Chapter Seven
“Where the hell is Miss March?” James demanded of the footman who had returned to the drawing room with the news that his guest had declined the invitation to dinner.
The young man paled. “Well, after she told me off, she said she didn’t wish to see anyone just now, including you. And she further said you should have expected that since she hadn’t joined you for dinner.”
“Why?” Since he’d been in the drawing room for at least an hour or so, he’d removed his tailcoat as well as his waistcoat. The cuffs and collar had joined the other garments on a sofa and were dangerously close to being claimed by Phantom as toys.
“I couldn’t say, Your Grace.”
“Fine.” He waved off the footman. “I’ll go up myself.
” But he didn’t move from the winged-back chair as he contemplated the fire in the hearth.
After dinner, though he’d wanted to sit in the library, he came here instead.
Of course it was still raining. It was always fucking raining, and the outside temperature remained cold, even by English standards, thus the need for the fire.
Because Eloise had declined to join him, he’d eaten dinner alone while she’d taken her meal on a tray in her room.
But why? He took solace in sipping yet another brandy.
There was no sense in retiring for the night because he didn’t want the lecture from Littleton, yet his thoughts continued to dwell on his alleged fiancée.
That coupling last night before dinner had nearly fractured his resolve not to share anything about his life or not to delve into his past. There had been secrets in her eyes as well as hurt—that he hadn’t caused—and despite himself, he wanted to know why.
The fact she’d given him permission with her kisses had furthered his confusion about the whole situation, and every time he was with her, the feel of her body and the touch of her fingers drove him out of his mind with need.
It was most vexing. Oddly, he missed verbally sparring with Eloise, and that only made him yearn for further couplings with her to feel that closeness with someone that had been lacking from his life for far too long.
Last night, it had seemed as if she’d peered into his soul and seen the wreckage he’d become in life, even above his physical injuries, and it didn’t matter.
In those doe brown eyes of hers, he had the queer thought that she might accept him as he was, that she wasn’t angling for his title or his wealth nor did she care about any of it.
Is that the truth, though? Even though she hates me?
He drained the contents of his cut-crystal glass then winced as the liquor burned down his throat.
When he and Eloise were involved carnally, the differences and problems between them didn’t seem to matter.
In fact, they dissolved, for neither of them wished to share the pain found in their histories, yet he knew she was right.
They did need to talk. If they were to indeed go through with this engagement—real or false—they needed to at least become friends.
To be fair, he’d been a terrible friend to the ones he already had.
One only needed to ask any of the men at his club to realize that, but there was a capacity for coziness with Eloise that he hadn’t anticipated.
Did he want that? There was no way of knowing, for his thoughts spun and confusion prevented clarity.
Why the hell was everything falling apart just with the meeting of this one woman? A woman who was naught but a stranger whom he’d fucked twice and pleasured with his mouth once? What sort of monster did that?
For long moments, he stared into the fire.
Damn, but his mangled leg ached tonight with the never ending rain, and damn him for wanting to feel her moving beneath him in his bed.
“Good God, I’m going insane.” As he set his glass on the rose-inlaid table at his elbow, he threw a glance to Phantom, where the cat sat on a low sofa near his location. “What?”
“Mrrow,” said he feline.
“I know. I’m an ogre.”
“Meow!” The cat flicked an ear.
“Fine. I’ll unlock her door and give her free reign of the lodge.”
“Mrrow mrrow.”
“And I promise I’ll talk candidly with her. But if she changes me from a prick and then you don’t recognize me, it’s your fault.”
The cat said nothing, but the faint sound of his purring tugged a grin from James. In truth, having the cat helped to soothe some of his depression and anchored him when he woke drenched in sweat from nightmares, but a man needed more in his life than a tiny panther.
With a sigh, he heaved to his feet.
“Eloise?” James rapped on her bedroom door seconds before he pressed the latch and pushed the wooden panel open just as a maid was coming out.
“Oh, Your Grace.” Surprise rounded her eyes. “Miss March is otherwise occupied.”
“How?”
