“The girl’s bath is ready.”
Miss Nibbs’ gruff comment shattered the intimacy of the moment.
Slater took a step back and Aloise took a quick breath of relief. The rum had definitely affected her senses. Otherwise, she would not find herself thinking that there was something about this man. Something familiar. Something intense and worldly, that put her instantly on her guard. As if he had the power to steal her soul away.
“Go upstairs with Miss Nibbs, Aloise. Warm yourself in front of the fire, bathe your chilled bones in heated water, then, come supper, I will have my answer.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving her standing in confusion and amazement.
Miss Nibbs eyed her closely. “I can only speculate as to the question he’s asked which requires a response.” Toddling forward, she held Aloise’s chin, staring deep into her eyes. “Do not hurt him. He has been hurt enough.”
With that cryptic comment, she took Aloise’s arm and helped her upstairs.
Once in her room, with the lock latched quite noisily behind her, Aloise stumbled to the fire, then sank on the rose-patterned rug. She really didn’t feel well—whether it was due to the liquor or the day’s events, she didn’t know. Even so, she had developed an odd truce of sorts with her host. But to stay here, to become a member of his staff?
Her shoulders stiffened. No. Her mind might swirl from the drink, but she had her head about her enough to know that wasn’t at all what she wanted. She had things to do. Plans of her own to follow. She didn’t want to become his housemaid, dusting and washing and cleaning for the rest of her days. And yet…
Lifting her eyes, she surveyed the black walls, the ceiling painted like a spring sky studded with laughing cherubs. After living in such a place, it would prove difficult to move on. It might even prove difficult to leave …him.
“Well, sir? What do you wish to do now? According to McKendrick’s assistant, Aloise has not been seen. Even our men have told us that the woman in the phaeton we saw was not she.”
Crawford barely acknowledged his secretary’s murmured comment.
“McKendrick has my daughter. Somewhere. Somehow.”
“But, sir—”
“She is nearby. I know it. I feel it.”
“But why would those men lie to us? We’ve never had any dealings with them before.”
Crawford took a moment before speaking, not about to reveal to his own man that he sensed some devious intent beneath his daughter’s disappearance. Since it came so close to his own attempts to see her married, once and for all, he was beginning to wonder if McKendrick had heard rumors of Crawford’s plans. Crawford had tried to keep the actual auctioning process silent, but it was commonly known that he was looking for a mate for his daughter. Did this man, this upstart, intend to force Crawford to acknowledge him as a possible candidate by abducting the girl and arranging a scandal?
Impossible. For all Crawford knew of the stranger, he had no title, no connections of worth. He was an entirely inappropriate candidate.
But that would not discourage a man intent on claiming the rubies.
Turning from the window of his coach Crawford pierced his secretary with a steely gaze. “I want you to investigate this … McKendrick. I need to know everything about him: his family, his lineage, the source of his money.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I want you to post a guard on the ridge overlooking his estates. At the first sign of my daughter, I want the man to report directly to me.”
Mr. Humphreys nodded. “Very well.”
“Oh, and Humphreys—” Crawford called in a silky voice to the bewigged gentleman leaving the room. “This time … do not fail me.”
The old man blanched at the none-too-subtle threat. “Yes, sir. As you say, sir.”
The door closed and Crawford stared out into the encroaching light. “I will find you, Daughter,” he whispered to the shadows, to himself. “Make no mistake of that.”
“I’m pleased that you found at least a measure of the peace you seek within the confines of my home.”
Aloise jerked, drawing her knees to her chest and flattening her hands over her breasts at the sultry remark. Blinking, she focused on the man who had entered the room and drawn a chair next to the tub, all without the slightest sound to alert her of his presence.
Slater’s lips lifted in amusement at her instinctive reaction. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Miss Nibbs said she’d left you here over an hour earlier. When we heard no sounds issuing from the chamber, I believe she feared some sort of accident.”
Aloise tugged at the linens draped over the side of the tub and shielded herself with them, doubting very much that Miss Nibbs had taken even a moment to worry about her health. The soaked fabric offered only a modicum of modesty.
Stretching his legs out, Slater sprawled in his chair, content to stay for the duration. Obviously, he felt little compunction about interrupting so private a moment. In fact, he seemed inordinately pleased.
“I believe the rum has left your system. You appear a little more clearheaded.”
Her lips tightened in annoyance. “Did it ever occur to you that you should knock on entering a woman’s room?”
