Page 8 of The Forbidden Lord
“Allow me.” Despite his long legs, he moved easily from his seat opposite her to the one at her side. “Lean forward.”
She hesitated. He’d have to touch her to unknot the mask, and the thought of his fingers against her hair sent little frissons of alarm dancing up and down her spine. Some feminine instinct warned her that letting this man close was dangerous.
Then again, he clearly wasn’t interested in her as a woman. He’d practically recoiled from her once he’d learned she was a virgin. So why not let him do this?
“All right,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.
He rested his large fingers on her scalp, then gingerly began to work loose the knot. She went completely still, as if making herself into a perfect statue could keep her from noticing the male body a few inches away.
What a joke. Never had she been this close to a man, and his every movement awakened her senses … his forearms resting against her back, the muscles flexing as he worked on the knot ... his breath, warm and measured, tickling the fine hairs on the back of her bare neck ... his firm thigh plastered against her backside.
Her foolish blood rampaged through her body. She’d had few men in her life. The long years of her mother’s illness and then her year of mourning had prevented her from having suitors. Hardly any eligible men lived in Willow Crossing anyway, but she might have found someone if she hadn’t been so concerned with keeping her mother alive.
Now Mama was dead, she was twenty-two, and she had only Papa for company. These days, with him so distant and her activities so restricted, even Papa couldn’t keep the loneliness at bay. Still, she’d taken her mind off it by keeping busy at home.
Until tonight. The man beside her would make even a nun crave male companionship. Nervously, she glanced out the window of the carriage, but that only heightened her awareness of their intimate surroundings. Out here it was so deserted that crickets whined undisturbed and owls hooted their night cries without fear of repercussion. And it was dark. Very, very dark. A dangerous environment indeed.
Suddenly the mask came free. “There you are,” he murmured as he let the scrap of starched silk float down into her lap.
“Thank you.” She quickly slid to the other end of the seat. He was too close, too ... too male. Her presence might not affect him, but his presence certainly affected her. Here in this cave-like retreat, he loomed larger than life. She must escape this mess before she began to behave exactly like those girls he despised. Trying to squeeze herself into the smallest space of the seat possible, she shifted to look at him.
Dear heavens. That was a mistake. The capricious moon now flooded him with light, allowing her to get a good long look at him for the first time all evening.
Handsome? Had Sophie really used that innocuous term to describe the Earl of Blackmore?
Arresting ... intimidating ... overwhelming. He was all that and more. And handsome was only a small part.
Amazing how much a mask and a little darkness could disguise. He and Lawrence had the same hair color and build, but there the resemblance ended. Lawrence’s eyes were wide-set and an indeterminate brown. Lord Blackmore’s were deep-set and so dark they were almost black, particularly in this light. Lawrence’s cheeks tended to be pale, except when he blushed,brightening them to pink. Lord Blackmore would never blush. She was sure of that.
But the way he was running his gaze over her face, as if trying to make out her features, did bring a blush to her own cheeks. Instantly she regretted removing her mask. It left her so ... so exposed.
“It’s hard to see well in this light, but you don’t look like a rector’s daughter.” When she frowned, sure he was doubting her word again, he hastened to add, “Youactlike a rector’s daughter, mind you. You just don’t look like one.”
She relaxed against the seat. “And what does a rector’s daughter look like?”
“I don’t know. Tight-lipped. Pinch-faced. Holier-than-thou.”
“You haven’t had much experience with people of my situation, have you, my lord?” she said tartly. “I assure you, rector’s daughters have all sorts of faces. And attitudes.”
He smiled. “Thank God for that.”
With those words, he expressed fully his approval of her appearance. A delicious shiver whispered down her spine. Goodness gracious. No wonder women climbed over themselves trying to “trap” him into marriage. What woman wouldn’t desire a man who could make her weak in the knees with just a few words?
A pity he was forbidden to her.
As he continued to stare, she grew hot. Quickly she lifted the mask to her face and retied it. “I ... I must have it on when we reach the gardens, you know.”
“I suppose you must.”
Did she imagine the edge of disappointment in his voice? Of course she did. He’d merely been curious about her, that’s all. It was perfectly natural.
She twisted away to look out the window again, but that only made her more aware of him. She could feel him watchingher, interested, controlled. She only wished she could be so controlled.
“Oh, look,” she said brightly as the carriage made a sudden turn. “We’ve reached the gardens.”
“Have we?”
Why must the man have such a ... a rakish voice? He probably didn’t even know he sounded like that. It made her very eyelashes tingle.
