Page 82 of The Wolf of Mayfair
Immense relief filled her.
Tomorrow.She’d approach Anthony and speak about his staff tomorrow.
Helia had turned to go when the faint rustle of papers reached her.
She stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes.
Bluidy hell.She wasn’t going to get off that easily, after all.
Before her courage deserted her, Helia lifted her knuckles and knocked.
She waited for the room’s occupant to call out in his endearingly impatient tones.
And moments later, she remained waiting.
Helia tried again, this time louder.
She ceased her rapping and stared at the door.
He didn’t want to see her. Only a blistering fury could account for his intractable silence.
Battling herself, Helia worried at her lower lip, and then resolutely, she let herself inside.
Every thought left her head: Her reason for being here. The events of the day. All of it.
Anthony sat behind a mahogany desk, the smooth surface covered in neat stacks of papers. Engrossed as he was in whatever note he read, he’d failed to note Helia’s arrival.
Her gaze lingered upon him. Anthony, with his height and overwhelmingly powerful build, couldn’t be more out of place in this space. He couldn’t be more out of place on the delicate wood-cane desk chair he occupied.
Sans jacket and cravat, the marquess, from what she could see of him from the waist up, wore but a loose lawn shirt that gaped at the neck and revealed a whorl of black curls.
Her mouth went dry with something she wished were fear, but now—after his having brought her body to exquisite surrender—she recognized all too well as desire. That wicked yearning flooded her belly and stirred that suddenly sensitive place between her legs.
Go. Leave. Flee.
Fear didn’t urge her to take flight, but the inexorable pull he had over her did.
Helia drew the door shut softly behind her. Still, Anthony remained intently focused on that faded yellow page.
“Hullo,” she called tentatively.
It was only as she ventured deeper into the room and had reached several paces away from his desk that she realized—he’d not heard her.
All at once, Anthony looked up.
Surprise filled his usually stony eyes, which gave quick rise to annoyance.
“What do you want, Helia?” His hard lips formed an angry white slash.
She froze midstep, but then made herself continue her approach.
“I am sorry to interrupt,” she said softly, when she’d reached him.
He spoke sharply. “Not sorry enough to not interrupt.”
“No,” she acknowledged.
She told herself to not be offended by his irascibility. He’d shown himself to be a man who despised being caught unawares. He always behaved more churlishly in those instances, as if he were angry at her and himself for having failed to hear ...