“I did knock.” He abandoned his negligent pose and Aloise heaved a silent sigh of relief when he appeared ready to leave. But to her consternation, he propped his elbows on his knees, continuing to study her with his black eyes. “You did not answer.”
“You should have sent Miss Nibbs to investigate.”
“Miss Nibbs was needed elsewhere.”
When Aloise didn’t speak, a tense expectancy filtered into the room. The air became hushed and still.
“You’ve kept your bandage dry. How very wise. Now we won’t have to see to it again tonight.”
She remained mulishly silent.
“Did you enjoy your bath?”
The direct question demanded a direct answer. “Yes. Thank you.”
“I’m pleased.”
“Why?”
“I wouldn’t want it said that I was a less than proper host.”
Aloise regarded him in amazement. Less than proper? The man had crept into her boudoir and now watched her bathe! What did he consider to be improper?
The mere thought of such possibilities caused her to shiver. There was an infinitely overpowering quality about this man. Indeed, she would go so far as to say innately erotic. He was the sort Sacre Coeur had warned its charges to avoid. The sort mothers feared their daughters would encounter, and fathers sent away at sword point.
All of which only deepened his unconscious appeal.
“Are you cold?”
He dipped his little finger into the water next to her thigh.
She jumped.
He only smiled. That predatory, pantherish smile.
“Mayhap, you should consider abandoning your ablutions. You might catch a chill.” He looked up, following the wet linen draped to her stomach, her ribs, and stopped on the fullness of her breasts. The nipples had hardened into tight buds—not only from the cold, but from his regard. She could only pray that the arm she’d crossed over her chest hid such a sight from his view.
He drew an idle circle in the water, then touched the outside of her ankle. Aloise forgot the tepid temperature as he trailed a scorching path to her knee, then hesitated there.
She didn’t have time to draw breath to berate his familiarity. He stood, holding out the bath sheet that had been warming by the fire. When Aloise made no effort to rise he added, “Come, my dear. Your skin is closely approximating the texture of a prune. Unless you tend to court pneumonia, I suggest you abandon your bath.”
“Leave the sheet and go.”
“If you insist.” He draped the towel over the chair. “There’s a robe in the armoire behind you as well as a night rail, feel free to use them.”
She did not thank him—though the words jammed behind her teeth so drilled was she in the proper social niceties. She refused to thank a man for abducting her, imprisoning her in his home, tormenting her body and soul, then walking unannounced into her chamber while she was in a state of undress.
He must have sensed her quandary because his black eyes took upon themselves that warm glow she was beginning to associate with his wicked sense of humor. One which came unfailingly at her expense. “I will leave you to rise at your leisure.”
His boots made no sound across the thick carpet as he withdrew. The man was incredibly quiet, in word, in movement, and in deed. But she was beginning to realize that the silences masked a deeper layer of energy.
Aloise waited what she felt was a reasonable amount of time for him to leave the room, then stood from the tub, quickly drying herself and reaching into the armoire for the items Slater had offered.
“Oh.”
The telling sound escaped before she had a chance to retrieve it. She trembled as she touched the garments suspended on silver hooks. After the gown she’d been given this morning, a keen feminine hunger filled her breast. Pride dictated that she should stay wrapped in the sheet and refuse any further aid, but she could not resist the temptation to try on the pieces. Just try them on.
Taking the night rail from its mooring, she sighed at the cool caress of raw silk. The ivory fabric was so fragile, so translucent, that when she drew it over her head, it spilled over her shoulders and down her body like a fairy’s mantle, clinging seductively to the damp spots she had failed to dry completely.
There was no mirror in this corner of her chamber, but she could imagine how it looked, and even in her mind the shift was exquisite. Aloise fingered the net lace at the cuffs and the hairpin insertion placed at intervals on the front yoke. She had never owned anything half so bewitching. Her father did not believe his daughter should court vanity by wearing rich clothing unless such trappings were used to lure a wealthy husband.
She grew still, staring into the dark interior of the armoire in indecision. On the far side, she saw that sets of masculine attire had also been hung on the hooks. His. Because of their length and the breadth of the shoulders, she was sure the things belonged to him.
Dear heaven, had she stumbled into some house of decadent entertainment? Was this the room of his fancy-piece? Was that the position he meant for her to assume?
Aloise felt the blood rush from her face. What had she done? What manner of man had she allowed to assume control over her life?
She quickly sought out the buttons of the night rail, trembling with indignation and a subtler panic. She should take the garment off. If Slater were to see her dressed thus, he would take such overtures as encouragement—something to be avoided at all costs.
