Page 53 of How the Earl Entices

“Half of the men in Mayfair were involved with Lady Middleton, butIwas not one of them,” he muttered, then arched his brow indignantly before closing his eyes. “So he stole my waltz.” A trace of pique laced through his voice as he added, “And you.”

“He did.” She wiped the blade on the towel and tipped up his chin to shave his neck. “And with such charm that I couldn’t be angry at him for it.”

Ross gave a scoffing half-grunt.

“By the end of the dance, I knew that he was going to marry me. I never danced with another man after that. We were wed in June. And you—” She playfully tapped the tip of his nose, earning a scowl from him. “You were on the continent by then, fighting old Boney, seducing Spanish women, and not giving a single thought to some miss whose waltz with you was stolen away.”

A moment of silence fell between them, with only the scratch of the beard beneath the razor breaking the stillness.

He asked softly, “Did you love him?”

His unexpected question jolted through her. Hiding her unease, she traced her fingers down his throat to smear more of the lather across the stubble there and dodged, “I was very fond of him, and we had a good marriage. He was a generous and kind man who treated Papa and me well. He gave me everything I wanted.” Her voice softened when she added, “Eventually, even the child I wanted. But by then it was too late.”

When he opened his eyes to look up at her, she could read the truth in their blue depths—he knew she’d never loved David. Thankfully, instead of pressing her about it, he asked, “He didn’t know about Ethan?”

“Ididn’t know,” she whispered, following along with her fingers over his soft skin in the wake of the razor. She prayed he couldn’t feel the trembling in her fingertips at revealing these secrets to him. “Not until after the funeral, when the estate was being settled. That was when I knew I had to flee London, that I had to do everything in my power to protect my baby.”Then and now.

“The courts would have waited to see if you delivered an heir before granting the inheritance to another,” he reminded her gently. “You didn’t have to flee.”

She stilled, her fingers in mid-caress against his neck. Not daring to raise her gaze to meet his, afraid of the accusation she might see there—or worse, pity—she trained her eyes on her fingers and welcomed each beat of his steady pulse beneath her fingertips. Alive and strong…so intoxicating as it echoed up her arm and down into her breasts, reminding her unwittingly of the life she’d forged from the ashes.

“You are assuming that I would have lived until my confinement if I hadn’t,” she answered, so softly that barely any sound passed her lips. Then, with a burst of inner strength, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “But I did flee. And we survived.”

Falling silent then, she returned to her task, carefully shaving away the last of the beard, even as her hands trembled from her memories of that horrible time. She didn’t regret the lengths she was forced to go to in order to hide her child’s existence from Vincent, but she would never be proud of them.

When the last of the lather was scraped away, she set down the razor and then gently wiped the remaining bits of soap from his neck with the towel.

“There.” She trailed her thumb along the edge of his jaw and back to his ear to gauge the closeness of the shave. “Nicely done.” She crooked a smile. “And no earls were harmed in the process.”

He quirked a half-grin at her quip and rubbed his hand over his face. “How do I look?”

As she tilted her head back and forth, pretending to study him, she couldn’t prevent the catch of her breath at how handsome he was, how piercing his blue eyes as they gazed up at her. With the beard gone, he looked so much as he had ten years ago that she ached with a deep longing for the past. Her fingertips itched to touch him, to stroke over the smooth planes of his face and feel his warmth and strength. He would let her, she knew. If she reached out and touched him, if she dared to caress him—

She would be lost.

“You’ll do.” She forced a teasing smile and drew her traitorous hands into fists, turning away before she could be tempted further. “Don’t forget to pay your barber on the way out. We put nothing on tick here, so—”

His arm went around her waist. She gave a soft cry of surprise as he tugged her to him, bringing her down onto his lap.

“Your turn.” His eyes gleamed mischievously as he daubed a drop of lather onto her chin. “Hand me the razor.”

Her mouth fell open. He grinned at her shocked expression and playfully placed a dollop of lather onto the tip of her nose.

She laughed, so hard that her shoulders shook with it. Oh, how good it felt to laugh! His arms tightened around her as the deep sound of his own laughs rumbled inside her.

For a moment, she forgot that she was perched across his thighs, forgot that she was still wearing her old-fashioned night rail that billowed around her like a ship’s sail. She forgot everything except how wonderful it felt to be with him like this and buried her face against his neck.

“How do I not remember you?” he murmured incredulously as he nuzzled her temple, his laughter fading. “How is that possible?”

Her heart skipped, once, before it leapt into a wild tattoo that pounded so hard against her ribs that she feared he could feel it. Slowly, she shifted back, their faces nearly even.

“It was fate’s doing,” she answered a bit flippantly, yet more breathlessly than she intended. “I wasn’t meant for you.”

His eyes turned predatory as he reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear. The gesture should have been one of comfort. Instead, it was pure seduction, one that twisted an unbearable ache low in her belly.

“Not then, no,” he acknowledged in what was little more than a husky purr. “But are you meant for me now?”

The heat of him tickled down to the tips of her bare toes. Electric. Thrilling.Dangerous.