The days slid past. Ariel dreamed again that night, and in her dream she was kissing her handsome, golden-haired prince, Phillip Marlin. Her arms slid around his neck and he lightly pulled her against him. It was a sweet, tender kiss, little more than a faint brushing of lips, a gentle show of affection.
Then the dream began to fade, to blur and dim at the edges, to thicken into a bleak, dense fog that shrouded the recesses of her mind, and her handsome prince disappeared. In his place stood the fierce, dark earl, holding her imprisoned in his unforgiving arms, pressing her indecently against his long, lean body.
“No…” she whispered, beginning to struggle, trying to break free. The earl held her easily, drawing her even more firmly against him. Bending his head, he took her mouth with such savage force her legs nearly buckled beneath her. The kiss went on, hot, harsh, demanding, penetrating her senses until she felt consumed by him, absorbed by his powerful presence, unable to tear herself free.
And no longer certain that she wanted to.
She awakened shivering all over, trembling with fear and uncertainty, her skin hot and clammy, tingling in that unfamiliar way it had before.
Silvie arrived moments later, bearing a summons from the very man who haunted her, even in sleep. She was to join the earl in the breakfast room overlooking the garden at the rear of the house.
Ariel’s heartbeat kicked up, anxiety making her legs a little unsteady. Crossing to her rosewood armoire, she chose a simple tunic dress fashioned of soft mauve silk embroidered with dark pink roses. Dressing hurriedly, she fidgeted while Silvie finished pinning up her hair, then left the room and headed downstairs, her mind alternating between the violent dream she’d had and the earl’s softly spoken denial that he would have forced her into his bed.
He had never beaten the tavern maid, Molly McCarthy, he’d said. In fact, he had accused Phillip Marlin of the crime.
Surely it was the earl who lied. Phillip was a gentleman. He was her handsome prince. He would never invent such a tale.
But something gnawed at her. Something in the earl’s voice, or perhaps it was the horror in his expression when she had accused him of the deed. Whatever it was, it made her wonder.…
He was waiting when she walked through the door. He stood at her approach and pulled out the ornately carved high-backed chair on one side of him. Dressed in a dove gray tailcoat and snug black breeches, he seemed a little less formidable today. Even his eyes seemed different, less fierce, more assessing.
Ariel studied him more closely, appraising him as she hadn’t really done before. Now that he was no longer angry, he looked even more handsome than he had before, lines of his harshly beautiful face as if sculpted in marble. With his straight nose, high, carved cheekbones, and slashing black brows, he had the look of the predator he had seemed, yet those hard, bold features were compelling in a way she had refused to acknowledge until now.
He settled himself in a chair at the head of the table and unconsciously her thoughts returned to the savage kiss she had suffered in her dream, or perhaps it was the one he had claimed upstairs in his bedchamber. Whatever it was, she forced the memory away and hoped he wouldn’t notice the faint edge of color that crept into her cheeks.
“You look fetching this morning, Miss Summers. I trust you slept well.”
Except for her disturbing dreams. Her cheeks grew noticeably warmer. “Well enough, my lord.”
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation—more particularly the suggestion you made.”
Her heart took a leap. The suggestion that they become friends before becoming lovers? She prayed for the reprieve it would mean. “Yes, my lord?”
“Inasmuch as I know, through your letters, a great deal about you, but you have but recently met me, it seems only fair that we do as you suggest and spend a little time getting to know each other.”
Ariel’s pulse took another jump. Spending time in company with the earl was a highly disturbing thought, never mind that it was her idea and the answer to her prayers.
“Since my schedule demands a brief trip out of the city, I thought that perhaps you would join me.”
“Out of the city?” It came out with a noticeable squeak.
“The small town of Cadamon, some thirty miles southeast of Birmingham, to be precise. I recently purchased a textile factory there.”
A dozen thoughts passed through Ariel’s head. At the forefront was the knowledge that she would be a number of nights with the earl. “Birmingham is a goodly distance away.”
