Page 44 of The Lord Next Door
He wondered at his own impatience—it was not as if he was going to see even one bare limb. And maybe she was still angry with him. But he couldn’t ignore her.
“Come in, my lord.”
He entered her room, and immediately that peculiar scent wafted over him—the smell of jasmine soap from the hip bath cooling near the fire, the warmth from the grate, and finally the scent of Victoria herself, so unusual he couldn’t place it.
Tonight she stood near the hearth, always as far away from the bed as she could get. She wore the same dressing gown, belted at her waist. It showed off her well-curved figure as it flowed in cream silken lines over her hips. Above the sash, the silk expanded over her breasts, meeting again at her throat. He could see her pulse fluttering just above the neckline. His gaze traveled up, to where she moistened her lips. The dart of her tongue made him harder, and he hadn’t thought that possible. Her lashes were lowered demurely, but she sneaked a glance at him with eyes that glowed violet in the low light. For a moment he froze, entranced by their shine.
How would she look at him if he pressed for more tonight, if he laid her down on that big bed and—
But then he’d be disappointing her again, breaking their agreement.
She frowned at him, her blond brows losing that delicate arch. Since when had this fascination with her appearance crept over him?
“My lord?” she murmured uncertainly. “Shall I send for a glass of wine? Or brandy?”
He shook his head as he touched the end of the sash falling from her waist. She bit her lip, a familiar gesture that always riveted his attention on her full mouth. He tugged harder than he meant to, not realizing the sash was knotted. She stumbled toward him and put a hand on his chest to catch herself. Without thinking, he lowered his head until he could inhale the damp, fragrant scent of her hair. He put his hand over hers and held it to his chest--until he realized what he betrayed by his pounding heart.
He let her go and she stepped back, her face awash in its usual pink glow.
“Forgive me, my lord, I wasn’t expecting—”
He guided her hands away from her waist and plucked at the knot himself. The backs of his fingers brushed her stomach, and he felt the catch in her breathing, saw the way she kept her face averted. Then the sash dropped away, and the folds of the dressing gown fell straight from the curves of her breasts. If only she weren’t wearing anything underneath, but he knew better.
He reached up to undo the single clasp at her throat, and she finally met his gaze. She was as still as a deer, those eyes shining at him—but not with trust.
The clasp came free, and he spread the dressing gown wide, letting it fall back from her shoulders. It slid off her arms to pool on the floor. Of course, she was wearing long sleeves, and she was covered from her toes to her neck, but the fabric was so sheer that he could see her nipples and watch them pucker from just his look. She was breathing so quickly that everything trembled.
Chapter
Ten
Victoria stood trapped beneath her husband’s stare, feeling naked though she wore her nightdress. He was staring at her as if he could see through it, and she wished for the protection of a corset. She didn’t know her own body tonight, the way it ached when he was near her.
She’d felt his heart beneath her palm, and its racing speed had matched her own. He wore no shirt under the dressing gown, and the triangle of bare skin at his throat drew her gaze constantly. So she stood still and waited. When he said nothing, she finally raised her eyes to his. Would he touch her? Would he kiss her again?
But then from somewhere in the depths of the house, they heard a door slam and a woman’s harsh sob.
Lord Thurlow stepped away from her and cursed aloud. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of this.”
“But what is it?” she asked, trailing him as he strode to the door.
“My father.”
And then he went out into the dark corridor without even a candle to guide him. Victoria hesitated. Would the earl want to see her when he was in distress? Could it make everything worse? Or could she help? For a long moment she wanted to remain there, to avoid the confrontation she knew might happen. But she had spent a lifetime doing that, and it had only made her an easier person to lie to.
She chose to disobey her husband. She donned her dressing gown, grabbed a candleholder, and followed him.
The house was coming back to life. Victoria should have felt foolish in her nightclothes, but everyone else was dressed similarly as they came down from the servants’ quarters at the top of the house. She saw the head cook, the butler, two footmen, and several maids. They milled about in the entrance hall, as if awaiting orders. Victoria began to push her way through them, but as they realized who she was, they all fell back, leaving her alone in the center of the room.
Smith the butler gave her a proper bow, as if he were clothed in his livery instead of a robe. He had hastily donned his white wig, which was slightly askew. “My lady, do forgive this commotion.”
“Is this something that happens often?” she asked, setting down the candleholder.
“Occasionally, my lady.”
“And does my husband usually handle it?”
This time he hesitated. “No, my lady. The earl’s valet or nurse do.”
