Footsteps echoed outside her door. The forcefulness of the stride let her know it was Deveric—what other man would walk with such assurance in this grand cavern of a house? Suddenly, the noise stopped. What was he doing? She resisted the urge to peek out. Nothing to see, Lizzie. Nothing to see. After a moment, his door opened and then closed rather forcefully.
She paced about in her room, not sure what to do. She needed help to get out of her dress. It was embarrassing and frustrating that she couldn’t undress herself in gowns like these, but it was the reality. She wasn’t sure how to call for a maid; Betsy had always just appeared. Maybe if Eliza quickly asked Deveric, he could send someone up.
Her mind made up, she opened her door and walked across the hallway. She knocked on his door. There was no answer. He was in there, wasn’t he? She knocked again, more loudly this time.
“Come in!” His irritated voice sounded farther off than she expected; perhaps this chamber was particularly well insulated. Opening the door, she walked in. And had to stop and gape. The giant bed encompassing the center of the room was the most magnificent piece of furniture she’d ever seen, all heavy wood, masterfully carved, of a deep, deep mahogany. She wandered over to run her fingers along one of the posters, tracing her thumb across an intricate leaf, marveling at the craftsmanship.
“Bring it in here,” came the voice again, and she followed it without thinking. Walking through a small connecting door, she found herself in another chamber–and face-to-face with Deveric. Naked Deveric. In a bathtub. She shrieked as his face purpled.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I had no idea! I just, um—” Turning back and forth, she couldn’t decide whether to run or stay.
“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, sinking lower in the tub. “I thought you were Myers with my shaving soap.”
It was a large tub, almost the size of a modern Jacuzzi, but it still couldn’t hold all of him, and his shoulders rose above the water like icebergs. They made her feel anything but cold, though, reminding her as they did of the statue of David she’d seen in Florence. How did a man get so muscular without being a weightlifter? It’s not as if he did manual labor. Did he?
“I, uh, I needed assistance. Um ...” She looked at the ceiling. “Amara told me it’s time to dress for dinner, but I, uh, can’t get out of this dress on my own.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re asking me to get you out of your dress?”
“No!” she shrieked, her eyes flying back to meet his. “I mean, yes. I mean, no, not you! But I, um, don’t know how to call for help.” She turned away and stared at the wall, twisting her fingers together.
She should leave. At once. She knew it. And yet, she couldn’t. She bit her lip, peeking at him over her shoulder before yanking her head back to the wall in front of her. Holy cow, the man was magnificent.
Deveric was starting to enjoy this. Clearly, she was even more discomfited than he was, and he was the one who was naked. She wasn’t close enough to see down through the water, was she? If so, she’d realize just what his reaction was to the idea of undressing her.
Her eyes darted to him, even as she pretended to focus on the wallpaper in front of her. Does she like what she sees? She hasn’t run. And she’s peeking at me, those cheeks burning so prettily. Maybe he should stand up and give her the full view.
The smile left his face as he pictured what she might do. Run screaming, as Mirabelle once had? He couldn’t help that he was so ... large in all areas. Many women preferred the more effete, lean dandies of the day, but his broad shoulders and muscled thighs precluded anyone ever calling him fashionable. That was of no matter to him. He dressed as befitted his status, but wasn’t as consumed with finding the proper waistcoat, much less being a pink of the ton, as a number of his acquaintances were—Arthington, in particular.
“In this century, a woman isn’t to enter a man’s bedchamber unless she is his wife.” He sluiced water casually over his shoulders. Better not to let her know how off-kilter she’d set him upon appearing in his room.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I wasn’t sure what to do and I heard you in here. I’m sorry, I’ll go.” Her voice trembled as she spoke to the wall. Desire? Fear?
“No, no, we will have to check first to ensure no one sees you. It would not do for us to be caught in my private chambers alone together. Especially with me in this state of dress. Or undress, rather. Hold on.”
Reaching over, he grabbed a large towel sitting on the chair next to the tub. “Close your eyes!” he commanded, lest she peek again. Though Lord knew he wanted her to, so he could gauge her reaction. If it were the one he wanted, however, if her eyes burned as hotly as he hoped, there’d be no turning back. A man only had so much restraint, and a woman in his bedchamber while he was naked—no, this woman in his bedchamber—was too much for it.
Eliza did as told, squeezing her eyes so hard she saw dots. Did he think that would erase the memory of those lovely shoulders, or of his strong neck rising from the water? Dear Lord, the man was gorgeous. She even liked the hint of five o’clock shadow gracing his face. He must have a lot of hair, to need shaving twice a day. He was all man, no doubt about it.
She heard the water sloshing around in the tub as he rose, and her ears burned. She may not be watching, but she wasn’t having a hard time imagining what it would be like to see the water sliding down across his chest, down his belly, over his ... She shivered. Oh, to be that water. She needed to get a grip. What I’d like to grip, her belligerent mind said, and she had to clasp her elbows firmly with each opposite hand to keep herself from turning around.