He nodded. “More than a day’s journey each way. We’ll be five or six days gone, I should imagine.”
Ariel blanched. Five or six days! Dear Lord, who would protect her from him for nearly a week? She nervously moistened her lips. “Perhaps it would be better if we began our acquaintance upon your return.”
Those straight black brows slammed together and his mouth flattened into the thin, disapproving line that she had seen before. “I’m afraid that isn’t an option. We leave first thing in the morning. I’ll expect to depart no later than nine o’clock.”
She forced herself to nod. “As you wish, my lord.”
“In the meantime, I think today would be well spent doing a bit of shopping.”
“Shopping, my lord?”
“I wish to purchase a few new gowns for you to wear and whatever you might need to go with them.”
Ariel shook her head. “You have already paid for a number of very lovely gowns. I have scarcely worn them. I hardly need more.” More of a debt she would owe him. More she would have to repay. Inwardly, she groaned.
“For the occasions I have in mind, I would like to see you in something a bit less … conservative. Your gowns are fine for day wear, but for evening, they make you look as though you are fresh from the schoolroom.”
Ariel glanced down at the cup of cocoa a footman had just set in front of her. “That is exactly what I am,” she said softly.
The muscles tightened across his shoulders. “You’re no longer a child, Ariel. I don’t intend to treat you as one.”
Ariel said nothing more. She knew he was thinking of the kiss they had shared and the debt he intended to collect. Turning toward the footman who stood near the door, he signaled for the man to serve the balance of the light morning meal, then leaned back and took a sip of his coffee, those cool gray eyes once more on her face.
Beneath the table, Ariel clenched her white linen napkin into a knot that matched the one in her stomach. The footman set a delicate, sugary cake on the plate in front of her along with a spoonful of ripe red berries, but Ariel was no longer hungry.
* * *
They finished their breakfast in silence. As soon as the plates were removed, Justin rose and approached where Ariel sat shoving the food around on her plate. He said nothing as he led her to his waiting carriage, just motioned to the driver, who climbed into his seat on top. A soft slap of reins against the rumps of the four matched grays, and they were off, the iron wheels rolling over the cobblestone streets.
The sights of the city moved by outside the window, taverns and coffeehouses, butcher shops and rug merchants. Ariel’s gaze slowly turned in that direction, and he couldn’t miss the glow of fascination that slowly brightened her face. It didn’t take long to reach St. James’s, an area of elegant shops and stores that catered to wealthy members of the ton. Justin ordered his coachman to stop in front of a narrow establishment wedged between a dealer in spiritous liquors and a chairmaker’s shop. There was only a single window and a small, obscure wooden sign that read: “MADAME DUPREE, Couture.”
“Shall we?” He offered his arm and Ariel took it, letting him lead her inside.
In the small, well-appointed room, several women worked over bolts of colorful fabric, busily applying needle and thread to complete the garments they fashioned. One of them, a wide-hipped, beefy woman, rose at Ariel and Justin’s approach and scuttled toward the rear of the shop, disappearing behind a velvet curtain in search of the proprietor.
“How did you know about…?” Ariel looked up at him, the question trailing away. He knew she was thinking that he must have been there before, buying gowns for other of his mistresses.
“How did I know about the shop?” he finished for her.
“I suppose I am not the first woman you’ve brought here,” she said a bit tartly, staring at him down her small, straight nose.
Amusement lifted the corner of his mouth. “Actually, you are the first. I know about the place because my father made a number of purchases here. I paid the bills after he died. Since I could never fault his taste, I figured it would accomplish our purpose.”
She cocked a blond eyebrow. “And what, exactly, might that purpose be?”
“You said you wished to see the city, perhaps attend a play or an opera. You will need the sort of gowns Madame Dupree can provide you.”
She said nothing to that. How could she? It was her idea, after all. He settled a hand at her waist, noticing how incredibly small it was, guiding her farther inside. The curtain rustled. The owner stepped into the salon with a smile and began walking toward them.
