He tugged on his cravat. “I think I pulled the wrong end and made the knot tighter.”
“And you want me to try and get it off?” Lord, she sounded daft.
“That is the idea,” he said with a frown that suggested he might be worried she’d hit her head. “Hence my reason for inquiring after your help.”
“Right. Of course.” She stood and closed the distance between them, which only required taking a couple of steps. Reaching up, she focused all her attention on the knot in question, not on the enticing scent of sandalwood filling her nose or the fact that she feared her heart might run off without her if it raced any faster. Her jaw set, her fingers loosed one part, wove a strip of white cotton through, then tugged here and pulled there until the entire cravat came free. She saw Mr. Dale’s throat work and heard his hard intake of breath as she stared at his neck.
She’d felt this tension before, in the carriage when he’d placed his hand on her thigh and held her gaze with his own. The kiss that followed had been inevitable – just as inevitable as it was now. Only now, in this room, there was no telling where it might lead.
Wilhelmina stepped back. Away from danger. “There you go.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lawson.” She gave a swift nod and started to turn away when he said, “I hate to trouble you with this, but I worry I’ll nick myself with the blade unless you shave me.”
She stilled. “I beg your pardon?”
He sighed. “At home I have two large mirrors set up. When I’m at Clarington House, my father’s valet helps out. But here there’s only one small mirror.” He indicated the one that hung on the wall. “It’s barely big enough for me to see my entire head.”
His disgruntled tone made her lips twitch. “Are you saying you’re big headed?”
“I would never admit to any such thing,” he told her lightly. “Seriously though, you had a husband for what, twenty years? I reckon you must have some experience with a blade, unless a servant did the task.”
“We only had a maid of all works, so you’re quite correct in your assumption, Mr. Dale. I do know how to shave a man.” She’d done so for George most mornings before breakfasting. Until the last year of their marriage when he’d spent every night with Fiona and she’d accomplished the deed. For Wilhelmina, it had always been one of those chores she’d enjoyed helping her friend with. She’d chatted away while he sat and listened to whatever thoughts struck her fancy. Later, he would do most of the talking, relating the news of the day to her while reading the paper. It had been habitual, but this did not make her oblivious to the intimacy of the task.
She stared at the box Mr. Dale held toward her as if it threatened to burn her fingers. Carefully, she reached out and took it. There was really no way around this unless she planned to explain her reluctance to touch his face, which she did not.
Wilhelmina willed her hands not to tremble and gestured toward the bed. “Have a seat.”
He did as she asked while she set the box on the nightstand. “I’ll need to lather your face first.”
“Of course.”
She went to locate the soap. How on earth did he manage to act as if all of this was perfectly normal? Wilhelmina had no idea. Her nerves were jumping about and Mr. Dale looked completely at ease. Damn him. With a shake of her head she opened the tin box beside the wash bowl and was instantly overcome by the fragrance of roses. An unexpected chuckle rippled through her at the thought of covering Mr. Dale’s face with such a feminine scent.
“What’s so amusing?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She soaked one of the washcloths, wrung it, and gathered the soap.
When she turned to face him, every bit of amusement she’d just experienced vanished, as if swept away on a breeze. For there he sat, shirtless of all things, patiently waiting for her to proceed.
14
It wasn’t easy, feigning indifference while Mrs. Lawson stared at him. For a second, he worried he’d pushed her too far. But he never shaved while fully clothed since water and soap invariably dripped. Plus, he’d thought it a great excuse to gauge her response. Wide-eyed and with her lips slightly parted, she seemed visibly shocked by his state of undress. Yet another hint she wasn’t as worldly as she tried to appear.
There was something else in her gaze, however – a flicker of interest and, dare he hope, appreciation. James’s stomach clenched. He could scarcely wait for her to touch him, the anticipation of the moment when they would come skin to skin tightening every muscle. So he held his breath and watched her approach, his gaze never leaving her as she laid out a towel on the bed and placed the soap on top.
Her palm settled firmly against the back of his head to hold him steady, and James nearly growled with pleasure. Tamping down the response with all his might lest he scare her off, he stayed completely silent while she wet his jaw.
She dropped the washcloth on the towel she’d placed beside him on the bed, picked up the soap, and slowly massaged it between her fingers. God help him but he found the simple task seductive. Or maybe it was just the scent of roses that fogged his brain. One thing he did know, and that was that he had to keep his hands to himself at all cost or she’d be straddling his lap in a heartbeat.
Christ. Perhaps the shave had been a bad idea?
He could have managed it on his own if he’d taken extra care, but he’d wanted to bond with Mrs. Lawson in a way he’d never bonded with anyone else. For some peculiar reason, he wanted more from her – a shared experience intended to bring them closer. Not even Clara had been this intimate with him. She’d been his wife and they’d shared the same bed until he’d learned of her unfaithfulness, but she’d always thought the task of shaving him to be beneath her.
Mrs. Lawson’s fingers began working over his cheeks, forcing her nearer as she leaned in. Her leg pressed up against his, prompting him to grab the edge of the bed and hold on tight while need spiked through him. Perhaps it was because he was starting to see her for who she truly was that he wanted to craft this pointless memory with her. Initially, she’d been alluring, exactly the sort of woman he would have chased after if she’d been available. But then she’d become the villainess, the very antithesis of what he wanted. Until fate had thrown them together and forced him to see.
He wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to go along with her husband’s claims or why she continued insisting she was a fallen woman, but with each new experience James shared with her, it became increasingly clear to him that she’d never taken a lover in her life. Hell, even sharing a room with him for the evening had put her on edge.
He took a deep breath and breathed in her scent, not of rich perfume but rather of honey and lemons. His heart answered with a hard thump. More homely woman than crafty temptress, she was exactly what he’d always wanted, and it pained him to think she’d ruined their chance of being together for any reason. But at least there could be this.
