Page 8 of In a Rake's Embrace
“Is this your plan?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Miss Woodville approached me,” Rebecca replied, a bemused look entering her expression. “We met under ... less-than-ideal circumstances last year, and I was surprised to see her again. She laid out her business proposal, and I listened. I’m a woman of vision, and she is determined. I believe she can succeed.”
“You still haven’t told me what dance she’s learning that can entice men more than the waltz.”
Madam Rebecca’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “An eastern dance I learned some years ago.”
Thomas arched a brow. There had been a long-standing rumor that Rebecca had spent five years in the harem of a pasha, learning sensual dances involving sinuous movements of the hips and belly. Most believed it was merely a story to enhance her allure—no one had ever seen this dance.
“I’ll need to see her,” Thomas said, curiosity now fully piqued.
Rebecca gave a nod, rose gracefully from her chair, and opened the door. It seemed Miss Woodville had been waiting just outside.
“Agatha, please come in and meet Lord Radbourne.”
The young lady entered, and for a moment, it felt like the air had been snatched from Thomas’s lungs. An unexpected pulse of heat settled on the base of his cock, and he ruthlessly pushed aside the sensation. He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving her. She met his gaze, her chin lifting defiantly, but he didn’t miss the wild flutter of her pulse at her slender throat. Despite her attempt at poise, there was an unmistakable tension in her stance—nervousness she was trying to conceal. He studied her closely, noting her attempt to project confidence and the vulnerability in her eyes.
She lowered into a curtsy. “Lord Radbourne. A delight to make your acquaintance.”
Her accent wasn’t refined, betraying her unfamiliarity with the polished circles of theton, and even in the way she held herself, there was a sense of someone unaccustomed to the world she was about to enter. It struck him that she was like a lamb surrounded by wolves, unaware of the dangers that lurked, waiting to devour her.
What madness has driven her to do this? The thought came unbidden, but he pushed it away swiftly. He didn’t allow himself to get involved with women anymore—not beyond the mutual satisfaction they shared. Emotional entanglements were a complication Thomas no longer tolerated; in his mind, curiosity was the gateway to such entanglements. He had no intention of delving beneath the surface.
If he accepted this, it would remain purely transactional. Nothing more. Or perhaps it simply flattered his vanity and self-conceit to tutor such a ravishing beauty. “I will meet with Miss Woodville alone.”
“Of course,” Rebecca replied with a knowing smile, dipping her head before leaving them. The door closed softly behind her.
Silence settled between them as they took each other’s measure. She was dressed in a light blue, diaphanous silk gown that flowed over her form, modest in its coverage yet undeniably seductive. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the delicate curve of her throat and a tantalizing hint of cleavage. Her bare toes curled into the rich carpet, a small, telling gesture of discomfort.
By God, she was one of the most stunning women he had ever seen. And he had seen plenty. Her beauty wasn’t just in her flawless features but in the dichotomy between her boldness and the vulnerability she couldn’t fully hide. Her green eyes—wide with defiance and uncertainty, held his.
“Take down your hair,” he commanded softly, his voice betraying none of the effect her presence had on him.
Her eyes slightly narrowed, but she obeyed, lifting her hands to remove the few pins holding her hair in place. The heavy tresses tumbled free, cascading over her shoulders in dark, silken waves that spilled down her back, reaching her waist. The sight only heightened her allure, making her look untamed and impossibly more beautiful. Her skin was delicate and creamy pale, her lips lush and sweetly curved, and her slender figure graced with just the right amount of fullness in all the places that would make a man pause. That gaze was apprehensive and impossibly innocent—this woman did not belong here.
“You’re truly a virgin,” he stated, his tone flat though his pulse quickened.
Somehow, he had thought it a ruse, the allure she would use to tempt clients. Many ladies atAphroditepretended to be many things they were not, and the illusions often made their clients happy. Thomas knew of five different men who all claimed to deflower Lady Hettie.
He arched a brow. “Do you speak?”
Miss Woodville’s cheeks flushed, a soft pink rising on her face as her green eyes glittered beneath her lashes like emerald flames. “Yes.”
“You are the one who asked for someone to teach you?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady despite the deepening flush on her skin.
“This entire business arrangement with Madam Rebecca was your idea?”
“Yes.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, expelling a sharp breath. “If you are being forced, now is the best time to tell me when we are alone. I will help—”
“No one is forcing me. I approached Madam Rebecca, my lord.”
Thomas walked to the mantel and poured himself a glass of whisky. He lifted the glass toward her. “Would you care for a drink?”
Miss Woodville winced, and she shook her head. “No, thank you, my lord. I do not drink.”