“May I be of help, my lord?” She was gray-haired and slightly wrinkled, her cheeks heavily rouged. She had large, pendulous breasts, the cleavage modestly hidden beneath a lace fichu at the neck of her fashionably cut silk gown.
“I would like to purchase some evening gowns for the lady.”
She smiled. “You’re Greville, are you not?”
He wasn’t surprised that she knew him. Though it galled him to admit it, he knew how much he looked like his father. He made a slight inclination of his head. “I’m Greville.”
“The late earl, your father, was a very good customer. You look remarkably like him.” She turned her attention to Ariel. “And you, my dear, must be a … friend … of his lordship’s.”
Color washed into Ariel’s face. Her head barely moved in a nod.
“Come now; there’s no reason to be shy. In the past, I dealt with a number of the late earl’s … friends. I’ll have you properly fitted out in no time.”
Justin watched the two women leave and found himself frowning. He didn’t like the smug way Madame Dupree had smiled at Ariel or the wash of humiliation that had tinged her pale cheeks.
Justin silently cursed, wishing he had never brought her to the shop. He had always loathed his father’s constant need for fresh, innocent young women. Justin looked very much like him. Was he more like his father than he cared to admit?
He shuddered to think of it, then blocked the painful notion as he had taught himself to do, shutting it completely out of his head. He didn’t want a string of young women. He wanted Ariel Summers, and in time, he vowed, he would make her want him.
The women returned. Madame Dupree placed Ariel atop a low, round dais in front of a brocaded sofa and began to swathe her in bolt after bolt of fabric. At first she was reticent and he knew she was pondering the reason he was buying the dresses. He had made no secret of his intentions. He wanted her in his bed and he would do whatever it took to make that happen.
She stood stiffly on the dais, embarrassed to be wearing little more than a shift, and he suppressed a sudden, violent urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her away from the woman’s sly looks and knowing glances. Ariel said nothing at all and only replied to questions that were directly asked.
Still, she had been born into poverty, and eventually the beautiful fabrics—the lush velvets in ruby and sapphire, the sumptuous satins in cream and rose, the shimmering silks in emerald and gold—had her smiling.
It pleased him, that smile, warmed him in some way. He helped her choose the fabric and style for five new gowns, two more than he had intended, just to see the glow of pleasure on her face. They agreed on each one, both surprised to discover their tastes were so much the same.
Though the dresses were cut far lower than any she had worn before, the daring style was the height of fashion, and seeing her in them would help ease his conscience. Ariel was a woman, not a girl. A beautiful, desirable woman—one entirely capable of fulfilling the bargain she had made. Exposing so much of her lovely breasts would prove it.
They left the store loaded down with boxes and, after a stop at the shoemaker’s shop around the corner to order matching slippers for each of the gowns, headed back to his waiting carriage.
They had almost reached it when he spotted a tall blond figure stepping out of the haberdasher’s shop up ahead. Phillip Marlin strode along the paving stones, carrying an armload of boxes. He didn’t see them and simply kept on walking away, but the moment Ariel saw who it was, she stopped dead in her tracks.
As Justin caught her reaction, a spark of anger burned through him. He clenched his jaw to tamp the feeling down. Ariel’s gaze followed Phillip’s progress across the street to where his carriage waited. She frowned as she noticed the small black child, perhaps six years old, who hurried to open the door.
“Is the child … is the little boy a servant?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on the child who was decked out garishly in full-legged purple satin trousers banded at the ankles and a matching purple vest. He wore a rhinestone-encrusted gold-and-purple turban on his small, dark head, making him look top-heavy, like a flower wilting from too much time in the sun. Little gold slippers curled into points on the toes.
“The child is a blackamoor,” Justin told her. “One of Marlin’s more recent acquisitions. He keeps the boy around as a conversation piece … rather a pet of sorts. It amuses him to watch people’s reaction to the color of the boy’s skin and the way he is clothed.”
