“Indeed.”
When he returned to the table, he sat opposite her, putting the hard wood of the table between them.
Evidently Fielding had found his gentleman within.
Esme turned over for the hundredth time since crawling into bed. It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable; it was actually quite plush and warm. It wasn’t even that she was wide awake, as her lids felt heavy with sleep, and the yawning was getting to be ridiculous. Yet sleep evaded her, and she couldn’t seem to keep her body settled.
Ever since she was a child, she’d been enchanted by the legend of Pandora’s box. Her father had regaled her with all the ancient stories and legends when she’d been but a girl. She’d curl up in the nook of his arm and he’d spin the tales long into the night.
When her parents had passed on, she’d wanted only her father’s library as remembrance. Not that Elena or Raymond would have given her anything else. As it was, she’d had to beg for the books. She’d taken those books and she’d studied. Formed her own hypotheses and become a scholar in her own right when it came to Pandora and her legendary box.
Despite what Fielding thought, Esme knew she was no dreamer. When it came to her studies, she was quite levelheaded. Why, then, did she become a complete goose around him? Rolling over, she shoved her left leg out of the covers and held up her arm. It was too dark to see anything other than the shadow of her limb, but she knew the bracelet was there. The weight of it rested against her skin. Pandora’s curse dangling from her wrist. Something that should have made Esme undeniably irresistible to men.
Only that wasn’t how it worked. Instead, she was the one who was cursed. Fielding’s touch had left her blood pulsing with desire, her body aching to be caressed. She was filled with lustful thoughts for a man who clearly did not want her. Twice now she’d offered herself to him, and both times he’d resisted. And this from someone who swore he wasn’t a gentleman. Yet he was doing a remarkable job imitating one.
CHAPTER 10
How is your aunt?” Fielding asked as soon as Esme stepped into the dining room the following morning. He placed the newspaper on the table.
“Still sleeping soundly.” Esme seemed quite determined to look anywhere but directly at him. “I fear I might have slipped her a bit too much brandy last night. But I checked to ensure she’s still breathing, and she’s snoring quite contentedly.”
Fielding couldn’t help but notice that Esme looked lovely this morning. Her hair hung loosely down her back in russet-colored curls that looked so soft he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through them. She wore a plain and rather worn gown of soft lavender that looked pleasant against her fair skin. When she finally looked up at him, her cheeks pinkened ever so slightly.
“It smells heavenly in here,” she said.
He motioned to the buffet. “The marquess has spared no expense. Although I do believe our host is still abed this morning. He had a late night.”
“I know the feeling,” Esme muttered as she piled her plate with smoked fish, eggs, and warm bread.
“Did you not sleep well?” He sipped his coffee. He certainly hadn’t, a fact that both annoyed and intrigued him. No matter what was occurring in his life, he’d never been one to fight sleep. But last night as he’d watched Esme slip into her bedchamber, he’d had half a mind to tell her to lock it behind her, so unsure was he about his ability to withstand her temptation.
He’d kissed plenty of women. There was no running tally, no notches in his bedpost, but he’d had more than his share of the fairer sex. And it wouldn’t be sympathetic or romantic of him to acknowledge the fact that he’d never shared a more explosive kiss with any other woman. With her willing body straddling his own, he’d wanted nothing more than to bunch her skirts up around her waist and plow into her, yet while he was certainly not above bedding unmarried women, he was fervently against seducing virgins.
It took her several breaths before she answered. “Merely thinking about a solution to our current problem.” She sat adjacent to him, placing her plate atop the crisp linen tablecloth. “There simply has to be a way we can get this off. I would suggest we try to saw it off,” she said with an impish smile, “but I suspect the metal has been treated for such an attempt.”
A saw. He grabbed her wrist, then turned her hand palm up. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” he said as he ran two fingers along the pale flesh of her wrist. Her pulse flickered beneath his touch, and she uttered a breathy sigh.
He didn’t relish the thought of brandishing a saw that close to her perfectly creamy wrist. Drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair, he stopped and reached for the newspaper.
She motioned to the paper. “Anything of interest occurring?”
He looked down at it again. “Mostly talk of the queen’s Golden Jubilee.”
She chewed thoughtfully. “I’d forgotten that was coming up. Fairly soon too, if I’m correct?”
He nodded, then sipped his coffee. “They’re timing the festivities with the eclipse.”
She piled eggs on top of a bite of bread, dipped it generously into her jam, then popped the morsel into her mouth. Fielding enjoyed watching her. She, unlike most women he’d encountered, was not shy about eating in front of men. Quite the contrary. It seemed Esme Worthington rather liked to eat.
He sipped his coffee and continued to watch her.
She stopped mid-chew, then swallowed. “Are you not eating?” she asked. Evidently she’d only just noticed that no plate sat in front of him.
“Not this early. I’ll have something later.”
She nodded. “Is that coffee I smell?” she asked as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“It is.” He smiled. “Would you like some?”
