Adele Ashworth Read online

  She couldn’t help herself. She had to touch it.

  Running her fingertips across the cold metal edge, Natalie considered it peculiar that Vivian had never mentioned her brother-in-law to be such a very odd gentleman.

  With her thoughts elsewhere, she missed the pattering of feet behind her. Until a ferocious growl pierced the silence.

  So sudden and unexpected was the noise, she whirled around to confront it, slicing her hand with the tip of the blade.

  For a frightful second she glared into the eyes of a huge German shepherd standing only three feet from her. Then she felt the warmth of her blood as it oozed down her hand and dripped onto her midnight-blue traveling cloak, and immediately she was both awash with pain and completely incensed.

  Taking several deep breaths to control the scream welling up inside of her, Natalie looked to her palm. The cut was superficial, though nearly three inches long, stretching from her index finger to her wrist. She quickly wrapped her cloak around it to stop the bleeding, then started toward the door. At that, the animal began a pattern of endless barking as it cornered her under the sword.

  “Be quiet, you beast,” she whispered nervously, trying to brush the dog aside with her good hand.

  It made no difference. The animal growled again, then shocked her beyond belief when he quite suddenly stuck his nose into her gown, between her legs no less, and pushed her back against the wall.

  “What are you doing here, Natalie?”

  She stilled, eyes bright, cheeks pink with embarrassment as she turned her attention to the door of the study.

  He stood there, looking absolutely magnificent as she knew he would, more handsome than memory served, wearing nothing but tight, black trousers molding indecently to his tapered hips and legs.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked sweetly for lack of something better to say. “The door was open, and I . . .” Words failed her then as she became increasingly flustered, feeling ever more helpless as the seconds dragged by and the beast of an animal refused to remove his probing nose from between her thighs.

  And he was watching the dog. She wanted to scream.

  Indifferently he leaned his hard, sleek body against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, relishing, she was certain, her unusual and highly entertaining predicament.

  “Sir?” she pleaded, pushing in vain against the shepherd’s head with her uninjured hand.

  He smiled lazily. “Down, Thorn.”

  The dog responded immediately to the gruff command, moving back a foot or two to sit and watch her as well.

  Natalie could think of nothing appropriate to say, so she simply stood her ground, bravely holding his gaze. Her cheeks burned, but whether it was from utter humiliation or the discomfort she always felt in the presence of this one man, she couldn’t be certain.

  Finally she could take the awkwardness of the moment no longer. “What a . . . picturesque home you have,” she pleasantly acknowledged, chancing a glance around the room.

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you do your own decorating or—”

  “Natalie, what are you doing in my home at six o’clock in the morning?”

  She almost jumped from the brusqueness in his tone as she looked back to his face. He hadn’t moved his body, but the smile had left his mouth.

  “The door was open,” she replied matter-of-factly as if that explained everything, “and I thought perhaps we could talk.”

  “You stopped by to chat?”

  She nodded and gave him her sweetest smile.

  “But the standard social hour doesn’t start for several hours, Miss Haislett. What did you intend to do with me until then?”

  Her body grew hot beneath her petticoats from his formal, seemingly innocent question, and she clutched her wounded hand with the other, growing noticeably discomfited.

  “Do—do you mind terribly if we sit?” she murmured at last.

  He continued to stare at her for a moment, then groaned and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “The coffee’s ready by now.”

  “Coffee is vile,” she countered without thinking.

  He looked back at her sharply and gave her a cynical smile. “It’s coffee or nothing.”

  “Coffee would be lovely,” she returned very quickly, not wanting to chance him throwing her out for ungracious behavior.

  “Thorn.” He motioned with his hand to a corner of the room where the dog quickly moved to lie with his eyes closed, as if he hadn’t a thought in the world other than much-needed sleep.

  “He’s certainly a large animal,” she said pleasantly.

  The right side of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly as he continued to regard her openly. That did nothing but increase the already unbearable tension. “The coffee, sir?”

  “I think we know each other well enough for you to call me Jonathan,” he drawled.

  Natalie didn’t know what to say to that, and she was truly beginning to feel not just nervous but extremely uneasy. What was she thinking, walking into his home as if she lived there herself, with no chaperon and at daybreak no less? Suddenly she wished to heaven she were tucked beneath her downy quilt coverlet, or even walking down the aisle of St. George’s to marry the boring Geoffrey Blythe. Any banal existence would be better than this.

  He must have noticed her apprehension, the thoughts of fleeing outlined on her face, for at that moment he relaxed.

  “It’s all right, Natalie,” he soothed, motioning with his head for her to follow. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

  Strangely, she moved toward him without a thought to the contrary, still clutching her now-burning palm with her cloak, hoping the pain would subside and she could get her business done without disclosing the incident. She didn’t want him to think her an idiot for touching a sword with no consideration as to the consequences.

  She paid little attention to where they were heading, finding it difficult to take her eyes off his bare back as he walked in front of her. He was firm, marvelously muscled, and watching the mere sleekness of his frame, the tightness of his backside, made her feel even hotter in her layers of clothing. Suddenly the absurdity of the situation made her softly laugh.

