The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,26
that.”
Relief crossed her face so blatantly that an awkward silence stretched between them. She seemed awfully relieved to be free of his attentions. Was he so disagreeable to her, then?
He scrambled to fill the void before he actually asked her if she found him unattractive. It would have been wholly inappropriate given the scare she’d just been through, but evidently, he was a vain man. “You said you don’t see how you can sleep tonight. I’m happy to bore you into slumber, if you’d like to while away the hours with me. I think the proprietor must have a deck of cards or a chessboard to pass the time. Do you play?”
He sensed her wariness. To be alone with him? Or did she doubt his intentions? At last she nodded. He offered her his arm—he would get to play the gallant after all—and together, they made their way to the clerk’s counter.
A hint of some flowery soap wafted up from her crown of dark hair. She must have heavy tresses to form braids that thick. What would her hair look like taken down? Would it curl around her shoulders? Around her…
He shook himself. Never, in all the ways he’d imagined their agreement working, had he thought he’d take more from her than ten thousand pounds. Rescuing her tonight had been the last thing he’d expected when he’d drawn his horse up behind her unmistakable carriages. He’d thought only of asking her if she’d meant to abandon him in England without even giving him a fare-thee-well. Now he was protecting her, in a way, and he wasn’t even sure how that had come about, or how it was to go on.
That she’d needed him at all struck him as improbable. There was a self-possession about her that made it hard to think she’d ever been any man’s plaything. One thing he did realize as they collected his key and a deck of cards and made their way back down the hall toward the stairs: not enough people needed him. It was a disquieting realization to have, though not surprising, now that he’d given it some thought. It would be interesting to see what became of it. He’d had so little useful to do in his life, that the hope he might now have a purpose put an extra spring in his step.
She relaxed her grip on his coat sleeve as they walked arm in arm past a bank of rooms. On the other side of a wall, he heard the lilt of a lullaby being sung. Before he could stop her from leaving his side she released him entirely and hurried ahead to the room’s door. She tapped lightly on it, then opened it when a muffled voice said, “Come in.”
“I’ll just be in Lord Constantine’s room,” Elizabeth said, poking her head through the narrow opening. Then she turned back to Con. “I’ve forgotten the number.”
“Five.” He glanced down the hallway. It must be the one at the end. It suddenly seemed very secluded.
Elizabeth leaned into Mrs. Dalton’s room again. She lowered her voice so that he couldn’t hear her exchange with the nursemaid. Then, apparently satisfied, Elizabeth closed the door. She turned toward him and patted her coiffure self-consciously. “I’m ready.”
He indicated the last door at the end of the hallway. Wordlessly, they continued on. The easiness of their previous company changed over the last few steps. She became increasingly wary of him. When he turned his key in the lock, she jumped at the sound of the tumbler catching. He waved for her to precede him, and she hesitated.
“I’m not going to bite you.” Blast it, his voice was suddenly too deep to be reassuring.
“I wouldn’t let you.” She gripped her skirt with one hand and entered. He wasn’t so much of a gentleman that he didn’t appreciate the sway of her backside as she attempted to show him she wasn’t afraid.
She turned, surveying the place. It had all the usual accommodations: washstand in the corner, window overlooking a busy yard, a narrow table on which to place his things, and a spindly chair. The lamp had already been lit and a fire burned in the grate. Surely it was as good a place as any to chase nightmares away.
“Would you like the chair?” he asked, closing the door behind him. The sun would cast light through the one window for a few more hours. Then what? One lamp and a dying fire would feel like utter darkness.