“Does your head ache right now?”
“A little.”
“Take your hair down,” he ordered. “I’ll not have my assistant suffering with a headache.”
“It is fine, really. I should not have mentioned it.”
Shaking his own head, Theodore backed his chair up then rolled it around until he was beside her. “Turn around. So you are facing away from me. I’ll do it for you.” The prospect was at once thrilling and daunting. He’d never unpinned a woman’s hair before, even when he’d been able to see what he was doing.
“I don’t think—”
“Obviously, you don’t if you wear a hairstyle that pains you. Turn, please.”
“That was rather rude. You’re being obstinate again.”
“As are you. I’m waiting.” He tapped a foot against the bottom of his chair.
“Hmph.”
With what he guessed was a flounce and probably a roll of her eyes, she turned away. Slowly he raised his hands, then lowered them until they rested on her head. His fingers slid lower until they found the chignon at the nape of her neck. Gently he began searching for pins. It did not take long to find one and pull it out. He set it on his leg and resumed his search.
As the silken strands began to loosen, it became all he could do not to run his fingers through the mass and bury his face in its depths. Since their shopping expedition a few weeks earlier, she had been wearing a fragrance that both pleased him and drove him mad. It pleased him because he always knew where she was in a room now. He only had to follow her scent.
It was driving him mad because he found the floral bouquet stimulating. It had awakened in him something that had slumbered nearly three years, and he wasn’t in a position to do anything about such feelings. Nor was he entirely comfortable having them about Beatrice when a mere month ago he had been betrothed to her cousin.
I am no longer betrothed. Last week, he had dictated a letter, formally ending his engagement to Violet based on her elopement with another man. He’d made sure to send it to her father this time. A few weeks earlier, writing a letter of that nature would have been unthinkable. But it had been accomplished with ease and had even brought relief.That chapter of my life is closed.
He removed another pin from Beatrice’s hair and set it aside, then allowed the strands to slip through his fingers, taking great pleasure in the sensation. Without his sight, touch had become critical. He reached for her often, always grateful when she placed her hand in his outstretched one. That connection reassured him, comforted him. Anchored him. Itreminded him he was no longer alone in a mad, dark world. He wasn’t on his own, and the world was no longer dark. Somehow, in spite of his inability to see, Beatrice had brought him back into the light.
Beatrice, who was not only lovely in soul and had lightened his burdens but also had the softest, silkiest hair he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.
In front of him, she cleared her throat before whispering, “I believe that is all the pins, milord.”
“Theodore,” he said, feeling a sudden tightening of his own throat. With great reluctance, he forced himself to remove his hands from her hair. He had looked forward to many pleasures of married life, but he had never considered the simpler ones. What would it be like to have the privilege of brushing his wife’s hair every evening before bed? To sit and talk with her at breakfast each day, to walk together in the garden, to strategize with one another over a chessboard? “Please call me by my given name as well.”
Her skirts rustled as she turned toward him. “Only when we are alone. I am still your employee and should address you properly when in the company of others.”
“All right,” he agreed. With so few on staff and the absence of visitors from the outside, they were most often alone. “I want to—may I touch your face? So I can see—as much as is possible—what you look like?”
“Like other humans, I have a forehead, a chin, and a straight nose. Nothing remarkable, milor—Theodore.”
He grinned to put her at ease. “Milord Theodore...I rather like the sound of that.”
“Soarrogant,” she muttered, but he heard amusement in her tone.
Theodore lifted his hand hesitantly. “Please,” he asked, at once serious again, the request rendering him vulnerablerather than arrogant. He had to touch her. He wasn’t certain why; it was almost as if he needed to know she was real and not some figment of his overwrought imagination. Not the desperate dream of a man abandoned—both on the battlefield and by his fiancée.
In answer, her fingers curved over his, and she drew his hand toward her. She placed it on skin as soft and smooth as her hair had been silky. His other hand lifted of its own accord, and he found the other side of her face. His fingers lingered a moment before sliding over its contours.Cheekbones, nose, forehead.
“My eyes are also brown,” she said as if she’d anticipated him asking.
He smiled, a picture starting to form in his mind.
In comparison to his own, her ears felt dainty. Her chin was firm. Her lips... His thumb lingered there, tracing their fulness. He heard her swallow and caught the sharp intake of her breath.
What am I doing?He knew what hewantedto do. Or what his body—his mouth— wanted to, anyway. But was it the right thing?What are my intentions?That he cared for Beatrice was absolute. She had become his best ally, his most noble of friends. That he was attracted to her was also obvious. And having never seen her, his attraction had to be true—more than a mere physical connection—did it not?But if I kiss her...It would be a declaration of much more than friendship.
Drawing in his own labored breath, he withdrew his hands from her face. “Thank you.”