This was real. It wasn’t a fantasy, wasn’t a daydream. She was standing in Deveric Mattersley’s private dressing room, and he was naked.
Footsteps approached. “Here,” he said, his voice suddenly tickling her neck as he loosened the back straps of her gown. Gracious, he was right behind her, the heat of his body radiating into hers.
“What are you doing?” she yelped, jumping and coming down on his foot.
He didn’t move. “Thank goodness you’re a tiny little thing, or that would have hurt.”
Eliza had been about to apologize, but his words stopped her short. Tiny little thing? He thought she was tiny little thing? She grinned, in spite of the awkward situation. How nice to have a man who didn’t object to a little extra padding.
As his fingers traced their way down her back, his touch raising goosebumps even through the layers of clothing under the dress, she remembered where she was—in 1812, not 2012, and in a man’s bedroom, where she shouldn’t be, no matter how much she wished to stay. Not if she wanted to avoid a scandal, at least. The Dowager Dragon would kick her out on her ass in an instant if Eliza were discovered in the duke’s chamber. Much less discovered with him naked.
“Stop it! You can’t, you shouldn’t—” Without turning around, she fled, racing across his room, although she was careful to peek out the door before darting across to her own chamber. Thank goodness no one was there.
Dev ran his fingers through his hair, standing at the edge of his dressing room, water pooling beneath him on the floor. What had got into him, touching her in such an intimate manner? He knew better. Though he’d just loosened the dress, as she’d requested, nothing more. He would have sent her away once the task was done. Wouldn’t he?
He was a man of principle. A man of honor. He wasn’t the type to seduce young women, or even a slightly older widow, in his own bedroom. No matter how much certain parts of him wanted to.
He glanced at his bed, imagining Eliza spread out on it, naked, those glorious breasts on full display. He pictured her beckoning to him, acceptance and desire radiating from her brilliant eyes as she opened her arms, and legs, to welcome him in.
It was too much to bear.
He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of frustration. Dropping the towel, he prepared to dress, though the bath hadn’t softened his desire for her one bit, hadn’t slaked the thirst apparently only Eliza James could quench.
Good God, what was wrong with him? He’d kept this side of himself under control for years. Two nights with this woman under his roof, and he was ready to abandon it all, ready to risk everything, just to taste her again.
Who was she?
Eliza leaned back against her door, her heart thumping. Closing her eyes, she tried to catch her breath, but nothing could calm her down from the image she’d just seen: Deveric Mattersley, naked, in the bathtub.
Sure, she hadn’t seen down through the water—trying to get a glimpse would have been too obvious—but Oh. My. God. He put most modern men to shame, and that included the gym rats she’d seen while occasionally working out at UVa’s Aquatic and Fitness Center.
What did the man do? How did he stay that fit? In spite of the hunks peppering the pages of her romance novels, she’d assumed in real life most members of the peerage never had to lift a finger for anything and were therefore likely to be on the softer side.
This one broke the mold.
Thank God for that. She grinned. If this all worked out in the end, she’d write Cat a big old thank you letter, and figure out a way to get it to her friend. A man with shoulders like that. Yowza. If only she’d been able to see his thighs under that towel. If only she’d been able to see...
She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through the hair on his chest, to trace the elegant expanse of his shoulders, feel the contours of his body. Heat flamed out to her breasts and the lower half of her as she imagined lying underneath him, his hardness pressing into her, being enveloped by all man.
His responses to her were assuaging her self-doubt, whittling away at her fears about her own body far more quickly that she ever would have imagined. With him, with the way he looked at her, she felt desired, truly desired. All of her seemed to please him, not just her pretty face. To be accepted for who she was, emotionally and physically—that was the ultimate dream. A dream more and more within reach, given the obvious chemistry raging between them. Thank you, Cat.
Shaking off the image of Deveric buck-naked as best she could, Eliza pulled her arms from the sleeves of her dress. At least this afternoon encounter had accomplished something; she could escape the layers of clothing she had on. These dresses were warm, true, but the fabric constricted her arms and shoulders, especially since the dresses had been made for Amara, not her. What she wouldn’t give for a T-shirt and jeans.
She strolled over to the fireplace, where a fire blazed merrily. Someone had refreshed the logs. She froze. Betsy? Had Betsy known where she was?
A knock sounded at the door. Eliza quickly threw her arms back into the gown. Was it Deveric? Surely it wasn’t Deveric. Even though you want it to be Deveric. “Who is it?”
The door opened and Betsy walked in, holding a pitcher of water. She dropped a curtsy upon seeing Eliza, and then strode to the sideboard, setting the pitcher into place.
“I brought some fresh water, milady, in case you want to wash before dinner.”
