“That’s terrible.” She chuckled as she shook her head. He felt a dash of pride for making her laugh and wanted to do it again. “You remind me of my father with such a joke. He was constantly trying to stump my sister, but only made me feel like a fool. Fern always knew the answer.”
“But you know how to shave.” She had moved to his other side, working carefully below his cheekbone. “How did you learn such a skill?”
“A fever nearly overcame my father last winter, and it left him delirious for days. When he came out of it, he trusted no one, including his valet and my mother. For some reason, he trusted me.”
Ben could understand that. He felt oddly still, independent of Rose holding a blade to his throat, even as a different sort of tension flooded his body. One that was inspiring very unprofessional thoughts.
“Salisbury—our butler—taught me how to do it, and for weeks I was the only one to remove my father’s whiskers.” She walked around to the front of him. “Lift your chin.”
“So shaving became your responsibility?”
“No.” Her breath feathered over his temple and he fought to slow the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Once he was well, it was as though he had forgotten me entirely. He never mentioned it again.”
A pulse of unease passed through Ben, not only at her father’s dismissal of Rose, but how casual she was in relating the story. Her sister, her father… How many people had cast Rose aside when someone better came along?
Rose got down on her knees, shifting until her torso nearly brushed his legs, but was still too far away. She cleared her throat. “You’re taller than my father.” She dropped her gaze to his knees. “Would you mind—”
“Of course,” he interrupted, then spread his knees. As she shifted forward between his thighs, he exhaled, trying to control his burgeoning arousal.
She tapped her finger against his chin, and he flushed as he realized he’d been staring down at her chest.
The razor dragged against the exposed skin of his neck, and his breathing became ragged as her breath skirted against his wet flesh. How easy it would be to dip his mouth to hers. Well, assuming she didn’t slice his throat in the process.
She placed one hand on his thigh as she leaned closer, then retreated. “I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s fine,” he ground out, and she lowered her hand again. “I’d rather you not lose your balance while holding a blade.”
Christ, she was torturing him. Her touch was gentle yet efficient as she turned his chin, her hand on his thigh burning through his trousers. Surely the cut on his neck had stopped bleeding, as every ounce of blood in his body was rushing to his groin.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered, her fingers feather light against his skin.
It may kill me,he nearly said before realizing she referred to his cut and not his cock. “Nothing to worry about. It’s a scratch.”
“You’re still bleeding a bit.” She slipped a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and pressed it against the wound, and the scent of her—lavender andRose—nearly flattened him.
“It’s nothing, and you’ll ruin your handkerchief.”And if you keep touching me like this, I won’t maintain my control.
She shifted closer and her hand slid higher on his leg. Stars danced before his eyes. “Nonsense. My embroidery skills are abysmal, despite my best efforts. A bit of blood will only improve it.”
“Rose,” he breathed, pleaded.
Her hand opened, lightly cupping his neck as she raised her gaze to meet his. Ben could see his confusion reflected in the deep green pools of her eyes.
What in the hell were they doing?
To start anything with Rose was lunacy, but hadn’t he deprived himself long enough? Just one touch, one taste to see if this princess was real, or if she would disappear before his eyes. His lips parted as he prepared to lean forward—
“We should go,” Rose said as she stood and dropped her handkerchief on his lap. Disappointment, heady and momentarily overwhelming, punched his gut. “I-I still need to finish the letter if we’re going to deliver it to Mrs. Anthony.”
Ben stood as well, turning his back to hide his erection as he buttoned his shirt. “It will take ages to get uptown if we wait much longer.”
“And I left my hat in Abby’s apartment, I should get it before I—” She was out the door, slamming it firmly behind her before she could finish her sentence.
Ben sat hard in his chair, then slumped forward, cradling his smooth chin in his uninjured hand. It would take a much stronger man than him to resist Rose Waverly.
Chapter 11
“Italmostmakesyouforget you’re in the middle of Manhattan, doesn’t it?”
