She crossed back over to him and smiled softly. “You probably could have gotten me for half the cost if you’d shown me this.”
“You enjoy reading?”
“I do, very much.”
Her answer seemed to please him. “Meet me here tonight at ten. It’s where we’ll begin your lessons.”
Her lessons. On seduction. She’d expected them to take place in a bed or at least near one, but she refrained from questioning him on it because she’d suddenly become unbearably warm.
“We should move on,” he said quietly. “We haven’t much time before we need to be at the solicitor’s.”
“Yes, of course.”
He led her to a door at the end of the long hallway, swung it open, and indicated she should go in first. Throwing back her shoulders, she swept by him and was immediately hit with the scent of him. Sandalwood and cinnamon and something darker, richer, more enticing, a scent uniquely him. A scent that would fill her lungs if she breathed in his skin. In the library. In a bed.
Perhaps the library was to be merely the starting point and they’d end up in here. On the four-poster bed, with the pale lilac counterpane and deep purple pillows.
As though it was a sin to look at the bed, to consider what might transpire there, she jerked her gaze away from it and gave the remainder of the room an intense scrutiny. The walls were papered in lavender. A winged chair of mauve brocade with violets embroidered in violet, of course, rested near the fireplace. A dark mahogany wardrobe dominated one wall. A mahogany escritoire and a wooden straight-backed chair with a padded purple cushion rested near the window. She imagined sitting there, writing letters as the morning sunlight dappled the room. If any friends or relatives remained to her who would welcome receiving word from her. But not only had all friends abandoned her and her brothers—except for Kat, who hovered on the precipice—so had every relation.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Something regarding the reminder of her loss must have shown in her suddenly stiffening stance. Fighting it back, regaining herself, she glanced over her shoulder. He waited on the other side of the threshold, although he had set her bag on the floor inside the room. “Absolutely. The bedchamber is quite wonderful. To be honest, I’d expected little more than a bed.”
His eyes darkened, his nostrils flared, and she couldn’t help but wonder if his viewing her with the bed behind her had him regretting his rule.
“You’re welcome to add any personal touches, hang anything on the walls.”
She wasn’t going to be here that long. It was unwise to do anything to make the room a place that she would miss. Still, she wanted to be gracious. “Thank you.”
“We have two maids-of-all-work who will keep your room tidy. A footman who can haul anything up for you—packages, the copper tub, hot water for a bath. A laundress. As you can imagine, we have a lot of linens to be seen to. But she’ll also tend to your clothing. I’ll introduce them all later.”
“You seem to have thought of everything.”
“I very much doubt it. If there’s anything you need regarding your accommodations, you can speak with Jewel. As I mentioned before, she manages things, including the staff. Anything else you require, you may ask of me. If you’ve no questions at this point, I’ll leave you to get settled in. We’ll need to depart in no more than twenty minutes.”
Suddenly, a bout of nervousness hit her with the realization of all that she was doing. “That’s more than sufficient time. As you can see, I haven’t all that much.”
Something flashed across his face that she couldn’t quite identify: sadness, anger, disappointment, sorrow—dear God, she hoped it wasn’t pity. She couldn’t stand it if he pitied her.
“Meet me in the parlor when you’re ready.”
Then he was gone, and she could breathe again. After retrieving her bag, she set it on the counterpane. The room was nowhere near as elegant or posh as the ones in which she’d slept beneath her father’s roof at the estates or in London. But it did make her feel as though she was regaining her footing.
Gazing out the window in the parlor, his half-finished scotch in hand, Beast fought to distract his thoughts away from images of her with the bed looming in the background. How easy it would have been to tumble her onto it. How satisfying to begin her lessons with one she’d never forget.
He’d hovered at the doorway, not daring to step into the room, because he’d feared giving in to the temptation of her. He wondered how many times his rule would come perilously close to being broken. He couldn’t recall a single time in his life when he’d yearned for a woman more.
Like a besotted lad still in short pants, he’d stood at this very window awaiting her arrival, and when the hansom had finally appeared, he’d had to stop himself from rushing out to welcome her. Which had turned out to be in his best interest if her brother’s balled fists were any indication of how Beast might have been greeted.
He wasn’t convinced she understood exactly how much Griffith Stanwick did not want her in this dwelling. That she was now upstairs was a testament to her ability to cajole, or perhaps her brother’s faith in her judgment, or the extent of his desire to see her happy, or the strength of his own need to be free to do what mattered most to him.
What mattered most to Beast was to keep his promise not to bed her. In three months—he had little doubt she would meet that first goal—with money in hand, she might change her mind regarding her desire to be a mistress. She might realize marriage was still an option for her and he didn’t want to lessen her chances of finding happiness by taking from her something many men coveted on their wedding night. He wasn’t going to ruin her.
He heard the quiet footfalls. Something felt different about the residence now that she was here. It seemed not quite so . . . tawdry.
Turning, he watched as she glided into the parlor, anticipation in her eyes, color in her cheeks. He set aside his glass. “Let’s go make this agreement between us official.”
After which, there would be no turning back.
