Page 33 of The Gentleman's Seduction
He spun around and circled his arm around her waist, holding her captive at the same moment she almost threw herself at him. His kiss bordered on cruel, the savagery of it startling her, and she couldn’t help but surrender as her body betrayed her by melting into him. She dug her nails into his shoulders, wanting to get closer, needing the fury of their argument to blend into the heat of his kiss.
She shouldn’t like his anger or his rage, but something about it was deeply sensual and aroused her. He tightened his arms around her, lifting her up until her feet left the ground and she was carried to the bed. Livvy gasped as she was dropped onto the sheets. He stood over her, panting as he gazed down at her like a warrior ready to claim a captured princess.
She really had to stop reading Gothic novels. Her fantasies were starting to affect her rational mind.
“Still think it’s safe enough to stay in my bed? I’m the monster who bought you, Livvy, never forget that. You despise me, you made that much clear. I considered sending you home, but another man, one even worse than me, would surely collect you for debts as I have. So here you shall stay until I deem it safe to return you to your parents.” He glanced away, a tic working in his jaw. “If I find you in my bed again, I won’t restrain myself. So if you want to be bedded, you know where to be. Otherwise, stay out of my room.”
Livvy scrambled off the bed and rushed to escape. His foul mood shocked her, but it was clear that whatever had happened last night had changed things. She had been wrong to say those things about him, and now it seemed he was determined to make them come true.
She retreated to the refuge of her own chamber, where Mellie was laying out one of her new dresses. It was a lovely pale-blue gown with golden flowers stitched on the bodice and a light-gold netting dropped over the skirts. She’d never worn such a fine gown before, and guilt suddenly formed a knot in her stomach.
“Everything all right, miss?” Mellie asked.
“Yes.” Her reply was a little too quick, a little too tremulous even at that single word.
“The master is home now. Did you see him?” the maid asked, her brows knit with worry.
“I—yes.” She headed toward the dressing room to make use of the chamber pot. “He was injured last night, but I’m not sure how. He was most boorish toward me and wouldn’t share any details.
The maid stayed in the bedroom, giving her a moment to attend to her needs. When she returned, she was ready for Mellie to help her into her new gown.
“There. Now, go and have some breakfast.” Mellie shooed her out of the room, and she resigned herself to the fate of being alone all day. It wasn’t that she minded being alone, but this was different. The tension between her and Martin seem to fill the house with an invisible knot of ill omens, and she didn’t like it. She prepared a plate of food in the dining room and sat in a chair looking out a window facing the gardens.
It was not as though anyone would care that she wasn’t at the table. Martin wouldn’t be down anytime soon. She balanced the plate on her thighs and nibbled on a poached egg while she examined the frozen rosebushes that touched the edges of the windowpanes. The frost turned the heavy green leaves to pale seafoam, and crystals of ice in exquisite shapes painted the glass. She’d always liked ice and snow. Yes, the cold could be a dreadful thing, but winter itself was beautiful. She reached out to the window, gently tracing the patterns of frost on the glass. She smiled, dreaming of simpler times.
“What are you doing?” Martin demanded from behind her. She jumped, nearly toppling her breakfast off her lap.
“Oh!” She steadied the porcelain plate and relaxed. “I was looking at the frost.” She gestured toward the frosted windowpane.
“Frost?” he repeated darkly. “Why the devil do you care about frost?”
She bit her tongue. She’d provoked him by being cruel-tongued first. She would not make matters worse. She focused on her response instead.
“Frost is beautiful.”
“Why is it women are so focused on beauty?” He turned his back on her to lift up a lid of a chafing dish and inhaled deeply.
“I’m not focused on beauty for beauty’s sake,” she argued, trying not to bristle.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I love studying beauty, particularly in nature. Frost is beautiful because of its symmetry. It’s the same with snowflakes.”
“Symmetry?” He turned to face her, a full plate in his hands as he joined her at the window. He seemed less upset now and more intrigued.
“Yes.” She pointed to the edge of the frost. “Examine the edge, where the frost begins to form. There is a recursive self-similarity. I read about it in a book of mathematics. A seventeenth-century philosopher and mathematician named Gottfried Leibniz discussed recursive self-similarity. He proposed the idea that such repeating patterns he discussed in objects in nature were close to geometry, yet no one has been able to properly link those fractional components, as he called him, to geometry. Most mathematicians put up resistance to such theories, simply because they are afraid to dive deeply into the unknown. But I find it fascinating.”
“You have a mathematical mind?”
“No.” She laughed wryly. “But I do have a mind that focuses on concepts. I can see the patterns, recognize them, but I’ve no way to explain them with equations or formulas.”
“Philosopher, then,” Martin concluded. His lips twitched, and her heart gave a jolt. He wasn’t angry now. Could she take a chance and apologize? Yes. She could.
“I didn’t mean what I said.”
Martin didn’t speak, and for a moment she feared he hadn’t heard her.
“You’re entitled to your opinion of me, even if isn’t completely true,” he finally said.
