the drink. After a few sips, some color suffused into her translucent skin.
He let out a burst of air with a whoosh. All right. He could breathe a bit easier now. And that’s when he truly noticed her dress. Fucking shite. The sleeves were almost non-existent strips of sheer fabric. One of which had fallen off her shoulder—a delicate, round, very soft-looking shoulder.
He swallowed. There seemed to be a protuberance in this throat all of a sudden. Because the dress also appeared to be a size too small. At least in the bosom. Her breasts looked in danger of toppling right out. And those were her—his eyes widened—oh God, those were definitely peaked nipples pressing against the fabric. Sodding ballocks.
He hastily glanced at the brown leather sofas that sat on either side of the fireplace, and then at an armchair, and then a settee, and then a sideboard, desperate for a safe place to gain purchase. Where in the blazes was Baldwin?
He focused on the flames in the hearth, every so often glancing at the frozen woman to assess her color, her tremors. When Baldwin had first alerted Ash to Lady Felicity’s arrival, Ash had thought he must be having another one of his dreams. He was a sick and twisted old man, he knew. He’d had one too many dreams about the woman standing before him. But he couldn’t control his mind once his eyes shut at night.
Lady Felicity’s teeth chattering echoed over loud around the drawing room and occasionally clanked against the glass of her snifter of brandy. Highlighting that this was no dream. It was a waking nightmare. His son’s fiancé—his son’s young, five-and-twenty fiancé—was standing before him, scantily clad, wet, and in desperate need of warming. Perhaps this was a test from the universe. If he failed, he would be sent down to hell. He would have finally committed one too many sins.
He glanced to the heavens.You are sick bastards, the lot of you.Was that laughter he heard in response? No, just thunder.
The clacking of teeth finally quieted, and he looked back at Lady Felicity. Her amber eyes, the same color as the brandy in her glass, examined him. He shifted back and forth on his feet.
“I do not mean to sound rude, so please forgive me. But what on earth are you doing here? Where is your brother, your mother,”—he looked around the room—“or anyone?”
“There is no one with me, Your Grace,” she said softly, the flames of fire reflecting in her warm brown eyes. “I came alone.”
He stepped back. Alone? Why would she—his son’s name in the recent edition ofThe Morning Postflashed in his mind. Bloody hell. What had his foolish son done now? Ash grimaced. Well, besides the obvious.
“Does this have anything to do with Colborn?” he ventured hesitantly.
At that moment, Baldwin appeared with a pile of thick white towels. “Here you are, Your Grace.” Effectively cutting off Ash from uncovering the reason for Lady Felicity’s visit.
Argh. Bloody lovely timing.
Ash took a towel and directed Baldwin to place the rest on a leather sofa. “Thank you, Baldwin. Ensure a room is readied for Lady Felicity and her things are brought up.”
“It has already been done, Your Grace. We have put her in the usual room across from Lady Pandora.”
Excellent.
Lady Felicity’s face lit up at the mention of Ash’s daughter. A warmth, like the first sip of whisky, slid through Ash. Pandora wasn’t a normal duke’s daughter. But she had always gotten along with Lady Felicity. And that meant the world to Ash—for his daughter to have a friend, another woman to act as confidant. Since she had never had a mother. The warmth fled. Because of him.
He stepped back up to Lady Felicity. “May I?”
She nodded, water dripping off her soaked, sagging coiffure onto her neck, chest, and arms. It shouldn’t be possible to be so beautiful when sopping wet. One drop ran tantalizingly slow down her clavicle, heading straight for—he hastily started rubbing her arms with the towel.
The elusive woman watched him, studied him, as he warmed her, her skin turning a healthy shade of pink which he hoped signified her chill was subsiding. Either that or he was rubbing her skin raw.
He threw the damp towel on the sofa and grabbed another. He stepped forward and wrapped it around her shoulders. Pushing her directly into him. Pushing her breasts directly into his chest.He froze, as if all the cold that had been in her seeped into him.
That was a very stupid thing to do, Ash.
She blinked up at him beneath soft, frilly, brown eyelashes. Her slowly-pinkening lips parted. Did he imagine she just stepped closer to him? What was happening?
He hastily stepped away, grabbing another towel from the sofa and handed it to her. “For your coiffure.” He waved his free hand in the direction of her head. “And the dripping.”
She dabbed at her hair, darkened to a deep brown from the rain, a soft smile playing across her face. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
He had always been enraptured by her hair. It was brown, but it was also auburn. When the light hit it just right, it lit up with streaks of mahogany. It was warm and rich like brandy. Like her eyes.
Bloody hell. He needed to find out why she was here and get her out of this room. Before he completely lost his wits. And his cock got too many ideas.Control yourself,he ordered his prick.