“Thank you, Betsy.”
The maid walked over to Eliza, moving around to her back. “Who undid your laces?”
“Um.” Blood rushed to Eliza’s face, setting it on fire. Thank goodness Betsy was behind her. “Amara did after she walked me back to the room.”
“Hmm.”
Was that doubt in the maid’s voice? If so, she said nothing else.
Betsy removed the morning gown and laid it carefully across the bed, then held up Eliza’s twenty-first-century imitation of a Regency ball gown she’d worn that first night.
“This is a pretty gown, my lady,” said Betsy as she helped Eliza into the dress. “It’s different. The fabric isn’t like anything I’ve ever felt before.”
Eliza wasn’t sure what the dress was made of. It looked silky to her, but she guessed maybe rayon or polyester. That wasn’t something she wanted to explain to a nineteenth-century maid. “Perhaps it’s an American style.” You know, two hundred years in the future.
“Shall I do your hair?”
Eliza nodded, taking a seat in front of the dressing table mirror. Although the pampering was fun, it still bothered her to have someone wait on her hand and foot. She wished she could offer Betsy some form of payment. Not that that would be appropriate, or that she had anything to offer.
In fact, how could she turn her jewelry into money? Being entirely dependent on others didn’t sit well with her; she’d prefer to have funds of her own ready at hand. Hmm.
As Betsy pulled the brush through her hair, Eliza closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift. What is Cat doing right now? Well, obviously not right now, not in 1812.
She missed her friend. It’d been easy, too easy, to take their friendship for granted when they’d been together so long. Cat had tried to talk her out of this madcap scheme, tried to keep her with her. Their separation was so much harder than Eliza had imagined. She’d been so focused on where she was going, she’d ignored the reality of what she was leaving behind. Namely, the best friend a girl could ever have.
Should she have stayed? She’d made progress with Amara today, she was sure, and it seemed as if all were going well with Deveric. But was it? Was this going to work out?
She sighed.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Betsy fixed a pearl hairpin into the hair she’d arranged on top of Eliza’s head. “Did I pull too hard?”
“No, no, Betsy, you’re fine. And my hair ... my goodness, it looks wonderful!” And it did. Eliza stared at her reflection. Betsy had braided her hair then fastened it into an elaborate bun before weaving pearl hairpins through it that glowed in the light. She’d left two thick tendrils hanging down around Eliza’s ears, which tickled her neck as she turned her head to and fro, sending shivers through her.
Betsy gave her a bright smile, evidently pleased at the compliment. “Do you want a hint of rouge? You looked a little pale when I first walked in. Emmeline likes this Pear’s Liquid Blooms of Roses.” Betsy held up a small bottle she’d plucked off the dressing table.
Pale? She’d been on fire. Deveric’s green eyes flashed before her. “Thank you, Betsy. Though it’s not as if I have a gentleman to impress, right?” She gave a high-pitched, fake giggle—the kind she hated. Thank goodness the maid said nothing about Eliza’s suddenly odd behavior.
As Betsy deftly applied the cheek color with a light hand and then set about cleaning up the hair implements, Eliza lost herself in daydreams again, fantasizing about what London looked like in this era. Amara had told her it was doubtful Eliza would accompany them into Town for the Season— as the governess, she’d stay with Frederick—but Eliza hoped otherwise. She’d visited London with her parents while in high school. The Tower, St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey were amazing, of course, but her favorite memory was the afternoon when she’d wandered around Mayfair, Piccadilly, and Hyde Park, trying to imagine them as they might have been in Jane Austen’s era.
How far to London was it from Clarehaven? For that matter, where was Clarehaven, exactly?
“Betsy, what’s the nearest city?”
“City? Why, Winchester. My ma and da live there.”
“How far away is it?”
“Not far at all; four or five miles. An easy walk.”
Nobody walked four or five miles in modern Charlottesville unless they were doing so for fitness. How times changed.
Eliza pursed her lips, picturing her wall map of England in her head. “If we’re near Winchester, we must also be somewhat near Chawton, correct?”
“Yes, my lady. I think it’s about twice as far. I’ve never been there. It’s only a small village.”
Eliza fought to keep her outward demeanor calm, but inside she bounced up and down. Jane Austen! I’m near Jane Austen! Right now!
She knew Jane had moved with her sister and mother to live in a small cottage on her brother’s estate in 1811. That cottage was where Jane did the majority of her writing— or would do, Eliza corrected—until her death. Maybe she’s writing right now!
“You may go down now, my lady.”
Eliza wanted to race around the room, so excited she was to know she was this close to Jane Austen. The actual Jane Austen. Instead, she gave the maid a nod before making for the door.
Shivers of delight teased her skin as she passed Deveric’s chamber. Meeting Jane Austen had long been her ultimate fantasy. Until the spectacular sight of one naked duke in a tub, that is.