Page 77 of Her Beast

“Shall I run you a bath as you didn’t have one this morning?”

Julia cut a quick look to the large mirror in her chamber. Was Malcolm in that corridor right now, watching as she opened his gift? Would he watch her take a bath?

“Miss Julia?”

She looked into Kemp’s questioning gaze before brazenly turning to the mirror. Was he behind that mirror? Did she care?

You care; youwanthim to watch you.

Julia couldn’t argue with the accusation. Thinking of Malcolm watching her was causing such a riot of reactions in her body that her thighs were damp with wicked desire.

“Yes, please run me a bath.”

∞∞∞

Malcolm had just topped up his wineglass when Julia entered the room.

He’d heard the termweak in the kneesbut had never experienced the condition before.

He’d known the gown would suit her, but the way it clung to her curves and made her skin glow—as if she were a human pearl—made the air hot and hard to breathe.

She hesitated near the door, a fetching blush on her cheeks as she absorbed the changes to the dining room.

Malcolm was tired of dining so far away from her, so he’d had most of the table leaves removed, creating a far more intimate table for two. The chandelier had been lighted and cast a more romantic glow than gas light.

Sitting so close to her would mean thatshecould see him, too, and that was unfortunate. But, for once, Malcolm had decided that he’d rather see her more clearly than hide himself.

“Good evening, Julia.” He pulled out her chair.

“Good evening, Malcolm.” She sat, carefully adjusting the gown’s bustle, her slender hands and forearms sheathed in the pearl kid leather gloves he’d selected to go with the gown.

Malcolm couldn’t resist stealing a glance at where the snug leather hugged the unspeakably tender skin of her upper arm. Truly, that sensitive, sweet bit of skin had to be one of the most sensual spots on a woman’s body. If she were his, he would—

She is not mine,he sternly reminded himself.

Julia smiled warmly at James, his handsome young footman, as he poured her a glass of wine and Malcolm struggled with the urge to throw the unwitting servant bodily out of the room.

He was greedy and wanted all her smiles for himself.

The knowledge left him chilled and uneasy.

Once James left the room, she met Malcolm’s gaze. “Thank you for the gown. It is lovely.”

“Thank you for wearing it.”

“I have never seen a color like it.”

“The shade is the result of a new dye process that yields far more brilliant hues. It suits you.”

She dropped her gaze and played with the stem of her glass. “My stepmother says women with my coloring shouldn’t wear red.” She sat up a little straighter and met his gaze. “She said it makes me look like a p-p-prostitute.”

Malcolm couldn’t help smiling, relieved when she didn’t cringe away from the twisted, crooked expression. “In general, I would agree that bold shades overwhelm fair-haired women, but this color has depth and warm undertones that make it less harsh.”

“Warm, yes, that is the perfect word. I didn’t realize colors could look so similar and yet have such profound differences in shades.” She pulled a wry face. “I suspect my lack of understanding when it comes to color is clear in the paintings I’ve done.”

“What do you paint?” He’d known that she ordered watercolors from the store because he looked at all her requests.

“Just still lifes from the greenhouse. I cannot capture people—I’ve not the skill.”

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