Page 38 of The Marquess and the Maiden

“Are you attempting to make me unattractive so none of the other women will want me?”

“Good heavens, no. Besides, there is naught I could do to make you less attractive.”

He smiled, a grin so self-assured and arrogant she had a thought to smack him. It wasn’t entirely his fault; she was the one who continued to preen his feathers, as it were.

She felt the weight of his gaze as if he could see beneath her layers of clothing, leaving her feeling bare and exposed. Setting down the scissors, she turned and retrieved the basin and moved it closer. “Now the shave.” The faster she finished, the sooner she could step away from his penetrating gaze.

She tugged on the bottom of the coarse beard and cut as close to his skin as she could. “Are you certain you don’t want your valet to do this?”

“No, he’s busy getting everything else ready for the weekend. I must have the proper clothes to bride hunt.”

“Your clothes have never been an issue.” What was the matter with her? She might as well be flirting with all the compliments she was paying him. “I’m pleased to hear you’re finally taking this seriously,” she said, trying to recover.

“I’ve always been serious about it, Harriet.”

Serious about you.

But that’s not what he meant, and she should not think such things. She ignored the kick her pulse took at his words and continued until she was finally able to lather up his face to use the blade. “I’ll endeavor to not cut you.”

“If you do, do it right, and make it quick.”

She chuckled and again stepped into the cove between his thighs. It was too intimate. He was too big. Too much maleness with his hard, muscular body and the woodsy scent of him. Every fiber of her body came alert; her senses heightened. The scrape of the razor across his face, his slow and steady breathing—she felt as if she were drowning in oxygen, she was breathing so quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. Though she knew if she sped through this she would likely cut him, and she didn’t want that. “Hold your mouth like this.” She tried to show him.

His lips kicked up in a grin. “I do actually know how to get shaved. I even know how to do it myself.”

She frowned. “Then why are we going through this exercise in futility?”

His thighs tightened on her body, effectively pinning her between his legs. “Because I want your hands on me, and this seemed the most legitimate way to make that happen.”

She sucked in a breath and held up her hands in an effort to end their contact.

“Please continue. I promise not to ravish you, sweet Harriet. At least not today.” He obeyed her instruction and tightened his lips so she could shave around his mouth.

When she was done, she wiped his face clean of the shaving lotion with a damp towel, then she took in the entirety of her work. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and he gave her a lazy smile.

She died.

If she thought he’d been beautiful before, she hadn’t understood the full meaning of the word. Foolishly, she wished she hadn’t shaved him. Now there would be no hiding his handsome face from the rest of the women. They’d see what they’d overlooked, and they’d all want him.

She wanted to scream that she’d seen him first…that she’d recognized his beauty before anyone else. But that was ridiculous. She held no claim to him nor did she want one.

She let herself brush the smoothness of his cheek. “You’ll have no problems garnering the attention of plenty of prospective brides.”

“Do I have your attention?” he asked.

“You are handsome, my lord. Certainly, you know that already.”

“I’m pleased to hear you think so.” He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her body, and pulled her closer. “Kiss me.”

“I will do no such thing.” She twisted in an effort to put some distance between them and very nearly threw herself forward onto his lap.

“You have kissed me with my beard. Do you not want to know if it feels different now?”

“You are ridiculous.” She shook her head. “Why is tormenting me your favorite hobby?”

“Because when you get angry with me, you get this little V furrow right here between your eyes.” He rubbed his thumb against the spot in question. “And your color heightens and your breathing quickens and it causes your magnificent breasts to move toward me.” His gaze dipped down, and he grinned. “Yes, just like that.”

She tried to move backward, out of the tight vise of his thighs, but his hold on her was too strong. She hated that she was so short that while he was seated in front of her they were nearly eye level. She hated that his request for a kiss had her body so alert that she could now feel the fabric of her chemise against the tips of her aching breasts. And above all else, she hated that she desperately wanted him to lean in and simply take what he said he wanted, because she certainly could not do something so brazen as to reveal to him that she wanted his kisses. Craved his kisses.

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