Ariel couldn’t seem to stop staring. She continued to watch as Marlin thrust the stack of boxes into the boy’s small, pink-palmed hands, then climbed inside the carriage and slammed the door. The child struggled with the boxes for a moment, handed them to a footman, then fought to climb up beside the driver, teetering near the top so precariously Justin heard Ariel gasp in a worried breath. Eventually, the little boy made it, and Phillip ordered the coachy to make way.
“I can’t believe he would treat a child that way,” Ariel said softly.
“There are a number of things about Phillip Marlin you couldn’t begin to imagine,” Justin said dryly, knowing she wouldn’t believe him if he told her. Taking a firm grip on her arm, wishing Marlin to perdition, he led her on down the street.
* * *
No matter how she tried to will it not to, the next day arrived and with it their departure for Birmingham. Ariel had spent a restless night thinking of the earl and Phillip Marlin, remembering the concern for her, the unexpected sympathy, she had seen in Lord Greville’s eyes at the dressmaker’s shop. He had sensed her embarrassment, her utter humiliation. There was a moment she thought he might sweep her up and whisk her out of there, so dark was the look on his face.
And then there was Phillip. Surely Greville was wrong about Phillip’s association with the boy. Perhaps he was helping the child in some way. Perhaps the lad was an orphan. Still, it bothered her the way he had treated the boy, like some sort of prize to be displayed. She tried to imagine Lord Greville treating a small child that way, but the image refused to surface.
The coach was waiting out in front when Ariel descended the stairs. She was packed and ready well before time to depart, her little maid, Silvie, standing nervously beside her, a small traveling valise clutched in the girl’s pudgy hand.
Lord Greville appeared in the entry a few minutes later, sweeping in with the power of a storm.
Ariel forced herself to smile. “We’re ready, my lord.”
He gave her a cursory glance and frowned. “I thought you understood. I’ve a good deal of work to do. I’ll need my privacy. As we are taking only one carriage, your maid will not be coming along.”
Ariel blinked in surprise. “But you must let her come. It is unseemly for a lady—” She caught his scowl, started over again. “How could I possibly manage without her? Who would help me undress?”
“You managed for a good many years without a servant; I imagine you can survive for a few days more.”
It was highly unseemly, yet Ariel didn’t argue, knowing it would do not the least amount of good. Instead she stood rigidly aside as her little maid climbed back up the stairs. Greville took her arm and guided her out the door and down the front steps of the old stone mansion. He helped her climb into the carriage, then took a seat across from her. His shoulders looked even wider in such close quarters, and though his clothes were simply cut, he wore them with an air of authority. In truth, it was hard to imagine him ever being anything other than an earl.
They spoke little on the way out of the city, and eventually she lapsed into enjoying the sights. Unfamiliar with London, she had stayed fairly close to the house, and Phillip had driven her mostly in the park. Even the earl’s recent shopping excursion hadn’t carried her all that far away.
Now, as they headed into the burgeoning traffic, she watched with growing fascination the hordes of people who filled the narrow streets to overflowing: inksellers, ballad singers, a man selling secondhand clothes.
A ragged little boy with a grimy face and small fingers poking through the ends of his gloves sold apples on a corner. Conveyances of every size and shape converged in the bustling cobbled lanes, creating a cacophony of shouting drivers and neighing horses.
The incredible sights and sounds enthralled her, making her forget her nebulous circumstances, at least for a while.
Then the earl’s deep voice broke into her thoughts, a jarring reminder that she was alone with him and about to leave the somewhat questionable protection of the city.
“I’ve a stop to make before we leave town. It shouldn’t take all that long.”
They rounded a corner a few minutes later and the carriage pulled up in front of a three-story brick building in Threadneedle Street. “I need to speak to my solicitor. You may come in if you like.”
She was surprised by the offer. She started to decline, then thought, Why not? She was traveling with the man, though certainly not by choice. Any information she might garner could prove useful. “Thank you. I believe I shall.”