But then … she hesitated, struck by an even more horrible thought. The situation might prove far worse should he return to find her dressed in nothing but a towel.
Reaching for the accompanying cover-up, she saw at a glance that the robe de chambre followed the latest fashion with a square-necked bodice, tight sleeves, and flowing skirt. Slipping it over her shoulders, she fastened the hooks at the front, and stepped from behind the screen.
“Very pretty.”
Aloise stopped in midstride, staring at the man who had not left as she had supposed, but sat ensconced on the bed, resting his back against the gleaming headboard.
A shimmy of alarm raced down to her toes. The man meant to bend her to his will. He meant to ravish her, here and now, in this black room, on that elegant bed.
Slater made a tsking sound in his throat. “You think far too much, my dear.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” The words were barely audible.
He slid from the bed and closed the distance between them. Once again, she was struck by the silence of his passage. There was a predatory ease to the way the muscles of his thighs moved beneath the wool of his breeches.
“I frighten you.”
He’d already made that comment, but this time she denied such an emotion. “No.”
“Then what I make you feel frightens you.”
When she opened her mouth to refute such a telling statement, he dammed her words with a single finger pressed against her lips. “Never fear, I have no immediate designs on your body—delectable as it may be.” He skimmed her with a glance from head to toe, making her overtly conscious of her borrowed finery. “I simply wanted to ensure that you had all you needed for the night. That’s why I waited on the bed.”
She jerked free, taking a step away—not from fear, she reassured herself. No, she did not fear him, no matter what he said. Nor did she fear any emotions he might inspire. She was simply not a fool. To entertain such liberties as he proposed, she would be considered very foolish. To entertain the prospect of his veiled proposition, she would have to be well on her way to madness.
“There are chairs you could have sat on. There was no need to plant yourself on my bed.”
His eyes narrowed at her bitter tone. “So the little lost kitten has unsheathed her claws, hmm?”
When she would have spun away from him, he grasped her elbow, forcing her to collide with him, chest to chest, hip to hip. He snared her chin, studying her face with an enigmatic expression, one that held a touch of wonder and a trace of anger. Then, just as quickly, his features were shuttered from all evident emotion.
“Had I chosen any one of the chairs, I still would have been able to see behind the screen. Something which I’m sure would have wounded your sensibilities,” he added.
He tugged her to the fireplace where a table and two chairs had been placed in the buttery glow. A tray laden with tea, tiny sandwiches, and an assortment of shortbreads awaited her. When she made no move to sit, he circled behind her, curling his hands over her shoulders.
Aloise trembled, wondering if a draft had somehow permeated the room. The heat of his skin seeped through the weave of her clothing, causing her to center on that one point of contact. She sensed the strength of his frame behind her, radiating an energy like none she’d ever encountered. One her own body craved to absorb.
Despite all this man had done to her, she had the strangest urge to lean back until each plane and angle of his body was pressed against her own. Just as they’d been earlier, downstairs. Where he’d offered a position in his household.
Jerking away from his grasp, she sat in her chair with excessive force, glaring at the man who had tried to scold her for not living up to the station of her birth.
Slater seemed far from affected by her mood. “I know you haven’t eaten much this day.”
“Thanks to you.”
He ignored that remark. “Therefore, I ordered your teatime meal to be brought up here so that you could eat at your leisure. What with the gathering storm, it should be quite cozy here by the fire.” He took the seat opposite and motioned for her to begin.
“You aren’t having anything?”
“I will find something to …nibble on later. But I thank you for your concern. Please. Eat.”
She hesitated and he said, “I will have a cup of tea if it will make you feel more comfortable. If you’ll pour…”
So he had decided upon another of his tests, had he? This time, Aloise felt a swell of pride. If there was one thing Sacre Coeur taught its young ladies, it was how to entertain.
In a flourish of pomp and grace, she took a cup and saucer, balancing them without the slightest quiver of china. After filling the cup halfway she inquired, “Milk?”
“No.”
“Lemon?”
“Thank you, no.”
“Sugar?”
“One.”
Deftly handling the delicate silver tongs, she selected one cube of sugar and dropped it into the fragrant brew then handed him his cup, her chin tilted in victory.
“So …” he drawled. “You are familiar with the art of pouring tea.”
“Intimately.”
“Then you must either be a lady …”
She grinned in triumph.
“… or a well-trained servant.”
When she opened her mouth to offer a scathing remark, he lifted a finger in warning, his eyes brimming in laughter. “As I recall, a true woman of breeding does not argue with the master of the house.”
Her lips snapped shut in displeasure.
