Page 25 of A Rogue's Rules for Seduction
“My hands are as steady as I am trustworthy, sir. Which is saying something—my father’s a minister.”
“Hard to take issue with a son of a man of God.” Dom sat down and let the footman apply a hot towel to his face, softening the whiskers.
“We’ll get you ready to go downstairs soon, sir,” Sam said. “Mr. Longbridge likes to keep his guests busy.”
“I’d wager he does,” Dom murmured.
Longbridge clearly enjoyed his dual existence, both as one of London’s most respected figures, as well as a secret libertine. Dom didn’t quite envy him, though, hiding an important part of himself. Even though Da had insisted that both Celeste and Dom do everything they could to get rid of all traces of Ratcliff from themselves, it didn’t matter how hard Dom tried to imitate the manners of the ton. They always reminded him that he’d never be one of them, and eventually he gave up his efforts.
Only the Ransome brothers had fully accepted him for who he was. Though—he hadn’t shown them everything. And he’d been careful in what he’d revealed to Willa.
It had been a coup to become engaged to her. Him, a longshoreman’s boy, marrying an earl’s daughter. Calling herprincessseemed right because that’s what she had been to him: regal and powerful. He’d glowed with pride whenever they had walked out together, and had loved seeing the wary and irate looks on the nobs’ faces whenever they clapped eyes on her on his arm.
Except... she was more than that, and a throb of shame pierced him. He’d worshipped not Willa herself, but theideaof her.
“After hauling from one end of the island to theother, sir, you’re surprisingly spry,” Sam continued, removing the towel from Dom’s face before applying a thick coat of lather on his jaw and cheeks. “The other guests from the walk have all surrendered to their beds. It’ll be a struggle to wake them in time for supper. And tomorrow, Mr. Longbridge has somethingverystrenuous planned.”
“Another night in that attic room and I’d not be so spry for whatever Longbridge has on the docket. Suppose he knew that, so maybe he insisted on me moving to a different room.” It was entirely possible that Kieran and Finn hadn’t been behind him changing rooms.
Dom held himself very still as Sam scraped the straight razor over his face.
“He’s exacting, Mr. Longbridge,” Sam said between passes of the blade. “But always gives his guests what they want. Lady Willa was most demanding that you be given this bedchamber—oh, careful, sir, I don’t want to carve you up like a roast.” The footman dabbed a cloth at the tiny nick Dom had caused by jolting.
“Lady Willa insisted?” Dom said, frowning.
“Vociferously, sir. Said she wanted it done posthaste. Do lean back, sir, so I may finish your shave.”
Dom obliged, but his heart pounded, and not because Sam held a blade close to his jugular.
“The way she told the staff that a firehadto beready for you when you came back. And that there had to be extra pillows.” Sam chuckled. “A managing type, you might say.”
“You might say,” Dom said quietly, holding as still as he possibly could, but it wasn’t an easy task, not when his already roused body filled with crackling electricity.
Willa should by rights hate him until the end of eternity. But she worked so hard to make sure he was comfortable and healthy. That she would look out for him as if... as if she still cared for him.
And he’d been an ass to her, saying the wrong things on their trek. Making assumptions about her that weren’t true.
He had to do better by her. In every way. And as soon as he endured this trial by razor, he would.
“There you go, sir,” Sam said, cleaning the last vestiges of lather from Dom’s cheeks. “Looking fit to impress the Queen.”
“It’s the princess I want to impress.” But no—she wasn’t a princess. She was something else, though he was still learning what that was. Dom rose from the chair and pulled evening clothes from the press. Everything was clean and dry, thank God, so he wouldn’t look like a complete beast when he joined the others. He selected a black coat, white waistcoat, and buff breeches.
“I ought to do that for you, sir,” Sam objected. “Mr. Brown might think me remiss if word got out that I didn’t assist you.”
The last thing Dom wanted to do was get a servant into trouble, so he nodded and held still as Sam assisted him in the process of getting dressed.
“Still feels strange to have someone help me put on my togs,” he mused. “I used to dress in the dark hours before dawn so I’d be ready to meet the ships that needed off-loading. But then,” he added wryly, “nobs make all sorts of rules as to what men should and shouldn’t do. Rules that are made to make everyone bend to them, proving their worth.”
“That’s the truth of it, sir.”
Yet he would rather make sure that Sam kept his job than prove how different he was from aristos, so Dom let Sam help him into a fresh shirt, and stepped into the breeches that the footman held out for him, then submitted when Sam did up the silk-covered buttons of his waistcoat, and arranged the complex folds of his neckcloth.
“Sir,” Sam said in the silence, “would you be so kind as to refrain from speaking to Lady Willa about how she had your room moved?” The footman’s face reddened. “I only now remembered that Mr. Brown said I wasn’t to speak of it to anyone, and, well...”
“You spoke of it. Easy, Sam. I won’t say anything.”
The footman looked relieved, and went to retrieve a gold-and-pearl stickpin to complete Dom’s toilette.
