He led the way into the library and had the footman lay out the tarts and strawberries and cream, picturing the last painted on a naked feminine body. He had the three bottles of champagne placed on a table that he moved near a divan that faced the fireplace.
After a low fire had been built, he sent his man away too. “Have the carriage sent at dawn.”
Finally alone, he went down to the kitchen and unbarred and unlocked the garden door. Then he returned to the library and took inventory with a quick examination of the details. Aside from the many books and some peculiarobjets d’arts, he spied two decorative pillows that he moved to the divan, and some odd Turkish textile that he placed near it too. Content that he had prepared the chamber as best he could for seduction, he opened one of the bottles of champagne, poured himself a glass, and waited.
He idly wondered if Harry would mind if he made use of one of the bedchambers. He eyed the divan and the carpet, considering all possibilities. None of his speculations did much to dull the pitch of sensual provocation he experienced, much more piquant than normal. He admitted that the mystery and novelty of this assignation awoke his jaded imagination. So had the lady’s arch wit during their first conversation. She had thrown a glove to the ground. He looked forward to making her moan with submissive pleasure.
He checked his pocket watch. Ten o’clock. He listened, only to hear silence. The notion began to snake into his mind that she might not come.
Ten more minutes passed. Then ten more. He drank his fourth glass of champagne and began to accommodate his disappointment. What had he said to Harry? There was a river of women out there.
He opened another bottle of champagne. It occupied him for a few minutes. When he had it ready and waiting on the side table, he settled back in and admired how the low light from the hearth gave the wine a pleasant glow full of dancing bubbles.
As he did so, he realized that he was no longer alone.
She stood in the corner near the door, barely visible. Only by concentration did the shadows come alive with her form. He had heard nothing. She’d simply materialized there.
He peered hard at the few details the flickering light picked out. No mask. Dark hair bound tightly. She wore a long, dark shawl that hung like a cloak and obscured her a shape. A bit of dark cloth at her neck suggested she wore a dress that was far different from her shepherdess gown.
“So you have come.”
“At great risk to myself.”
“Why?”
“You promised champagne. I have never had any.”
He lifted his glass. “Some might say it is worth any risk.”
She did not move or speak. His eyes adjusted to the dark more. That ugly dark shawl festooned with dark red rose blooms hid her dress, her body—everything.
“Why don’t you sit here, and I will pour you some.” He gestured to the divan beside him.Sit here, my dear, and I will soon relieve you of that hideous shawl and whatever it covers.
Again, she neither moved nor spoke. He looked harder, this time at her face. Large pools looked back. He noticed the way she kept her back to the wall. His intentions receded from his mind, and he saw a woman, not a conquest.
A frightened woman. Of what or whom? Him, or just being here?
You jaded, stupid ass. She had said she risked much. He had known she was not very experienced. Of course she was afraid. Of him, of being here, of many things.
His decency emerged from the lake of champagne he had drunk. He readjusted his plans. “Perhaps you would prefer to sit in that chair in front of you.”
She hesitated, but moved to sit on the high-backed chair. Her shoes poked out. Black slippers. No wonder she had not made a sound.
Then he noticed what showed above them, encasing her legs from knee to ankle.What in hell?
He poured her a glass of champagne and brought it to her, not getting too close. She held it up and watched the bubbles.
“It is pretty.”
“Try it.” He retook his seat.
She moved it partway to her mouth. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
He had already had plenty, but he poured himself another glass.
“Tell me, shepherdess. Is there any particular reason why you are wearing trousers beneath that shawl?”
“They are pantaloons. You find that repulsive, I expect.”