“She is in the bath and requests no one bother her for the next hour.” The maid pointed her gaze to the floor. “Miss March requires time alone.”
He grunted. “She has had that all day, and I’m the damned duke.
You may go. I’ll have her ring for you if she needs you.
” Then he closed the door behind the retreating maid.
Since her room was one of the bigger ones at the lodge, it faced the rolling hills of the back acreage, which opened to fields and wooded areas perfect during the hunting season.
But he didn’t care about that just now.
The whole of his attention fell to her in the bath.
“Eloise.” His mouth salivated at the sight of her nude body reclining in the porcelain tub.
The pale skin had a pink tinge from the heated water while the dark tips of her hardened nipples peeked above the water line and the scuds of bubbles on the surface.
But it was her knees that flashed into being when she realized he’d come into the room.
Somehow, the sight of those adorable pieces of her anatomy put a crack in his armor and would no doubt usher in his undoing.
She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes rounded. A trace of fear glanced over her face. “I didn’t invite you in, Blackhawke.”
“I realize that, but settle. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Ha.” With the sea sponge in hand, she squeezed water out of it over one arm. “That remains to be seen. There are different kinds of hurt.”
“True.” Those words took him aback. Had he injured her during their carnal activities? “I have given you everything you could possibly need—”
“Except your time, without distraction by sexual endeavors.”
Another wave of shock slammed into him. When was the last time someone voluntarily wished to spend time with him? He covered his confusion by clinging to his beastly side. “Then why didn’t you join me for dinner?”
When she shrugged, the tops of her breasts briefly rose above the water line. “I didn’t want to.”
Desire hardened his shaft, for he wanted to see her whole body, lick every drop of water from her skin. “Why?”
The muscles in her throat worked with an intentional swallow. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone. My mind is cluttered.”
Why the hell did she have to be so damned fascinating? “By what?” he asked as he came closer to the bathtub.
“Nightmares.” The word was propelled by a bout of breathlessness. “When that happens, I’m generally not in the mood to be bothered with other people.”
His chest tightened. “I understand that all too well.” What sort of nightmares did she struggle with and what was the subject matter?
It felt far too awkward to ask, when they didn’t know each other that well.
Instead, he stared down at her as if he had never seen a naked woman before.
With her hair piled on top of her head and secured with combs, a few tendrils had fallen down and clung to her damp neck. A tempting picture indeed.
Finally, Eloise blew out a breath. “Why are you here, Blackhawke?”
It was best to keep that answer simple. “For you.”
She squeezed the water from the sea sponge then rested it on the low footstool off to one side of the tub. “Do you think to carry me over your shoulder to the dining room? Force me to eat merely so you won’t be alone with your thoughts?”
God, how did she know him so well? “No.”
One of her eyebrows went up. “Why not?” Was that disappointment in her voice?
Why indeed. Again, being in her company made him part ways with commonsense. “Because I have other plans for you.” Daring much, he unwound the loosened cravat from his neck.
Her gaze focused on the long length of silk. Shadows reflected in the dark brown depths of her eyes. “Are you going to bind my wrists?” There was definite excitement in her voice now.
It fed his own need. How interesting. That cheered him considerably, for some of the women he’d been with in past thought him depraved for those tendencies.
“Not just yet.” After he moved behind her, he folded the length a couple of times then dropped it over her eyes as she stiffened.
“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered as he tied a knot behind her head.
“Can you see anything through the blindfold?”
“No.” Her voice shook. In fear or excitement? He’d find out in moments.
Not that it mattered. “Good. This will heighten your other senses and make the anticipation even greater.”
She pressed her lips together before speaking. “For what?”
“Everything.” Christ but she was far too attractive sitting in that tub with the blindfold on, waiting for him to begin. “Ready?”
“How can I be? I don’t know what you’ve planned. And what if I bid you nay?”
“That is your prerogative, of course, and you may do so at any time.” Then he snagged the footstool, dumped the sponge, a brush, a bar of soap, and a small bottle of oil from the top.
After he’d placed it behind the tub, he sat upon it, directly behind her head.
“Is there anything else I can have the housekeeper fetch for you from the village?”