Page 22 of A Scandal Before Christmas
After helping her mistress into a pale pink nightdress with a matching robe and pulling the pins from Lauren’s hair so it released in a waterfall of richly hued brown silk, Anne departed.
Moving to the fireplace, Lauren sipped her tea. She was understandably nervous, waiting for Theodore’s arrival. It had been nearly forty-five minutes since she left the library under the guise of playing hide and seek. Perhaps he had changed his mind. Perhaps he’d only been toying with her.
Perhaps he was detained by Melanie, or someone she had not recognized as a rival. Someone like Lady Emma. She was quite lovely, and Theodore made that rather curious remark about her winning the game. Maybe he was interested in her…
Oh, such nonsense!Lauren chided herself. Theodore was single-minded in his pursuit. How could she believe he might abandon her in favor of another?
Finishing the tea, she set the cup down, glancing at the decanter of brandy. She requested it for Theodore on a whim, but quite honestly, a sip might help calm her nerves.
Calm my nerves for what purpose? What might Theodore do that’s not already been done?
The answer to that was sobering. There was much the man could do. Much she secretly longed to experience under his hand. Recalling his scandalous words, the husky lilt of his voice while informing her just where he would place his mouth on her body, sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the lingering chill in the room.
A slight noise by the door alerted Lauren that she was no longer alone. Taking a deep breath, she twisted about and found Theodore had entered the room unnoticed.
The earl leaned against the closed door, shoulders flush against its surface, arms folded across his chest. One leg casually crossed before the other with just the toe of a boot touching the hardwood floor. He was the epitome of the sophisticated lord, his dark clothing blending with the shadows of a dreary, winter day and the softly lit room.
“Hawthorne.” The tiniest crack appeared in her voice, splintering in the air between them. She swallowed, her hands clenching into fists. Nerves were getting the better of her.
“My love,” he replied so softly Lauren strained to hear his words. Her heart thumped wildly when she realized what he’d said, and the truth of that simple statement was overwhelmingly stunning.
Hedidlove her. Madly. Completely. Unquestionably. After rejecting him for months, humiliating him with a broken engagement, and forcing him to face almost certain financial ruination, Theodore Hawthorne still loved her in spite of it all. Lauren’s eyes burned with sudden tears, tears that were blinked away as quickly as they formed.
For a long moment, they merely stared at one another, a moment when an unspoken vow was made—and accepted.
Eyes glittering with triumphant satisfaction, Theodore pushed off from the door. With one hand, he turned the lock until there was an unmistakable click. His coat was removed, tossed carelessly over the upholstered arm of a nearby chair. All the while, his eyes never strayed from Lauren’s, causing her stomach to swoop and dive as if a flock of wrens had invaded her body and taken up residency.
The chiseled lines of his mouth quirked in that cynical half-smile she’d become addicted to, a lock of dark hair tumbling across his brow in a riot of chaos her fingers ached to smooth. He seemed larger in the soft glow of the firelight, even with the lines of his body melting into the shadows. But she wasn’t afraid. No, it surely wasn’t fear that made her tremble while he stalked her like a lion pursuing its chosen mate.
Once he reached her, Lauren swayed, dizzy with want, with need, and with confusion. How could she surrender to him so easily? So quickly?
She had the answer when his hand lightly threaded through her hair, fingers rubbing the glossy strands as if judging the most luxuriant of fabric. She thought he might pull her immediately to him. Wrap an arm around her and begin kissing her, but she was wrong. He merely caressed the long tresses, winding it about his fingers as one would a spool of ribbon. Trapping her when, secretly, she possessed no desire to escape.
Theodore gave an experimental but gentle tug, a half-smile lifting his lips when Lauren moaned in surprise. Her head lolled with his touch; the muscles of her neck suddenly lax as her senses clouded with pleasure.
“For so long, I’ve wondered what your hair might look like, unbound like this,” he murmured. “It’s stunning. So soft. So fluid. It flows like a river of dark honey.”
In direct contrast to the abrupt relaxation overtaking her body, Lauren’s heart turned helplessly over on itself. Twirled, twisted, and tangled until every nerve ending she possessed was aching and reaching for him. Her hand slid over his corded forearm, fingers contorting in a desperate grasp she hoped would ground her. Why was she suddenly breathless? As though the strings of a corset had been tightened to the point of pain and no amount of air could find its way into her lungs.
She was floating away in a dreamy world, and all that mattered was this man’s worship. His adoration. His attention. She wanted to be his everything. Forever.
“Easy, my sweet darling. Easy, now.” Theodore’s voice was a mix of tender amusement and arousal. Cupping her jaw in one large hand, he gently forced Lauren to meet his gaze, his eyes darkening to an indigo blue that enthralled her. She couldn’t look away. She didn’t wish to.
His fingers moved to her throat, stroking the slender column almost reverently, tracing the lines of it as she swallowed in reflex. “I’ve so much pleasure to give you. So much to show you,” he whispered, his mouth brushing her ear, tickling it with warmth. “But first, take a breath. That’s it. And another. Good girl. Can’t have you fainting before I even begin.”
Chapter 12
God help me, what manner of devilish torture is this? How am I to keep from ravishing her when she’s dressed like this?
Theodore stared down at her, grateful that her eyes were momentarily closed so he could drink his fill of the delectable sight she presented. The nightclothes, while not overtly sensuous, were crafted with an eye toward wicked purity. The soft, pale pink of innocence contrasted sharply with the nearly sheer muslin fabric. He never expected finding her dressed in such a manner, much less in a way giving him undeniable access to her slender body.
His blood pounded in his ears. Christ, he could see her nipples through the material. They were just a shade darker than the blush-hued muslin.
He knew what they tasted like, how they felt under his tongue. Sweeter than the first raindrops of spring. Softer than the innermost petals of his garden’s first rose.
“Lauren, why are you dressed so?”
Her eyes lifted slowly as if doing so was a struggle. “Your instructions were clear. To say I have retired for the evening.”