  He stopped short, turning at the unexpected sound, and the movement caused her to tumble into his chest. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled her against him, to keep her from falling, she supposed, and at that moment her mirth faded as her heartbeat drastically increased from nothing more than his warm touch.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, amused.

  “I . . .” Nervousness overcame her again as she peered into his eyes, ever so slowly becoming aware of the fact that her breasts were now crushed up against his chest.

  She straightened the best she could. “It just occurred to me that my mother would die if she knew you were wearing almost nothing at all.”

  “Your mother would die if she knew you were here, Natalie,” he corrected thickly, tightening his grip on her back even as his free hand came forward to pull the hood of her cloak from her head. Before she could again put a reasonable distance between them, he reached behind her neck and pulled her long hair from beneath the soft wool, allowing it to fall freely down her back.

  Natalie’s eyes widened. The gesture was far too intimate, and she wanted to kick herself for not taking the time to put her unruly curls in pins. Without thinking, she placed both hands on his chest, pushing against him to free herself.

  His gaze hardened, and he released her, turning abruptly to continue walking to the back of his town house. After only several steps, however, he stopped once more and flipped around to look at her.

  His expression grew serious as he grabbed her wrists, palms up. “When did you do this?”

  She blinked, stunned, for he was nearly shouting at her. She tried to jerk away, but he wouldn’t let her free.

  “Answer me, Natalie,” he demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted, unsure of what else to say as she realized that in touch
ing his chest she had inadvertently wiped blood on him. “Your dog startled me, and my hand slipped. . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as his face visibly paled.

  “It doesn’t hurt at all,” she whispered up to him.

  “Which one?” he asked very quietly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Which one did you cut it on?”

  She almost smiled from his show of concern. “The big one hanging from the ceiling. I’m very sorry.” After an awkward pause, she timidly added, “I know touching your bare chest would be somewhat forward, but if you’d like, I’ll wash it for you.”

  He continued to stare starkly into her eyes for a second or two, then without reply he dropped her wrists, clasped her elbow, and guided her into the kitchen.

  “This is probably going to hurt a little,” he warned, walking her straight to the sink.

  Before she had time to consider what he was doing, he took her injured hand, held it palm up, and poured brandy from a bottle across the cut.

  A searing pain gripped her, and Natalie bit down to keep from crying out. She took a deep breath and swallowed, instinctively trying to wrench her hand from his grasp. He wouldn’t let her go. Instead, he watched her for a reaction, and that made her angry.

  “Was that necessary?” she choked out, clenching her teeth in defiance.

  “Yes, it was necessary,” he quietly replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

  It was finally too much. “Why on earth do you keep staring at me, sir?”

  She thought he almost smiled at that. Then, evidently deciding to ignore her question, he turned to his side, reached into a drawer, pulled out a small dishcloth, and proceeded to wrap her hand.

  “Why don’t you sit at the table and I’ll get the coffee. Hold this tightly to the cut.”

  She did as she was told, grateful his attention had turned elsewhere and he wasn’t looking at her anymore. In the momentary silence, she relaxed a little, watching him easily move about his kitchen. She’d smelled the sweet aroma upon entering the room, but what struck her was that he’d apparently made the coffee himself.

  “You have no servants, sir?” she asked at last.

  He shot her a quick glance. “I have one butler, Charles Lawson, who’s away for the week caring for his mother who is in ill health. And I have a part-time cook and housekeeper, Gerty Matthews, who doesn’t come in until about eleven.” He turned to her. “I’m not in the city much, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “I’m sure I’m not,” she rebutted too quickly, admiring him openly. Never before had she seen a man so rich of build, so handsome from head to foot, so . . . masculine.

  “Why do you keep staring at me, Natalie?”

  She blinked, flushing with hot color. Bravely, and congratulating herself for the quickness of her answer, she admitted, “I’ve never seen a man’s bare chest before, and if you weren’t so indecently exposed, I wouldn’t stare.”

  “I’ll bet you would,” he gruffly replied, turning his body to face her fully. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms in front of him as he gazed at her suggestively.

  Natalie was sure that this moment was one of the most uncomfortable of her life. Her mind churned as she considered what she could possibly say to him. Maybe she should run.

  “Why don’t you explain exactly why you’re here.”

  He had to have noticed the sign of obvious relief that crossed her brow at the abrupt change of subject. “A marvelous suggestion,” she agreed, sitting erect as her courage returned. “I need you to help me find someone.”

  “Really,” he stated rather than asked. “Do I know this person?”

  “I believe you do, yes.”

  He turned once more to the counter, poured two cups of coffee, placed them on a silver tray, then carried everything to the table.

  “Have you ever had coffee, Natalie?” he asked, sitting in the chair next to hers and handing her a cup.

  She shook her head. “My mother proclaims it to be a heathen beverage.”

  His mouth twisted in a smile. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  She looked at the thick, dark liquid and shivered. “I usually prefer chocolate in the morning. It’s one of my most insatiable desires. I adore chocolate.”