He caught her hand to help her descend the iron steps, and they made their way inside the building. A young clerk with sandy brown hair and a studious expression greeted the earl, then led them down the hall into a well-appointed wood-paneled office.
“My solicitor, Jonathan Whipple.” The earl tipped his head, indicating the gray-haired man who rose from behind his desk and started toward them. A slender man in his fifties, he wore wire-rimmed spectacles that perched on a long, crooked nose. “Jonathan … may I present Miss Ariel Summers. She is newly arrived in the city.”
“A pleasure, Miss Summers.” He smiled, made a politely formal bow, then returned his attention to the earl. “I have those figures you requested, my lord. I was just in the process of making the final additions before you arrived.” The two men moved toward the desk, leaving Ariel to survey Mr. Whipple’s domain.
It was cozy and warm, with a fire blazing in a small oak-manteled hearth and bookshelves along one wall. A pile of aging newspapers sat beside a brown leather chair, but aside from that the room was rather Spartan and scrupulously clean. It occurred to her that the earl was much the same, neatly ordered and pristine. It appeared he also demanded those qualities in the people who worked for him.
Ariel wandered along the bookshelf, drifting closer to the big mahogany desk in the center of the room, perusing the numerous leather-bound volumes, most of which were financial in nature. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the earl, seated in the chair behind the desk, his dark head bent over a stack of open ledgers.
Arithmetic had been her best subject in school. Watching as he studied the numbers on the page in front of him, she began to add the columns in her head, as she had learned to do.
Ariel frowned. “Excuse me, my lord, but there is an error in the column on the right.”
He cocked a brow in her direction. “It comforts me to know that among your newly acquired talents you are also an expert in accounting.”
She flushed at the sarcasm in his voice but refused to back down. “I know little of accounting. I do know those numbers do not add up. The total should be two thousand, six hundred, and seventy-six, not three thousand, one hundred, and forty-eight.”
Greville frowned. The gray-haired man beside him looked suddenly worried and quickly set to work, adding once more the numbers on the page.
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid Miss Summers is correct, my lord. I can’t imagine how I could have made such an error.” He sighed. “Now I shall have to refigure all of the other columns based on the adjusted figure. It will take a bit of time.”
“I can do it for you,” Ariel offered. “It turns out I have rather a knack for numbers.” She glanced down and silently set to work. “The total in the first column should be forty-two hundred fourteen. The second column is … thirty-three hundred eighty-seven, and the third should be—” She stopped, glanced over at Jonathan Whipple. “You didn’t write that down,” she said to him, but he simply continued his furious addition, trying to come up with an answer of his own.
“Forty-two hundred fourteen pounds,” he confirmed, glancing at the earl over the rims of his glasses. “The lady is quite correct.”
Greville’s astonished gaze swung to her face. “How the devil did you do that so quickly?”
Ariel smiled, more pleased than she should have been that she had impressed him. “It’s a trick I learned. You simply group the numbers in combinations of ten whenever you can, or add them slightly out of sequence, or see two or three numbers as a single larger number—eight, twelve, and ten equal thirty, for example.”
“Very impressive.”
“I had an excellent mathematics teacher, thanks to you, my lord. I can also do rapid multiplication and division—if you should ever find the need.”
The edge of his mouth quirked up. “I shall keep that in mind.”
The earl finished his meeting and the two of them returned to the carriage. He said little as the conveyance rolled off toward the outskirts of the city, though she thought that perhaps he studied her from beneath his lowered lids. His lashes, she noticed were even blacker than his hair and thicker than any man’s she had ever seen.
An hour passed. The sun broke through the clouds and slanted in through the isinglass windows, casting shadows beneath Greville’s high cheekbones.
The rumble of his voice broke into the quiet: “I suppose, after spending time in London, the country will seem dull and boring.”
She looked out at the rolling green hills, the small flock of black-faced sheep grazing on the knoll, a sky that was a clear, crystalline blue, as it never was in the city.
