I wish I didn’t have to go to Oxford. I’m tempted to tell Klint to give my stuff away. But I’ve paid for the train ticket now, and he’s expecting me. Leaving Dain, even for two nights, is going to be excruciating, especially since I have a feeling tonight might be significantly more intimate. His ‘delightful ways we can spend the evening’ has set my expectation that he wants to take things further. Honestly, reader, with the way I’m on fire for him right now, I wouldn’t say no.
***
It’s early evening when, after having had a quick dinner in Leeds, I make my way through the cold gloom of Haworth, eagerly seeking the shelter of home andhim. I’ve barely taken off my coat when Dain appears in the doorway holding a lamp. ‘You’re back,’ he says, sounding relieved.
I laugh, drinking in the sight of his gorgeous face. ‘Of course! I’m hardly going to run away, am I? I’ve been dying to kiss you all day.’
He hooks the lamp on the coatrack, scoops me into his arms and kisses me in the yellow glowing light. I pretend to swoon but then actually do as the way he kisses is totally swoonworthy. My bag drops from my hand onto the floor, and everything falls out with a crash on the black-and-white-tiled floor. But I hardly notice, relishing the feel of his warm, soft lips moving over my cold ones.
He stands me upright again, and I wobble, seeing stars.
‘Better?’ he asks with a grin.
‘Uh, yes, I think I’ll live.’
He hugs me tightly and whispers, ‘Have you eaten?’
I nod.
‘Good. Let’s go upstairs.’
I quickly tidy my stuff back into my bag but leave it where it is while he unhooks the kerosene lamp. He grabs my hand, and we walk up the stairs. We reach the top, and I see his closed door looming ahead. I freak out slightly, but I have to face my fear.Lizzy, whatever is in there won’t be as bad as what you’re imagining—nothing ever is.And the thought of spending the night with Dain is more than motivating me to get over myself. However, I wish he’d shown his room to me earlier so it wasn’t such a big deal now.
He grabs the door handle and grins at me. ‘Ready?’ he asks.
I nod, my palms beginning to sweat.I’m seriously going to scream if there’s anything resembling a bat in there, and it’d better not be haunted.
The door swings open, and he ushers me in. At first, I can’t see anything but the orange glow of a fire burnt low in the grate. Then Dain holds his lamp aloft, and my mouth drops open. The walls and ceiling of the sizeable room are painted a rich ruby red to match the parlour downstairs, but that’s not what I’m gaping at. There’s an enormous dark mahogany four-poster bed hung with black velvet curtains, along with various other pieces of antique furniture. A woven oriental rug in an intricate pattern of scarlet and gold covers the floorboards.
‘What do you think?’ Dain asks.
‘It’s ... fantastic ...’ I say, a little lost for words. An upstanding flat wooden contraption catches my eye. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a trouser press, in perfect working order. And look!’ He gestures to the dresser, where there’s a complete set of silver-backed gentleman’s brushes. ‘Horsehair. They were a real find and lovely to use.’
I puff out my cheeks. ‘Why are you showing all this to me now?’
‘After last night ... Well, I guess I feel closer to you. I know you won’t judge me and think I’m nuts. I’m sure it must look a little eccentric.’ He takes my hand and gazes at me expectantly, as if he’s wanting me to say his exquisitely detailed libertine’s bachelor padisn’teccentric.
But at least I know what’s in here now, and I can set my mind at ease. OK, so it’s spooky. But what did I expect from a guy who’s only recently come around to the idea of indoor plumbing?
‘It’s a little overwhelming, as is everything with you ...’ I say slowly, and I see a flash of hurt in his eyes. ‘Dain, I don’t mean it in a bad way. I always need some time to adjust to your ... lifestyle. But it’s really cool, very Byronic,’ I say, and he brightens.
‘Yes! That’s the look I was going for.’
‘I mean, this bed!’ I shake my head and walk over and move aside one of the velvet curtains. It truly is a masterpiece, as high as my waist and super king-sized with thick carved wooden pillars at each end. It’s made up with a black silk coverlet and has half a dozen plump black silk pillows. I push down on the mattress, and it springs back firmly.
‘It’s a memory foam mattress,’ explains Dain. ‘Offers great comfort and support.’
I press my lips together to keep from giggling. He sounds like a Victorian bed salesman.
‘Aha, excellent,’ I say seriously, giving it another quick push. ‘So no chance of back issues?’
‘Nope.’ Dain grins at me roguishly and leans against one of the bedposts, folding his arms. He’s wearing a white shirt with a ruffled neck and cuffs tucked into crotch-hugging skinny black jeans and looks rather like a lascivious Romantic poet. My pulse elevates.Goodbye, Mr Vicar. Hello, Mr Romance ...
My glance happens to fall on the free-standing mahogany armoire to the side of the bed. It has three door sections, each with an ornate carved shell motif at the top.Hah, I bet all his mood wear is stashed in that wardrobe—I’d love to have a poke around. I bet he’s got some interesting bits and bobs in there ...
I peer closer at the wardrobe as it looks vaguely familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere before. Then it comes to me. It’s depicted on the front cover of book 1 of Sophronia’s Secret Life.Come to think of it, the four-poster bed is too!It’s not random artwork from the imagination of a book cover designer—it’s real. That book had me blushing hotter than spending fifteen minutes in a sauna. How much of it is drawn from real life?