  He raised his cup to his lips. “And what are some of your other insatiable desires?”

  Her eyes grew wide as her pulse began to race. Above everything else, she needed to remember his reputation, to ignore and smoothly glide over every indecent innuendo to come from his mouth.

  Finding her voice, she announced levelly, “I’ll pay you to help me locate—”

  “Jonathan?”

  The soft interruption came from the doorway. Natalie looked to her left to see an absolutely beautiful dark-haired woman walk into the kitchen wearing nothing but blue velvet mules and a white, Oriental silk wrap, tied at her waist by a thin silk sash, hiding almost nothing of her body, least of all the outline of her tall, lithe, elegantly curved figure.

  Natalie had never been more thunderstruck, and apparently neither had the woman as they both stared openly at each other for one long and extremely awkward moment.

  Then Jonathan groaned, and they turned their gazes to him.

  He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and sank lower into his chair.

  “Miss Natalie Haislett, Miss Marissa Jenkins,” he said as an introduction.

  Natalie wondered for a moment if the woman deserved the title, then decided that was really beside the point. Suddenly made speechless, she slowly came to the conclusion that the exotic-looking creature standing in front of them was the man’s mistress. Of course Natalie was a lady, properly bred, but she’d heard rumors and knew many gentlemen of quality had them. She would not, therefore, be shocked. She would not be shocked. But in the course of several long, silent seconds, the poor man seated next to her became so adorably disconcerted, she could hardly keep from laughing. She would positively need to use the moment for all it was worth.

  Recovering quickly, she removed her cloak to allow full view of her peach muslin morning gown, cut low across the front to expose the gentle swell of her ample bosom. She originally had no intention of removing her outer garment, but this situation called for the exception. Now she was more than glad she’d worn something a bit revealing.

  With a small measure of subtlety she pulled her thick mass of hair over her shoulder to cascade loosely down the front of her, then gave them both a disarming smile.

  “So you must be Jonathan’s mistress.”

  His head jerked up immediately, eyes wide and full of amazement, no doubt stunned to hear such common words from an unmarried lady of her station.

  Marissa caught on quickly. “I was his mistress, Miss Haislett, until last night when he dismissed me.” Gracefully she walked to the opposite end of the table and sat. “Have you ever had coffee? It’s quite good with a little sweet cream and sugar.”

  “I believe I’ll try it like that, thank you,” Natalie returned smoothly, ignoring the man beside her and reaching for the serving tray. She poured a generous amount of cream from the small pitcher into her cup, then followed it with a large spoonful of sugar. “And why were you dismissed, Marissa?”

  The woman sighed. “Well, I do believe Jonathan is ready to find someone a bit more permanent to warm his bed.”

  “The poor man cannot afford blankets?” she asked with wide-eyed concern.

  Marissa placed an elbow on the table, her chin in her palm. “I’m quite certain he’s thinking of something livelier and more exciting than blankets.”

  “Perhaps he should sleep with his huge, warm dog—”

  “This is the most absurd conversation I’ve ever been a part of,” Jonathan finally cut in, exasperated and raising his cup to his lips to avoid looking at them.

  Both women turned to him as if noticing him for the first time.

  “Is she the one?” Marissa asked with calculation.

 
Natalie quickly came to her own defense. “I assure you, Miss Jenkins, I shall not be warming anyone’s bed but my own.”

  “Of course not,” she murmured very slowly, gazing back at her curiously. After an uncomfortable pause, she stood to leave. “Well, I think I’ll just get dressed and be on my way. If you change your mind, Miss Haislett, he prefers the left side.”

  “The left side?”

  “Of the bed.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s no concern of mine, Marissa. But may I say the man certainly has a taste for beauty—”

  “I don’t believe this is happening in my kitchen,” Jonathan interjected with growing wonder, tipping his cup to his lips again and draining the liquid with two large gulps.

  Both women looked at him innocently, then Marissa moved to kiss his cheek. “Good-bye, darling.”

  He grunted but said nothing as he continued to stare at the tabletop.

  Marissa walked to the door, gave them both an amused glance, and quickly left the kitchen.

  The room fell still as death. Natalie looked to her lap, clutching the towel with her throbbing hand as she played intently with the fabric of her gown with the other. She knew he’d shifted his gaze to watch her but she just couldn’t bring herself to look at him, so engrossed as she was in the quality of fine, peach muslin.

  “I apologize for that,” he mumbled at last.

  She shrugged but said nothing.

  “Natalie, look at me.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his, and it took everything in her to keep her features neutral. “It’s quite all right. What you do in your home is your own business, sir.”

  “Stop being so formal,” he ordered, at once annoyed.

  She ignored his outburst and looked again to her gown. “I only wonder why on earth she was here this morning when you rid yourself of her last night.”

  She didn’t expect him to laugh, and the suddenness of the reaction made her glance up sharply. He stared ever so intently into her eyes, smiling broadly, then leaned very close to her face. “Did you expect me to wait for you, sweetheart?”