There had been a few, brief moments when that same awareness which had struck him at their first meeting had flared between them, the fiery acknowledgment that there was a powerful attraction burning hot and bright. But then she had vanquished it with her ice, and he had held his tongue and bit his cheek to keep from saying anything he’d later regret.
He passed by the chamber he knew was hers, noting the lack of light beneath the door. At least one of them was finding solace in slumber this evening. But he didn’t begrudge her the rest. Even when he wasn’t at a post, Theo slept as little as possible. The dreams couldn’t haunt him when he was awake.
After another pass of the hall, he had satisfied himself that there was no movement, no sounds, and no intruder. Nor was there a golden-haired goddess wielding a fire iron and intending to do him mortal harm.
Pity, that.
He found his way to the cantilevered stone staircase at the heart of Hunt House and descended to the next floor, where lesser guest chambers were mixed with various antechambers. A music room, a salon, a second drawing room which was less grand than the first a floor below it. When he neared the opposite end of the hall, a flickering glow beneath one of the doors captured his attention.
It was damned unlikely that an intruder would have stopped to light spills and illuminate a brace of candles, but one could never entirely be certain when it came to criminals. With a hand on the hilt of the dagger he kept concealed in his waistcoat, Theo stealthily crept down the hall, stopping just short of the closed door. Holding his breath and taking care to move as soundlessly as possible, he reached for the latch and slowly, so slowly, opened the door.
As the portal inched wider, a familiar scene within was revealed to him.
He exhaled and released the cool metal of his dagger, pulling the door open to announce his presence. Lady Deering was draped over a chaise longue, clad in a frothy confection he supposed was meant to be a dressing gown, but which only served to heighten her alluring femininity. She was all sweet, womanly curves and cascading golden locks, bare toes peeping from the hem of her garment, ankles crossed in an indolent pose he’d never seen a lady affect before.
In her lap was the same leather folio he had seen her drawing so furiously in earlier in the garden. She held the porte-crayon in her elegant fingers, her face drawn into an expression of deep concentration. It was in that moment Theo realized that, despite his having opened the door, in spite of his presence on the threshold to the chamber, the marchioness had no inkling that she was no longer alone.
By Deus, she was like a newly hatched duckling ready to fall prey to the gnashing teeth of a vicious, hungry fox. First, she had been abandoned on the street with no protection save an aging coachman. And now, she had failed to notice she was not alone. Unlike the night before when she had set about to brain him, this evening, it seemed as if all her defenses had been toppled to the ground.
Perhaps it had been the wine he’d noticed on her breath earlier. He still could not keep himself from wondering where she had been this evening, and whom she had been with. But that curiosity was every bit as blockheaded as the rest of the nonsense flitting about in his mind, so he ruthlessly forced it away.
Theo cleared his throat quietly, announcing his presence.
With a startled jolt that sent her porte-crayon flying to the Axminster, her gaze flew to his, a gasp falling from her parted lips. Her hand splayed over her heart, drawing his attention to the fullness of her breasts beneath her dressing gown. His cock twitched.
“Sir,” she hissed, making no attempt to hide her displeasure at discovering him there, intruding upon her solitude in the private drawing room. “What are you doing here? Do you never sleep?”
He didn’t answer her questions, merely strode deeper into the room, allowing the door to fall closed behind him “If I were a villain intent upon doing you harm, I could very easily have done so, given how distracted you were by your sketch. You need to take better care with yourself, Marchioness.”
She rose to her feet in a swirl of pale linen. “Who is to say youaren’ta villain?”
She had a point there. “But not a villain who intends to harm you, my lady.”
No, indeed. Harming her was the furthest intention from his mind. Everything he wished to do to her involved a great deal of pleasure. Unfortunately, those things were all doomed to remain lodged inside his head rather than ever coming to fruition.
She bent down to retrieve the implement she had dropped before straightening and flashing him a cool smile. “As you can see, I am not an intruder, and nor is one skulking about in the corners. The only intruder is standing before me. Shall I fetch a fire iron?”
Was she taunting him? He could scarcely credit it.
Theo drew so near that the faintest hint of her scent teased him. “Not unless you wish to repeat what happened the last time you attempted to brain me, Marchioness.”
Her nostrils flared, her chin going up to a defiant angle that made him long to kiss her until all that ice melted to molten flame. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Perhaps you’d be surprised by what I’d dare,” he told her, stopping before her, holding her stare.
Blue, lush blue. He could lose himself in those eyes with perilous ease. But he was no longer the careless young prince who had flirted and seduced so many eager ladies at court. He hadn’t had a lover since coming to England, and he had no intention of taking one now. Not that the icy widow before him would deign to welcome him into her bed.
“I suspect you’re a man of many hidden surprises,” she said softly, some of the chill in her voice unexpectedly thawing.
More than she could ever imagine, he thought wryly.
But aloud, he offered simply, “Not more than any other man.”
Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowing as she considered him with an intensity that made him instinctively want to look away. “I think you are bamming me, sir.”
Bamming her? His English was very good, but that was an unfamiliar term, one that evoked incredibly wicked thoughts. He didn’t reckon it meant what a certain part of his anatomy hoped it did.
He suppressed the desire threatening to rise. “You seem the sort of lady who believes whatever she wishes, regardless of what she is told. Believe as you like, Marchioness.”
