Page 51 of The Hunter
Jakub tugged on her hand. “I’m not sleepy. I don’t want to go home yet. I’m hungry.”
“T-there, you see,” Throckmorton stammered. “We’ll serve food. Bring dear Jakub and your… protector. They’re both well behaved enough to charm the contributors.”
“Please, Mama?”
Millie looked down at Jakub, and then finally over to Argent, whose face could have been carved of stone for all it gave away. Did he want her to stay, to draw out the anticipation? Did he want to take her home, to collect what she owed him?
She couldn’t tell. He gave her no cue.
What was she supposed to do with that?
A part of her wanted the charming Bentley Drummle back. He’d been so expressive, so friendly and interesting. Or was it interested? Either way, when they’d danced he’d swept her off her feet, quite literally, and though he’d made her nervous, she hadn’t feared him.
What a fool she’d been.
And what an accomplished actor he was.
“I suppose we should stay long enough to make an appearance,” she acquiesced. “And anything Mrs. Brimtree prepared would be cold by now.”
Jakub made a face.
“Oh, wonderful! I’ll just go check on the preparations whilst you… attend your toilette.” With that, he rushed out the door with an impressive speed for someone of his size.
Millie glanced at her reflection in one of the vanity’s many mirrors and grimaced. She was a sodden mess. Hassan’s masterfully lined eyes were ruined by her tears of fear and subsequent relief.
“Lord, I look dreadful.” Collapsing onto her vanity bench, she rested her face in her hands for a moment until two small arms encircled her waist.
“Just smudged, Mama, we’ll fix it.”
Millie patted him, her chest swollen with love and still more abject gratitude that he’d been spared a terrible fate this night. “I’ll fix it. Why don’t you gather your things and I’ll have a stage boy hire a carriage and pack it out?”
“Yes, Mama, but do let’s hurry. I am hungry.” He scrambled to his corner and meticulously began to pack up his art supplies.
Facing the mirrors, Millie turned the wick up on the lantern, illuminating her red eyes and fraught demeanor. Her hands shook as she reached for her powder; she met a pair of intense blue eyes from behind her. He still said nothing, so she took his lead and kept her own confidence, blending her makeup with movements that had become as familiar as breathing.
It seemed as though her gaze were an unruly lapdog, and he held the leash, jerking her notice back to him with undeniable dominance every couple of seconds.
“I—wish you wouldn’t stare like that, it isn’t polite.”
“Shouldn’t you be accustomed to people watching you?” His eyes deftly followed her hand as it swiped new rouge on her cheeks.
“It’s true, Mama, people stare at you always,” Jacob chimed in from the corner.
Perhaps she should stop encouraging the little darling to speak his mind.
The liquid kohl felt pleasant and chilly next to her warm, puffy eyes as she applied the liner with a brush. She’d never get it as good as Hassan had, and her trembling hands made it all the more difficult, but she finally swiped an acceptable line and darkened her lashes, as well. Crimson rouge turned her mouth into a rose petal. Finished, she stood and gathered a shawl, pulling it around her sixteenth-century costume.
Argent rose when she did, his shoulders filling the space in which he stood. How had this dressing room ever contained more people than this with a man of his size in here? She couldn’t avoid him. She couldn’t face him.
He was so tall. So remote. His height removed him from anyone in his vicinity, forcing him to look down upon them like a mountain would the hills beneath it.
And soon enough, she’dbebeneath him.
Something warm and wet awoke within her. Something dormant until this very moment, or maybe it had never existed until now. Until him…
“I’m ready, Mama.”
Thank God.
