“Good evening to you, Mrs. Mullins. Amelia asked for some warm milk. I wanted the walk, so I came down to fetch it for her. Would you mind bringing it up to her for me? Lady Eleanor and I have a matter to discuss before she disappears again.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Mullins bustled over to the stove and poured the rest of the warm milk into a mug.
Eleanor jumped to her feet, the bench behind her nearly toppling over backwards. “I’ll come with you, Mrs. Mullins. I’d like to say goodnight to Amelia.”
She wasn’t usually such a coward, but Camden West had a menacing look about him at the moment, and better a coward than a fool. She began to edge around the wide wooden table, but before she took two steps, Cam moved in front of her, trapping her between the bench and his body. “It’s all right, Mrs. Mullins.” He never took his eyes off Eleanor. “Go on ahead. A word, Lady Eleanor?”
Eleanor watched in despair as Mrs. Mullins disappeared through the kitchen door, mug in hand.
“Alone at last,” Cam murmured. “Now, my lady, suppose you tell me what you’re up to?”
Eleanor had to crane her neck to see his face. Had he become larger since the last time she saw him? The backs of her knees hit the bench. No, he wasn’t larger. She’d just never stood this close to him before—close enough to feel his heat wrap around her body.
Far too close.
She should have scrambled over the table and leapt for the door while she had the chance. “Up to? Why, nothing at all. I fancied a warm drink and came down to fetch one. Surely there’s nothing so terrible in that?”
“No, warm milk is innocent enough, but you could have rung for it from your bedchamber. Instead you crept down here to corner Mrs. Mullins in the kitchens.”
“Corner her? What nonsense. Why should I—”
“I searched the house for you. Everywhere but the kitchens.”
Eleanor dropped her eyes to avoid his gaze, but raised them again at once when she found herself staring at the open neck of his shirt, at a bare patch of sun-kissed skin.
Don’t think about his skin.“I was in my bedchamber, reading.”
He raised a knowing eyebrow, and slowly shook his head.
She stared at him for a moment, then gasped, outraged. “You entered my bedchamber, without my consent, as if you—”
“Own the house? Yes, just like that.”
Eleanor huffed out a breath. “I must have been in Charlotte’s bedchamber when you came, then.”
“Ah, Eleanor.” He touched his fingertips to her chin. “You blush when you tell a lie. Did you know that?”
She knew. She just hadn’t realizedhedid. “I—I’m not lying.”
“Of course you are. I can see it on your face, just here.” He drew one finger across her cheekbone. “But it’s worth listening to your lies to see that blush.”
Dear God. How could one finger wreak such havoc with her breathing? She fought not to close her eyes as his finger dipped down to trace her jaw and the line of her neck.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “The blush begins at your cheeks, but I can’t see where it ends.” He trailed his fingers down her neck to trace her collarbone. “Is it here? Or lower?”
She tried to turn her head away, but he cupped her cheek in his hand to still her.
Don’t look at him.
She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the heat in his—so he couldn’t see it mirrored in her own.
“No, Eleanor.” He sank his long, warm fingers into the mass of hair at the back of her neck. Hairpins pinged onto the wooden table and skittered to the floor, and a long lock came loose and brushed against her neck. “Don’t hide from me.”
She forced a laugh even as her knees went weak at his touch. “Why should I wish to hide? I’m not afraid of you.”
His smile mocked her. “Ah, but you’re afraid of yourself. Your cleverness won’t help you this time, Eleanor. Cleverness is no match for desire.”
Eleanor stared at him, at the tousled hair falling across his forehead, the green eyes gleaming under lids gone heavy. At his mouth, his lips. Heat seared her, scorched every part of her body, and yet the lie sprang easily to her lips. “I don’t desire you.”
