Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,56
was met with a distracted command to enter.
Elizabeth hesitated, her hand a hair’s breadth away from the latch. In all honesty, she failed to remember precisely why she stood there, her errand superfluous in her own mind. She steeled herself to resume her cool, withdrawn mien and briskly opened the door.
“Justin—” His name died on her lips, her breath coming in a ragged gasp. He stood in the flickering glow cast by the fire, naked from the waist up. His smoothly muscled back was to her as he bent forward, stirring the embers.
She had never seen a man without his shirt save in statues and paintings. She blinked rapidly in surprise.
St. Ryne jerked up at the sound of his name, turning swiftly, poker in hand.
A sensual heat pumped erratically through Elizabeth, suffusing her face, running down through her loins, stirring up a maelstrom of emotions from deep within. She felt unaccountably light-headed. The light and shadows cast by the fire sharply defined the muscles in his arms and shoulders and glinted off the curling mat of dark hair spread across his chest and descending in a V to his flat stomach. Her hand slowly rose from her side with a mind of its own and a desire to touch his chest; her nails aching to graze his naked shoulders as he’d promised at that fateful Amblethorp rout. Like waking from a drugged sleep, she lifted her eyes from his chest to his face to find her surprise mirrored in his eyes.
Very slowly he set the poker down by the hearth, moving as if afraid to startle a bird to flight. He glided to her side, his heart pounding in his chest. “Bess,” he whispered, for he recognized the desire and confusion in her eyes. He felt giddy, as if he should be shouting for joy, but he contained himself for this exotic bird could still take flight. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her close to him. Her hands settled tentatively against his chest.
His head bent, slowly closing the distance with hers. In panic she realized he intended to kiss her. “No!” she moaned, all too clearly remembering when last they kissed, fear of her response to him rapidly supplanting the desire in her eyes. Her fingers curled into fists and weakly her eyelids fluttered shut.
She felt his lips lightly settle on her temple then withdraw, her hands falling from his chest as he stepped away. She swayed slightly, then her eyes flew open to see him pick up his discarded shirt to slip it on. Two bright spots of color stained her cheeks.
“I—I came to inform you the grooms’ quarters in the stable are quite uninhabitable. Your groom will have to sleep in the servant rooms here in the house. I have directed Mrs. Atheridge to have a room prepared but I didn’t know how many to expect. I normally wouldn’t bother you with servant details; however, Mrs. Atheridge seems incapable of independent thought.” She was babbling and she knew it. She compressed her lips tightly for her husband was studying her with a thoroughly masculine, arrogant smile slashing across his face.
“Just Grigs and Cranston at the moment. I have already spoken to Grigs on the condition of the stable, and though he sniffed like a superior butler, he is prepared to accommodate himself as necessary.” He answered lighty but his eyes remained intent upon her.
“Very well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll leave you now and see you at dinner.”
Elizabeth, calmer, appeared to have regained her dignity. St. Ryne watched her leave, pleased with the encounter. He discovered to his delight that his lady wife was not completely the mistress of her emotions for he’d glimpsed the edges of suppressed passion. Patience would come easily now, he decided, for he was sure of success. A sudden frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. There was still the problem of her shrewish temperament with other people. On that problem it would bode well to step carefully.
Once out of the suffocating proximity of St. Ryne, a new iron determination to distance herself emotionally from him swept through Elizabeth. She paced her room restlessly. She hated the realization that he could make her knees weak with a touch or a look while he felt nothing. He acted the large cat playing with its prey. Why had he come back, to complete her humiliation? For all her shrewish sins of the past, did she deserve such treatment?
The only time she had