After a moment of warring wills—one which Aloise feared she would lose—Slater reached for one of the rounds of shortbread and broke off a piece. “You must pour yourself a cup and eat something as well, otherwise Hans will be most upset. He’s Bavarian, you know, and quite known for his temper. I rescued him from beneath the sword point of an angry baron who thought he’d been cuckolded; but despite his weakness for married ladies, Hans has managed to learn to make tea like a true Brit. Come, my dear.” His fingers grazed against her. “Try it once. You will enjoy it, I assure you.”
Aloise opened her mouth, intent on some scathing remark and he took the opportunity to insert the morsel.
“Chew.”
It was delicious, that fact she could not deny. She had not eaten in what felt like ages and the delicate nutty flavor tasted like manna from heaven.
He looked pleased by the way she suddenly dug into the fare, eating with the relish of a prisoner set down to dine with lords. As she consumed her meal, he settled comfortably into his chair. Resting his elbows on the armrests, he steepled his fingers and studied her over the tips.
For some time, there were no words between them. If not for the chink of cutlery and the snap of the fire, the room would have remained silent. But Aloise was far from unaware of her companion. He was forever analyzing her—and though he did not appear to dislike what he found, Aloise sensed a hidden resistance as well.
She had nearly finished all the shortbread and was sipping at the last bit of her tea when he surprised her by speaking again.
“You remember nothing at all?”
The words were low, dark, slightly dangerous.
She looked up at him in confusion. The shadows grew suddenly darker, the firelight less cheery.
“Your childhood,” he prompted when she did not speak. “You told me once that you did not remember your childhood.”
She had told him no such tale—only that she had no memories of her mother. Aloise carefully set her cup on its saucer, feeling an unaccountable shiver wriggle its way up her spine.
“What a pity,” he drawled when she refused to respond. “Everyone should have happier times to fall back on when adulthood rears its head. Don’t you think?”
“Why are you so interested in my past?”
He shrugged. “Merely making idle conversation. Passing time.”
Aloise would have labeled his manner far from idle, but when he did not speak again, she continued with her meal. Therefore, his next statement proved as startling as those which had come before.
“You’re quite stunning, you know.”
She paused in midswallow, taken unaware by his sudden remark. Wiping her hands on the napkin provided, she wondered if she would have to make a dash for the fire poker in order to defend herself.
He must have sensed her intent because he made a waving gesture. “As I said earlier, I have no designs on you, tonight, I assure you.”
Tonight.
Tonight?
Setting her napkin on the table with great care, she rose to her feet, pushing her shoulders into a line of brittle dignity. “Then that makes us even, sir, since— being a lady of breeding—I would not wish to be touched by a scruffy-faced, ill-mannered, overbearing know-it-all like yourself.”
Rather than infuriating him, her words only amused him further. “Of that you are certain?”
“More certain than the sun rising in the east each morn.”
“Then I suppose we are in accord.” Once again, his eyes gleamed in the light shed from the candles. “You are not at all what I expected.”
Aloise had been about to march to the opposite end of the room, but subsided at his remark. “Expected?”
He didn’t answer her right away, but regarded her over his hands, making her feel that he could strip each layer away and see to the very core of her soul.
“What do you mean ‘expected’?”
His gaze intensified, nearly burning her with its power. She was struck by a wealth of meaning obscured behind his inscrutable expression and an intent she was powerless to interpret.
“Merely that when I encountered you on the beach, I hadn’t thought so vibrant a woman could be hidden beneath the saltwater and grime.”
Aloise felt there was much more he left unuttered, but when he did not continue, she realized he’d told her all he intended to say.
A sound of irritation pushed from her throat and she strode the full length of the room then realized how easily he could interpret her nervous actions, thereby knowing how much he’d disturbed her. Grasping the bath sheet, she returned to her chair as if her only intent had been to retrieve a towel to dry her hair.
Turning toward the rollicking flames, she tried to block Slater from her line of sight, busying herself with the still-damp tresses. But such peace was not to be so easily obtained.
“Tell me about yourself.”
She refused to meet his perusal, refused to allow him to pull untold secrets from her soul in the uncanny way he had in the past. A dull throb began deep in her head. One which she had felt earlier. At the cottage. This man knew something. Something he wasn’t telling her. But what? What?
“Why would you want to know anything about me?”
“If, as you say, you’ve nothing to hide, why wouldn’t you want to tell me about yourself, about your education, your training, your family.”
