“Come down from there and watch me butchermy face. I’m used to having my valet perform the duty.”
With him drinking, he’d probably beheadhimself. She stepped down and rounded the table as he swiped fromhis throat up to his chin, leaving a red blotch. He attemptedanother swipe and she winced.
“Damn. I’ll bleed to death before the day isout. Here, you do it.”
In the bright light of the morning sun, shelooked at the heavy beard. Scraping that rug off flesh? Sheswooned. “I can’t.”
He pushed the blade across the table. “Youcan’t do any worse.”
She had watched Molly shave her father butthis was different. With shaking hands, she took the blade, not atall sure about putting a blade to a man’s skin. He grabbed herwrist and forced his tankard into her hand. “Drink,” he orderedwith calm implacable authority that always rankled her. “Willsteady your nerves.”
She drank a long draught, let it burn downher throat, coughed, then lifted it and drank some more. He removedthe flagon from her hands, despite the desire to drink more.
“Not too much, it will blur your vision. Idon’t desire to have my head on the table. Get on with it.”
She winced with the unhappy task. Biting herlip, she carefully scraped along his chin, rinsed the blade in thebasin of water and scraped again. Her musings were erroneous. Hedid not possess a weak chin. On the contrary, it was a square chindenoting strength.
“What do you think?”
Devoid of beard, the beauty of his pure,classical bone structure reminded her of a painting of AdmiralHoratio Nelson who she had idolized. Maybe his chin was almostperfect, but just enough off to have character. Below the ridge ofhis brow, intelligent, probing blue eyes raked her. Her cheeksheated. He was so much handsomer than she expected. “I could becharitable,” she teased.
“Be honest.”
The man was a force. “You’ll fairly do, Isuppose.”
“Your commentary is hardly charitable. Doyou think I’d have a chance with the females of England?”
Alexandra shrugged. “How am I supposed toknow? Perhaps a swine herder’s, toothless daughter?” She giggledand put the blade to his throat again.
“What made you take up thievery?”
She stopped midstream, her fingerstightening around the handle. She had never denied his assumption.Or was he miffed because she had not called him handsome? Shegritted her teeth, refusing, to add to his vanity.
She wiped the blade clean, her heart givinga traitorous leap at the sight of his broad shoulders so close tohers and his sternly handsome face etched with the morning light.“Why do you believe I chose the profession of thief?”
“Why do you always answer a question with aquestion?”
“Because you are a dim-witted, mulish manbent on believing what he wants.” She dropped the blade into thebasin. Water splashed on his chest. She turned to leave. He caughther arm.
“Then let’s pretend you are not a thief. Whywere you caught in Baron Sutherland’s library?”
She pried at his fingers, one by one, but heheld fast. “I had my reasons.”
Nicholas scoffed. “Not good enough. Whywould someone go to all the expense to have you privatelytransported when all they had to do was turn you over to theauthorities?”
Alexandra straightened to her full height.“Because they wanted to get rid of me for good. To get rid of thelast of my line.”
He snorted. “Of a sea captain and hiswife?”
Of course, he put no relevant motivation tosomeone getting rid of another with low-birth lineage. She did notdelude herself that she had a choice to tell him her history,however painful it was. Days of secrets, concealing the truthweighed like an iron anchor, sinking her farther into the muck.
She took a deep breath. Would he mock her?“I am not Alexandra Elwins. My real name is Lady AlexandraSutherland.”
Nicholas gave a sharp bark of laughter.“Impossible. Everyone knows, Alexandra Sutherland died when she wasa child, accidently dropped out a window by her kidnappers. Thedisaster was in all the papers, the most famous abduction ever, andthe tragedy, on the heels of Baron Sutherland’s death.”
“The story was spun by my stepmother. Tosecure the baronetcy for her son…she invented a crime. At thefuneral, she dramatically cried over a closed casket of her belovedstepdaughterexcept the coffin was empty. Everyone in the countrybought her woeful story of bereavement, declaring, ‘How could LadySutherland handle so much grief?’”
Nicholas stared and released her arm. “Theidea is so fantastic. Of course, it is not unheard of, long lostrelatives coming forward to claim rights to properties and titlesof those who are deceased. It takes years of the court’s time todeclare who is the official owner.”
