The Marquess and the Maiden(19)

"How short do you want it?"

"You decide. I'm at your mercy."

She made her first cut and watched the lock fall to the ground. Standing  this close to him she could smell him, woodsy and masculine. She had  the outrageous urge to lean forward and inhale him, to imprint his scent  to her memory.

Instead, she continued to trim, cropping his hair short. Most of the  dark blond locks fell to the floor while others got caught in the hem of  her dress. She supposed it was best that she and her mother had come to  Brookhaven a day before the rest of the guests arrived. She moved  around to the front of him, having to position herself to stand between  his thighs to get close enough.

Heat pulsed through her entire body despite the gentle breeze blowing in  from the surrounding hills. His intense blue gaze caught hers and with  it, her breath. He was beautiful. Long hair, bearded, however he came,  simply beautiful. She forced her eyes back to his hair and continued her  task until she finished.

She took a step back and surveyed her work.

He reached up and ran a hand along his head. "Christ, you practically scalped me."

"You said you were at my mercy."

"Are you attempting to make me unattractive so none of the other women will want me?"         

     



 

"Good heavens, no. Besides, there is naught I could do to make you less attractive."

He smiled, a grin so self-assured and arrogant she had a thought to  smack him. It wasn't entirely his fault; she was the one who continued  to preen his feathers, as it were.

She felt the weight of his gaze as if he could see beneath her layers of  clothing, leaving her feeling bare and exposed. Setting down the  scissors, she turned and retrieved the basin and moved it closer. "Now  the shave." The faster she finished, the sooner she could step away from  his penetrating gaze.

She tugged on the bottom of the coarse beard and cut as close to his  skin as she could. "Are you certain you don't want your valet to do  this?"

"No, he's busy getting everything else ready for the weekend. I must have the proper clothes to bride hunt."

"Your clothes have never been an issue." What was the matter with her?  She might as well be flirting with all the compliments she was paying  him. "I'm pleased to hear you're finally taking this seriously," she  said, trying to recover.

"I've always been serious about it, Harriet."

Serious about you.

But that's not what he meant, and she should not think such things. She  ignored the kick her pulse took at his words and continued until she was  finally able to lather up his face to use the blade. "I'll endeavor to  not cut you."

"If you do, do it right, and make it quick."

She chuckled and again stepped into the cove between his thighs. It was  too intimate. He was too big. Too much maleness with his hard, muscular  body and the woodsy scent of him. Every fiber of her body came alert;  her senses heightened. The scrape of the razor across his face, his slow  and steady breathing-she felt as if she were drowning in oxygen, she  was breathing so quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. Though she  knew if she sped through this she would likely cut him, and she didn't  want that. "Hold your mouth like this." She tried to show him.

His lips kicked up in a grin. "I do actually know how to get shaved. I even know how to do it myself."

She frowned. "Then why are we going through this exercise in futility?"

His thighs tightened on her body, effectively pinning her between his  legs. "Because I want your hands on me, and this seemed the most  legitimate way to make that happen."

She sucked in a breath and held up her hands in an effort to end their contact.

"Please continue. I promise not to ravish you, sweet Harriet. At least  not today." He obeyed her instruction and tightened his lips so she  could shave around his mouth.

When she was done, she wiped his face clean of the shaving lotion with a  damp towel, then she took in the entirety of her work. His eyes flicked  up to meet hers, and he gave her a lazy smile.

She died.

If she thought he'd been beautiful before, she hadn't understood the  full meaning of the word. Foolishly, she wished she hadn't shaved him.  Now there would be no hiding his handsome face from the rest of the  women. They'd see what they'd overlooked, and they'd all want him.

She wanted to scream that she'd seen him first … that she'd recognized his  beauty before anyone else. But that was ridiculous. She held no claim  to him nor did she want one.

She let herself brush the smoothness of his cheek. "You'll have no  problems garnering the attention of plenty of prospective brides."

"Do I have your attention?" he asked.

"You are handsome, my lord. Certainly, you know that already."

"I'm pleased to hear you think so." He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her body, and pulled her closer. "Kiss me."

"I will do no such thing." She twisted in an effort to put some distance  between them and very nearly threw herself forward onto his lap.

"You have kissed me with my beard. Do you not want to know if it feels different now?"

"You are ridiculous." She shook her head. "Why is tormenting me your favorite hobby?"

"Because when you get angry with me, you get this little V furrow right  here between your eyes." He rubbed his thumb against the spot in  question. "And your color heightens and your breathing quickens and it  causes your magnificent breasts to move toward me." His gaze dipped  down, and he grinned. "Yes, just like that."

She tried to move backward, out of the tight vise of his thighs, but his  hold on her was too strong. She hated that she was so short that while  he was seated in front of her they were nearly eye level. She hated that  his request for a kiss had her body so alert that she could now feel  the fabric of her chemise against the tips of her aching breasts. And  above all else, she hated that she desperately wanted him to lean in and  simply take what he said he wanted, because she certainly could not do  something so brazen as to reveal to him that she wanted his kisses.  Craved his kisses.         

     



 

Good heavens.

"Harriet," he said, his voice a low growl. His large hand cradled her  face, his thumb ran over her bottom lip. "I don't think you understand  what you do to me." Then his other hand was holding her face and pulling  her forward, and his lips were on hers. Soft and gentle. Teasing and  playful. And then he slanted his mouth and consumed her.

Everything disappeared except the feel of his lips, the taste of him, the warm roughness of his hands on her face.

His tongue explored, and she gently moved hers against his. He growled  and somehow pulled her even closer. Every nerve ending in her body  sparked to life. God help her, but she had the most shameless desire to  straddle his lap and sit directly upon him. Even with that thought  burning through her, still she could not pull away.

Her hands gripped the hard cords of his muscled shoulders, and she  wanted to know what the rest of him felt like. She suspected his body  would look as if carved from the finest of marble, every muscle defined  and featured. A perfect male specimen.

A small mewling noise caught her attention, and then she realized it was  her making that sound. As if she'd become a cat begging for his  attention. She ended the kiss and stepped away from him then, her hands  to her mouth.

"My lord, I do not understand this game you're playing. If it is to  teach me some sort of lesson, I do wish you would explain yourself."

He stood. His masculine form towered over her, and she inhaled sharply.  His piercing blue eyes scalded her as he stared. "If you don't want a  man to kiss you, then perhaps you shouldn't rub your breasts all over  him."

She sucked in a breath. "I did no such thing."

His eyes dropped to her cleavage. "Love, the entire time you were  cutting my hair, they were either pressed to my back or in my face." He  held up a hand to stop her from speaking. "I'm not complaining. I happen  to like your breasts." He licked his lips, then traced one finger  across the outer swell of her right breast. "I'd like to spend more time  with them, actually."

With every ounce of strength, she pulled herself away. "You are  deplorable." Then she turned on her heel and fled for the sanctuary of  the house. And she could have sworn she heard him chuckle.





Chapter Ten


"You do know that you shouldn't have invited me to this party of yours," Benedict said.

"And you know that I don't actually care a whit about what I should and  shouldn't do," Oliver said. "I did not think I would be able to survive  the weekend without you here."

"I'm touched."

"You're a bastard."

"So I've been told." Benedict took a swallow of his champagne and  winced. "I never did care for this drink." He nodded to the room before  them, people milling about at the refreshments table, couples dancing.  "Are you going to tell me which one she is or should I guess?"