She looked at him then, wondering what he might think if she told him of a father who had never forgiven her for being a girl. Of a forgotten childhood. Of years in a stern private school. Of days filled with tedium and drudgery with only the occasional marriage attempt to break them up.
No. She couldn’t tell him that. She wouldn’t. It would reveal far too much about the nature of her upbringing. The loneliness she’d endured.
“Prove to me you’re a lady,” he taunted softly.
“Would you be willing to respond in kind?” The words popped, unbidden, from her mouth, but she didn’t try to retract them. The thought proved too irresistible by far. Although she had determined that the other members of the household called him Slater, she had no tangible information about this mysterious man.
“I might supply you with a detail or two about my life, if you are as forthcoming with yours.”
He grinned, “Very well. What would you like to know?”
“Your full name.”
“As you have already deduced, my friends call me Slater. Slater McKendrick.”
The towel nearly fell from her grasp. “The explorer?”
He nodded and Aloise felt an unwilling thrill of discovery. She knew of this fellow. She had devoured his treatise in the library at Sacre Coeur. His travels were legendary in France, his exploits renowned. Yet, from all indications, the man himself continued to be shrouded in mystery. It was said that he had surrounded himself with a host of men wanted for various crimes of passion and that only a blessed few in all Europe had actually met him. Aloise had somehow stumbled into their charmed circle.
She blinked at him in sheer delight.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I—”
Slater rose and crossed to the vanity. Taking a silver-backed brush he returned, stepping behind her and drawing her hair over her shoulders. Slowly, softly, gently, he began to work the tangles free, moving from the tips, ever upward to her skull.
Her lashes flickered closed. The towel she held was forgotten as she surrendered to the heady sensations that stormed through her system. This man had traversed the earth. He had discovered strange beasts like Sonja and charted unknown lands. Now those same hands smoothed over her shoulders, drew across the damp tresses there, and caused an unknown heat to course through her veins. Such actions inspired an unaccountable excitement. So much so, she was almost willing to forget his altogether irritating personality.
When Aloise had plunged into the frothy sea, she longed for mystery and excitement. Who would have guessed that she would have found such things within seconds of being washed ashore?
Without thought of possible repercussions, she reached to touch him, to ensure that he was not a figment of her imagination. His ministrations stilled beneath her inquisitive caress and she was able to discern the ridges of his knuckles, the strength of his wrist.
“You have a habit of playing with fire, cherie.” The comment fairly melted from the shadows. The shadows she was beginning to associate with this man.
“Do I?”
Aloise knew she had been warned, that she should back away. But on that point of contact, she found that the heat she had discovered earlier that day began to drizzle through her. All without the benefit of rum.
Mindful of her wound, he lifted her out of the chair and turned her to face him. “Why?”
Aloise didn’t know exactly what information he required. She only knew that he had taken her in his arms, holding her weight against his own. Then his head bent, and his lips closed over hers.
She barely had the presence of mind to clutch his shirt to maintain her balance. There was no real need for such a precaution. He kept her close. So close, their thighs laced and the fabric of her night clothes bunched between her legs.
He overpowered her. In thought, in deed, in intensity. His mouth moved to her cheek, her chin, roaming her face and neck and teaching her delights she had never imagined. Sucking, nipping, wooing. When he pulled aside the fabric of her gowns and exposed her shoulder, she could not refuse. Did not want to refuse. He kissed her there, and lower, skimming the curve of her breast. Passion raged through her extremities, forcing her to delve deep in her soul for control. She would not allow this man to rule her. She would not trade her father’s reign for this man’s.
“Slater?”
His head lifted. His expression grew still, masked.
“I won’t become your mistress.”
Despite the thundering of her pulse and the trembling of her limbs, she infused her voice and her stance with as much iron-willed determination as she could muster.
“You won’t?”
“No.”
His lips twitched and once again, she was struck by the fact that she had secretly amused him. “Then perhaps you should wait until such a thing has been asked of you. For you see, Aloise, I have no desire, none whatsoever, to see you ensconced in Ashenleigh as my paramour.”
With that parting remark, he smiled enigmatically and backed away, stepping over the hairbrush which had dropped to the floor.
“Sweet dreams, Aloise.” His voice was husky. Deep. “Feel free to sleep as late as you wish tomorrow morning. After all—whether you prove to be a lady or not—you are my guest. Once you are well rested, we will resume your tests.”
The teasing reminder echoed in Aloise’s brain as he left the room. She could not shake the feeling that something far more subtle than a battle of wills had occurred between them. Something warmer, richer.
Something that she did not entirely understand.