making sound decisions.
He was her employer.
She was deceiving him.
If he kissed her, she might not want him to stop . . .
Swallowing past a throat tight with nerves and longing, Olivia forced herself to speak. “F-forgive me for saying so, b-but I think you’re a little drunk, my lord, and—
Lord Sleat’s wide, chiseled mouth tilted into a smirk. “Aye, I am indeed, lass,” he said, his voice as rough as gravel. “Actually, it might surprise you to know, I’m not drunk enough.”
Not drunk enough? Olivia’s mouth dropped open. The man was as drunk as a wheelbarrow. Or three sheets to the wind, as her father used to say.
“Now, now, now, Miss Morland. Don’t go all mish . . . I mean missish on me. I can see by your expression that you’ve already passed judgment on my character. On my insalubrious ways and ungentlemanly conduct. If I were your guardian . . . well, if you had a guardian,” he amended, “I’d tell you to run a mile.”
“I’m . . . I’m not being missish,” she protested, crossing her arms over her chest.
Lord Sleat continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Not that I would blame you if you did decide to run a mile. I mean, look at me. I’m an utter disaster. Inside and out.” All at once he stepped away and raked his hair back from his brow, revealing the full extent of his damaged face; his left eye was still intact but clearly sightless, the orb glowing a strange milky white in the lambent light of the candles and dying fire. The jagged scar that bisected his eyebrow also pulled down the corner of his eyelid before taking a slashing turn across the crest of his cheek.
Olivia tried to but failed to suppress a gasp; she wasn’t horrified or revolted by the sight of his injuries, just shocked. Unbidden tears brimmed in her own eyes. To think of the terrible pain Lord Sleat must have endured. No wonder he suffered from nightmares.
The marquess’s mouth twisted into a sneer of a smile as he dropped his hand and his hair tumbled back into place. “So, my bonnie wee lassie, now that you’ve seen this particular beast in his true natural state, unfettered and unhinged, I suspect you’d like to go.”
Olivia frowned. “I’m not frightened, if that’s what you’re thinking, my lord. And I won’t leave, not until I know you are all right. Can I get you anything? Summon Hudson? Help clean up the broken glass?”
Lord Sleat waved a dismissive hand. A scowl replaced his smile. “There’s no help for me I’m afraid, Miss Morland. And as for the glass, don’t worry about it. You should go back to bed. Get some sleep.” He suddenly yawned and scratched the dark stubble on his jaw. “Christ knows I need some,” he muttered.
Olivia worried at her lower lip, not at all convinced the marquess didn’t need some kind of assistance. But what could she do if he was going to reject any and all offers of help? So she released a defeated huff and said, “Well, if you’re sure then . . .”
“I am.” Lord Sleat leaned past her and opened the door. “Good night once more, Lavinia Morland. I wish you nothing but sweet dreams.”
Back in her own room, Olivia stoked the fire to life. Tilda stirred a little, then rolled over and began to suck her thumb.
A wistful sigh escaped Olivia. If only she could sleep so soundly. But that wasn’t likely now that she’d learned something truly shocking. Despite the marquess’s intemperate tendencies, mercurial moods, and deeply wounded spirit, she couldn’t deny that she wanted him even more than she had before.
Because in those tense moments when she’d been pressed against the door with the marquess only inches from her, her fingers had itched to push aside his robe and explore every inch of his muscular body. Her lips had tingled at the thought of him kissing her. In fact, they still did.
Olivia touched her mouth with trembling fingers and stared into the bright, dancing flames of the fire. How she’d summoned the strength to resist Lord Sleat when he’d held her in his handsome grip, she really had no idea.
Yes, if the marquess had thought to scare her off by revealing his “beastly self” to her, he’d been sadly mistaken. Because the only thing truly frightening about that whole encounter had been how much she truly desired Lord Sleat.
* * *
* * *
Good morning, Miss Morland.