After half an hour of lying in the empty gymnasium, the cold sank into Christopher’s body, and the damp trousers stuck to his skin.
He picked himself up and limped to the bathroom. Good thing he’d installed a modern bathroom in the gymnasium, so he didn’t have to climb the stairs to his room. A relief when his leg hurt.
The water could’ve been hotter, but he didn’t mind the cold. It helped keep his heat for Amelia down. Fresh clothes and a good wash didn’t help much though. The moment he left the gymnasium and heard Amelia’s voice echoing in the corridor, he was rock hard again. Curse her.
Florence ran towards him, a brown bag in her hand. “My Lord, here.” She handed him the bag. “It’s the yarrow oil. Better start using it straight away, sir.”
Damn. He’d forgotten about the oil. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.” In a flutter of brown skirts, she trotted away, humming a song.
The bottle was filled to the rim, and the oil’s thickness made it look like gelatine.
He sat onto a bench in the corridor and pulled up his trousers leg. When he uncorked the bottled, the scent of bay leaves dampened the air. He spilled a few drops on the jarred scar coiling around his knee and rubbed it.
Footsteps padded closer, and Amelia’s sparkled into view from around the corner. She paused mid-stride a few yards from him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Her gaze raked over the scar before returning to his face. “I was searching for a passage to the garden.” She troubled her plump bottom lip and seemed about to say something else.
He quickly covered his leg. “You shouldn’t be here unchaperoned.”
It was a pathetic excuse to avoid her since he’d been perfectly happy to be alone with her in the library. But he was desperate for control, and his body reacted too fast and too savagely to her presence.
He must’ve said something wrong because she flustered and her fists clenched.
“You’re right. I know how much you dislike to be alone with me. You’ve made it quite clear this morning.” Her chin jutted out. She gathered a fistful of her skirts and headed towards the other side of the corridor.
A flicker of annoyance lit within his chest as her retreating back was swallowed by the darkness.
“You know I enjoy your company,” he almost shouted. Highly inappropriate, but dammit, the woman was driving him mad. “I’m worried about your reputation.”
“That’s a lie.” Pivoting, she balled her hands on her hips. “You are scared, not worried.”
“Me? Scared of what?” He tossed the oil bottle on the bench.
The glass thudded, but didn’t break.
Her quick strides towards him echoed in the silent corridor. “You’re scared of feeling something. Of changing your life. Of stopping being the reclusive, cranky, impossible man you are.”
“My God.” He reclined and crossed his legs at the ankles, pretending her words hadn’t touched that part of him he kept hidden. “I must have struck a nerve.”
A sniff of her scent reached him when she stepped closer. “You kissed me and then escaped as if you regretted the kiss. Do you regret it?” Her voice softened.
He did. No, he didn’t. Maybe . . . Christopher raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”
“I’m sure I can keep up.” That stubborn chin went up again.
Hell. Perhaps she was right. He was afraid. Of her. Of the change she might bring into his life. If she hadn’t been a proper lady and a potential wife, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kiss her thoroughly and explore her delicious curves with his hands and tongue. If she’d been just a woman he’d met, he would’ve taken her to his bedroom and kept her there until she moaned his name in pleasure. But if kissing her was a step closer to the altar, then no. He wouldn’t kiss her.
Her brow shot up. “I can practically see your thoughts.”
“Can you now?” The bravado he was trying to put up was crumbling like a sandcastle hit by a wave. A huge wave. A wave he couldn’t stop.
In a swish of silk, she perched on the bench and pierced him with her sapphire gaze. “You’d behave differently with me, if my parents hadn’t sent me here as your possible wife.”
Hellfire. Just like Dorian, she could read him easily. “Define differently.”
“You would’ve ravished me.”