“On the contrary, my lord. I’ve no desire to return to the dirt-floored hovel where I was born, but I shall always be partial to the sweet clean air and green grasses of the country. London teems with all sorts of life, but in a different way, so does it here. There are colorful insects, an endless array of beautiful birds, and interesting four-legged creatures, both wild and domestic. As a child, I yearned to leave it. Now I see that it was the poverty and ignorance I wanted to leave, not the land itself.”
The earl said nothing, but she thought she caught a hint of approval in his expression.
“And you, my lord? Do you find country life ‘dull and boring’?”
His glance strayed toward the window. “To be truthful, I find most of life dull and boring. The country, however, can, on occasion, bring one a certain degree of pleasure.”
“Then why do you not spend more time at Greville Hall? Especially since it is so much more…” She let the words trail away, realizing she had nearly paid him a very grave insult.
One of his straight black brows arched up. “So much more what, Miss Summers? Elegant? Or perhaps palatial is the word you are looking for.”
There was no choice now but to finish the thought, whether he liked it or not. “Cheerful is the word I would have chosen, my lord. Greville Hall is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. It is light and gay, with dozens of windows to let in the sun and air. The gardens seem always to be in bloom and even the furniture and draperies are sunny and warm.”
“How is it you are such an expert on Greville Hall?” he asked dryly. “I don’t imagine my father ever invited you over for supper.”
She cast him a sideways glance. “I don’t imagine you received an invitation, either.”
“Touché, Miss Summers.”
“I know what the house looks like because I used to climb over the fence behind the garden, sneak in behind the bushes, and peer inside through the rear windows. Sometimes, when I saw candles burning late at night, I would sneak over to watch the ladies dancing. They looked so beautiful and they seemed to be having so much fun. I vowed one day I would become a lady, too.”
“And so you have.”
But she hadn’t, not really. A lady didn’t journey across the country with a man she barely knew. A lady didn’t become a man’s mistress.
The earl turned away from her to stare back out the window. “I was only at Greville Hall on one occasion and that was just before my father died. My half sister, Barbara, lives there now, with her small son, Thomas. We do not get along.”
“Why not?” It was an impertinent question and she knew it. Still, she hoped that he would answer.
The earl looked down his nose at her, an intimidating stare that made her wish she hadn’t asked, which was exactly what he intended.
The question lingered and finally he sighed in defeat. “Barbara is a widow. If my father had not made me his heir, the Greville title and fortune would have gone to her son.”
Ariel remembered the beautiful black-haired girl who had lived in the house when Ariel was a child, remembered watching her and her friends that day in her father’s open carriage. She hadn’t even known Lady Barbara Ross had been married. It seemed a good deal had happened since she’d struck her devil’s bargain and been shipped off to school.
“She is terribly young to be a widow,” she said. “Just a few years older than I, if memory serves. It must have been terribly hard on her, losing her husband so soon after they were wed.”
The earl merely scoffed. “Barbara is six and twenty, and I believe my sister was relieved when her husband died. The Earl of Haywood was some forty years her senior, a crotchety old fool with more money than sense. I think Barbara married him in the very hope he wouldn’t live a great many years and she would be left with the majority of his fortune. Unfortunately, she was Haywood’s second wife. The earl already had two grown sons, which meant there wasn’t much chance of Thomas becoming his heir.”
“Even so, surely he provided for her and the boy after his death.”
“I’m sure he intended to—in the beginning. Then he caught her in bed with his estate manager. There were questions about missing household funds, and soon after he changed his will. My father managed to smooth things over. Still, when Haywood died, he left her nearly penniless.”
“Are you saying she now survives solely by your charity?”
“More or less. She could remarry, of course, and I’m certain in time she will.”
“But if she is the sort of person you describe, why are you helping her?”
He shrugged the wide shoulders beneath his perfectly tailored black coat. “What choice do I have? She is my half sister, after all. I can hardly toss her and the boy out in the street. Society might not view me in the most desirable light, but I do not wish to be ostracized completely. It would hardly be good for my business dealings.”
