“With what?” he asked dryly. “How can you transform a library?”
“Let me worry about that,” she replied. “I assume it will take about two hundred pounds.”
He shrugged. “Done.”
Covering her tray, she smiled. “I shall see you in the morning.”
As she made to leave the room, he caught her arm and reeled her back like a fish on a line, and when his arms wrapped around her, she felt herself pressed firmly against his hard frame and the wall.
Heat radiated from his body like a steel furnace. In the low light, she could make out the sharp contours of his face, and his cologne was unmistakable. She felt warmth bloom beneath her skin, and the air in her lungs grew thicker.
His quiet words brushed hotly against her ear. “So, about this seduction you wanted—”
She pushed away and reflexively tightened her robe, “I never said Iwantedthat.”
“Yes,” his grip lessened. “Your words may not have said it, but your face spoke something entirely different. However, I will not lure you into my bed…” his lips brushed her cheek, “…unless you come to me first.”
For the next eight days, Dorian found himself in a revolving orbit with Evelina, brushing past each other but never truly entering her sphere. He tended to walk around in faded breeches, loose shirts, or even a robe, and almost always barefoot.
It always amused him to see her in varied stages of horrified, and knowing how she had been brought up prim and proper, his state of undress most certainly rattled her.
They were due to have a dancing lesson in an hour.
He was flicking through the ledgers, calculating the profits, when Evelina swanned into the room, the soft olive gown fluttering around her slippers. The gown hugged her upper body like a glove, and he allowed his eyes to trace over her silhouette hungrily.
He wanted to peel that bodice off her and suckle on her nipples, a color he envisioned was a shade darker than her impudent pink lips.
“These are the invitations I have winnowed out that I think will match your objectives,” she dropped a stack of invitations, the cards all sizes and shapes. “You will pick six of them, and we will attend.”
Cocking his head, Dorian stifled a grin. “Youare givingmeorders now?”
“Yes.” She took the seat across from his and folded her hands on her lap. “Now, tell me which ones I should respond to.”
As he sorted through the cards, Dorian asked, “By now, I thought you would be questioning why I have such a strong hold on this situation.”
“Oh, I question a lot of things; how arrogant you are, your all-encompassing need to control everything, and why you need to be so vague and indifferent. However, for the latter two, I think I have deduced a reasonable explanation.”
His eyes flickered up. “And what is that?”
“The deck was given to you by fate, but you cut the cards yourself,” Ellie replied.
Instantly, Dorian froze, and his gaze latched onto her, unmoving. A begrudging respect bloomed under his breastbone as he began to sift through the invitations.
“Lord Hanson, yes, he can be beneficial.Lady Restlake, no, that woman was hellbent on trying to wheedle me into precarious situations, and I can wager one of her many nieces will happen to be half naked in some washroom I enter.”
He sorted through more. “Earl Moortown, yes.Viscount Braxton, I am undecided on that one, but likely yes…” He paused at the next card. “…Islington, yes.Gladstone,no.Lady Tresman, yes, you might like that one.Baron Eastbrook—” He sat up rigid. “…Benedict Rothwell.”
“I know you do not like the family, but she is my friend,” Ellie pressed.
Dorian drummed his fingers on the table. “You may go, but I will not be within ten feet of that turncoat without being tempted to put a bullet between his eyes. Or a fist into his jaw.”
“Do you care to tell me why?” she asked.
He did not answer her then, but when he spoke, it was mostly to himself than to her. “Something tells me I’ll want a drink for this discussion.” He felt her wary gaze follow him as he crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and filled two glasses from two different bottles.
Returning, he held one out to her. “It is American Peach Liqueur. I don’t think you have the taste for whisky.”
Taking it, she sipped the sweet, citrusy drink, and he rounded the desk and sat. He threw back half of the drink, then plopped the glass on the table. Ellie sighed, stood, and slid the coaster she had placed on his desk half an hour ago under his glass.
