Chapter Seven
Perhaps Eliza shouldhave expected to find Redver lounging on the bed without a stitch of clothing. After all, he’d been working his way through his outer layers when she’d fled the room. But she hadn’t been ready for an up-close view of the portraitMan as He Was Born.
She didn’t even bathe without a thin layer to hide her nakedness. In fact, when Hermia had helped her undress, she’d insisted on retaining her chemise.
The Black Widow had given her some idea of what to expect—even going so far as to share with her a book of prints quite unlike any she’d ever encountered. Still, she dared not peer too directly into the shadows.
What she could see beneath the sheet was more suggestion of the male form than menacing detail. Even so, she wasn’t sure Florence’s greatest sculptors could have chiseled a finer torso.
“A friend of mine,” Redver began conversationally, “frequently tells me never to trust a woman’s word.”
“Is that so?” What friend?Harbury?Her enmity spiked.
“I’ve always believed his thinking flawed,” he continued. “But now—”
“Just because I did not immediately jump to do your bidding, my lord,” she interrupted, “does not mean I have changed my mind, or that I am not willing to honor my commitments.”
“And yet, you keep yourself apart from me. I’m afraid we’ll have a devil of a time seeing to your education if you insist on occupying the opposite end of the room.”
“Not quite opposite.” She reached out, forced him to drop the sheet, and then snatched back her arm.
Again, she’d felt that connection.
When the Black Widow had suggested Eliza spend the night locked in carnal exploration with one of the people she detested most, she hadn’t, at first, understood how such an act would help her restore her reputation.
It wouldn’t, of course. But restoring her reputation was what sheneeded.
The widow had promised her what shewanted—the satisfaction of seeing Redver desperate with need, of making him understand how it felt to be used as an object for another’s satisfaction.
She’d thought her inexperience would make the scheme impossible. But then the widow explained how men enjoyed feeling superior, believing themselves in control. She suggested Eliza use her inexperience to draw him in.
By the end of the night, the widow assured, he’d want to see her again. He’dneedto see her again. And she would refuse his request.
Mercenary, she knew. Possibly even cruel.
Even this gorgeous fallen angel deserved to be wanted for his own sake.
On the other hand, she could be saving his future conquests a good deal of grief. After tonight, he would never again take feminine accommodation for granted.
Simple enough.
But he was naked.
He rolled onto his back and re-fanned his linked hands behind his head. “Suit yourself.”
The underparts of his arms were lighter than the top. She frowned. Did he spend time out-of-doors without a shirt?
“However,” he continued with a wry, partial grin, “I’d rather you not call me ‘my lord.’ Especially if you are going to insist on making a mockery of the courtesy by your tone.”
Despite herself, she quirked her lips upward. Had she gotten under his skin? Perhaps she was not at as much of a disadvantage as she felt.
“Perhaps if you told me your Christian name—”
He interrupted her with a knowing chuckle. “Not a chance.”
“Well, let’s see then.” She mimicked his voice. “Since you’re contrary, stubborn, and demanding, perhaps I shall call you the Terrier.”
He opened his mouth to retort and then closed it again. His brows drew together.