Ariel said nothing to that. He provided for his sister not out of affection but simply to protect his social status. He didn’t want to lose the financial benefits inherent in being a member of the ton. Still, if what Greville said was true, he had painted a very grim picture of his sibling. With a father who had ignored him, a mother who had abandoned him, and a ruthless, money-hungry sister who took advantage of his fortune, how could he be other than the cold, unfeeling man he seemed?
Ariel felt an unexpected twinge of pity.
Conversation faded. They traveled most of the day in silence. Ariel read or embroidered while the earl pored over volumes on textile manufacturing or the numerous investment portfolios he had brought along. The ride was lengthy and she was exhausted by the time he signaled his coachman to stop for the night at an inn called the King’s Way.
Apparently, the earl had sent word ahead, as two private bedchambers were waiting. The knowledge that she would have her own separate sleeping quarters should have put her at ease. Instead, as she wearily entered the front door of the ivy-covered inn her nervousness returned full measure.
The earl stood at the foot of the stairs, his cool gaze shuttered, yet she sensed a faint tension in the muscles of his long, lean frame. “Will you join me in the taproom for supper or would you prefer to have something sent up to your room?”
Relief coursed through her that she could escape to the sanctity of her bedchamber. “I discover I’m quite fatigued, my lord. Something in my room would be preferable, if you don’t mind.”
His mouth edged up as if he knew her thoughts. “Very well, I shall bring it myself.”
Ariel stiffened, worry slamming into her again. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely able to force out the words.
When she heard his light knock at the door she was still fully dressed, having been unwilling—not to mention unable—to remove her clothing with the earl yet to arrive with her supper.
He frowned as he stepped inside the room, strode over, and set the tray down on the plain wooden dresser against the wall. “I thought you said you were tired. Why is it you are still dressed? Ah, but how could I forget? You haven’t a lady’s maid, have you? I suppose I shall have to do the honors myself.… Come here, Ariel.”
There was something in the soft way he said her name that sent little shivers running through her. She made no move to obey him. Dear God, she could still remember the way he had ordered her to undress for him in his bedchamber.
“You aren’t afraid of me, are you? I thought you understood that I am not going to hurt you.”
“I’m not … not afraid, my lord.” So what exactly was it that kept her rooted to the floor? She wasn’t really certain.
“I know you’re tired. I only wish to help you. Let me loosen your gown so you can undress and prepare for bed.”
She moved toward him on legs that felt stiff and unresponsive, stopping just in front of him. She felt his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her around; then he started unfastening the buttons at the back of her traveling gown one by one. It was the oddest sensation, far too intimate by half, yet not entirely unpleasant.
If the man had been Phillip … if he had been her husband, she might even have enjoyed it. But the Earl of Greville wasn’t Phillip Marlin, and instead of a comfortable, faintly pleasant stirring, she felt the brush of his fingers like a hot brand burning into her skin.
The gown finally loosened and she held it modestly over her breasts. He still stood behind her, the firelight casting his long shadow across the room. The fabric of his tailcoat brushed against her back as he pulled the pins from her hair one by one, then spread the pale blond strands around her shoulders.
“Like sunlight in winter,” he murmured, his long fingers gently combing out the tangles. “Shall I plait it for you?”
An image arose of those elegant dark hands working to accomplish the task, and her stomach did a soft little curl. When she turned to face him, she saw that his eyes had turned a deep silver gray, the centers so black they glinted like obsidian in the firelight.
Her heart was beating too fast, her mouth suddenly dry. “Thank you … my lord,” she said softly. “You needn’t trouble yourself. I’ll be able to manage the rest by myself.”
He made a slight, stiff nod of his head, as if he were regretful of her decision. “As you wish. Good night, Miss Summers.”
Ariel counted the long, graceful strides that carried him out of her bedchamber. It wasn’t until the door closed firmly behind him that she released the breath that she had been holding.