He saw the recognition in her eyes, and the spark of fear that followed. Did she believe the rumors, then? Did she think him a murderer? Of course, it was quite possible that he had not managed to fully disguise his response. If she had recognized his body's reaction to her nearness, then perhaps she was more experienced than he might have originally imagined. If so, there was no reason for him not to pursue her, discreetly, of course. The spark of hope that flared in him with that thought was ridiculous.
Emme's bravado faltered as she met the shuttered gaze of her host. The Duke of Briarleigh still wore the impeccable evening clothes he'd looked so fine in at dinner, though his artistically knotted neck cloth was now hopelessly rumpled.
His close-cropped, dark hair was disheveled as well. Even in the dim light, the dark shadowing of whiskers on his square jaw was visible, deepening the cleft of his chin and silhouetting his sculpted mouth. Looking at his mouth made her breathless, so she quickly brought her gaze up to his startling eyes.
They pinned her to the spot, rooting her to the floor with as yet unasked questions. She recalled their color from her earlier meeting with him, even as the moonlight concealed it now. They were the lightest shade of brown, so pale that in the light they glowed like gold. Thickly lashed and topped with slashing, dark brows, they could make him appear quite fierce.
Everything about him was masculine—overwhelmingly so. His sharp, chiseled features, his deep, rich voice, and the sheer size of him, for he towered over her, even at her own impressive height—all of those traits combined to make him seem larger than life, and in her current state, incredibly intimidating. When he met and returned her assessing stare, the heat of embarrassment and something else she could not name, snaked through her veins.
"A thousand pardons, Your Grace,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was lost, I fear, and then, I am afraid that I panicked."
Her voice was low and husky, like velvet. The sound of it shivered over his skin like a caress. Wide-eyed, pale and disheveled, she was lovely and tempting. With the distance between them, he managed to reign in his libido, though only barely.
He reminded himself that she was out of reach for a multitude of reasons. As an unmarried woman of good breeding, let alone one he suspected of activities that, if not criminal, were certainly immoral, she was most unsuitable.
With chagrin, he acknowledged to himself that it was the latter and not the former that placed her entirely out of his reach.
While he had little patience for the magic and mysticism that his mother was so very fond of, he had even less patience for the idea of being leg-shackled again.
Aware that the silence had stretched taut and uncomfortable between them, Rhys spoke. “And you lost your wrapper as well, I see."
The phrase had no sooner escaped his lips than he realized they would do little to ease the tension. He gave a mental shrug. Perhaps if she were unsettled, he would have more answers.
Emme blushed. “Indeed, Your Grace. I am quite chilled and would very much like to return to the warmth of my—".
Bed had been on the tip of her tongue, but in her present state of undress there were few men who would not see that statement as an invitation.
Quickly rephrasing, she said, “To my room".
Her hesitation had not been subtle. He might have told her that any man blessed enough to view her in that diaphanous gown would be thinking of her and a bed regardless of whether she said it or not. Nonetheless, the unspoken word hung in the air between them.
Again, he cursed her purported abilities and her presumably chaste status, both of which made her completely unavailable. With her dark hair and pale eyes, she was striking.
The moonlight cascading through the windows had painted her body silver and illuminated her lush form through the fine lawn of the garment. The exaggerated curves of her generous breasts, small waist and flared hips would haunt him.
It had been far too long since he'd been with a woman. That the mere sight of her body could incite such lust in him was proof of that.
"Can you find your way?” he asked solicitously, though that was not what he wanted to say.
Speaking was the furthest thing from his mind. He wanted to pull her to him and feel the softness of her flesh against his, to taste the sweetly voluptuous lips he had so recently felt pressed against his hand. There were other things, far more wicked and wondrous, that teased his mind and stoked a fire in his blood.
Emme was hesitant to admit that she didn't know the way but it would be foolhardy to deny it. She barely knew her way through the public areas of the house, much less the convoluted twists and turns she had undoubtedly taken to get to her present location.