* * *
Bryce Elliot Harlowe, Earl of Ravenworth, was preparing to enjoy the brandy he’d poured when a knock at the door brought his butler into the library. “My Lord,” Radcliff said, “a woman has arrived.”
“Does she have a name?” Bryce asked. He glanced across at his favorite chair. Enjoying a peaceful moment of reading by the fire would clearly have to wait.
“Miss Potter. She says she is here to see Mrs. Havisham.”
“Then she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.” The Havisham home was six miles in the opposite direction.
“ I wish to know if I might offer her the use of your carriage. It is almost dark outside, you see, and it has started to snow. Sending a young woman back out without escort would not sit well with me.”
Bryce had to agree. It wouldn’t be right to send any woman away again under such circumstances, no matter her age. “Have Peter make the necessary preparations, and in the meantime, please ask Miss Potter to join me.” He received few visitors these days and was starting to grow weary of his isolation.
“Very well, my lord.” Radcliff left, returning moments later with a woman who stood encased in a long black pelisse. She wore a floppy bonnet which dipped across her forehead, concealing her eyes. Several shawls were wrapped tightly across her shoulders and chest. “May I present Miss Potter?”
The woman attempted a curtsy even as she shivered, which prompted Bryce to step forward quickly and guide her toward the fireplace. Once there, he took a step back and sketched a short bow. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Potter. I am the Earl of Ravenworth.”
She tipped her chin up, her surprise unmistakable. It encompassed her entire face. But what caught his attention the most were her dark blue eyes. They left him completely dazed. Radcliff coughed, pulling Bryce out of his trance and enabling him to gather his wits. He turned toward his butler. “Please arrange for some tea and sandwiches to be brought up and—”
Miss Potter sneezed and then she sneezed again. And a third time.
“Oh dear,” she murmured as she took a step closer to the fire.
Oh dear, indeed.
Bryce gave her an assessing look before addressing Radcliff once more. “I believe we should get her out of her wet pelisse and hang it to dry in the kitchen next to the stove. The same goes for her shawls.”
“Yes, my lord.” Radcliff, being the practical, no-nonsense man he was, crossed to where Miss Potter was standing and held out his hand. “If you’ll please give me your outerwear, miss.”
Miss Potter hesitated. She glanced at Bryce, who gave her a reassuring nod. “We would hate for you to catch a cold,” he said. “Such a thing could very well ruin your Christmas.”
That seemed to get her cooperation. Her fingers quickly untied her shawls and peeled them away before going to work on the buttons of her pelisse. This garment came off too, revealing an equally black dress. But not without hinting at a slender yet curvaceous form. Beneath the other layers of clothing, her breasts had been undefined and unremarkable. Now, their rounded curves stood out, drawing Bryce’s attention in a way that made him wish she would keep on undressing.
Of course she didn’t. But she did take off her bonnet as well, exposing a pile of blonde curls that appeared to have been twisted and pinned down by force. It made him wonder what her hair might look like if it were set free – allowed to fall down over her shoulders and…
He swallowed and turned away, grabbing his glass and tossing back his brandy before swinging around to face Radcliff. “That will be all for now.”
The butler hesitated, gave a curt nod, and took his leave without closing the door as he usually did. The gesture was not lost on Bryce, reminding him that Miss Potter, whatever her station, was a young, most likely unmarried, woman. Being alone with her behind closed doors would not be appropriate, even if it meant losing heat from the room.
Sighing, he considered the figure she presented, standing there warming her hands, and he found his attention drawn by the shape of her neck. It curved so delicately, joining with her shoulders before disappearing beneath her gown. A few stray strands of hair curled against it, and for reasons unknown, his fingers itched to draw them back into place.
Wincing, he stepped toward her. “Would you like to sit?” he asked, indicating the armchair closest to the fire.
“Thank you.” She turned and lowered herself to the seat, then focused her captivating eyes on him. “I am sorry to intrude upon you like this, my lord.”
Bryce’s muscles flexed. The way she said, my lord… Damn, but he could too easily imagine her addressing him so in a far more intimate setting, a setting in which fewer clothes would be required.
“You needn’t be,” he managed to say while he claimed the other chair. His voice sounded rougher than he would have liked.
“It is kind of you to offer your carriage, give me tea and sandwiches, and allow me to warm myself by your fire.” She averted her gaze. “You did not have to.”
“No. I don’t suppose I did,” he agreed. “But turning you away would not have been right.”
This brought her eyes back to his with aching vulnerability. “Do you always do what is right?”
“I try to. Yes.”Though you might tempt me to toss that principle straight out the window. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be staying long. He’d not had a woman in quite some time, and with Miss Potter’s arrival, he was starting to recognize the strain of it.
“That is admirable,” she said, and he could see she meant it, which in turn made his chest tighten around his expanding heart.
