Page 69 of An Extraordinary Lord

He didn’t make a sound, didn’t move except to close his hand around the knife handle. Every muscle tensed with readiness to spring.

The door handle jangled, and the door opened slowly. The figure paused in the frame, silhouetted by the moonlight—

“Veronica,” he whispered, releasing the knife.

He couldn’t believe his eyes as she stepped into the room and silently closed the door behind her. She looked otherworldly standing there in her ball gown like a ghost draped in shadows. Her face was hidden by the darkness, except for her piercing eyes, which shone with intensity.

She didn’t move, as if not quite believing herself that she was there.

“Is something wrong?” He sat up as concern tightened in his chest. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” With that cryptic answer, she slowly reached up to remove the pins from her hair. She slipped them free and tossed them away, unwanted. Each pinged quietly against the floor in the silence of the house.

When she ran a hand through her hair to loosen her tresses, Merritt felt the smooth glide of her fingers from across the room. It shivered through him with a liquid heat.

Which did nothing to ease his worry at her unexpected visit. “How did you get inside?”

“A wicked and wild wind.” She stalked slowly toward him. Each silent step tingled his naked skin beneath the bedcover that draped over him from the waist down. “It blew open the door and invited me in.”

Sweet Lucifer.He was dreaming. Hehadto have fallen asleep and was dreaming…

She stopped at the foot of the bed. “Do you want me to leave?”

Leave?Good God, no! But he coolly shrugged a bare shoulder and somehow kept his voice from cracking with need. “You can stay if you’d like.”

“I’d like.”

So would he. Sweet mercy, so very much!

And yet… “But there’s a price to pay if you do,” he told her quietly. His heart pounded at the terms of surrender he was offering, terrified she wouldn’t accept them. He wanted her to reveal more to him tonight than her body—he wanted to learn her secrets. “The truth.”

She stared at him for a long while, silent and still, as if her heart was debating with itself over whether she could put her faith in him.

Trust me, Veronica. Please trust me…

Then she reached behind her for the row of tiny buttons at her back. Her gaze never left his as she tore them open with a small tug. That soft rip shot through him, straight down to the tip of his stiffening cock.

“My surname isn’t Chase.” Her voice emerged as soft as the shadows around them. “It’s Chaves. I was born in Portugal.” She slowly slipped the dress’s cap sleeve off her left shoulder and bared it to the shadows. “I’m the daughter of the Count of Redondo.” With her other hand, she pushed down the opposite sleeve, and the bodice sagged loosely over her bosom. “My mother was his mistress.”

Understanding fell through him. That was why she’d learned so quickly from Madame Noir how to behave at the ball, to carry herself, to properly greet everyone she might meet. Why she was so well educated.

But that certainly didn’t explain everything. So he remained perfectly still and let her continue, knowing even the smallest movement or softest word would silence her.

“She was only his mistress, not his wife, but he cared for her and provided well for us. Fine clothing, grand houses and carriages…all kinds of wonderful things.” She slipped her arms out of her dress. “Until the French and Spanish invaded and destroyed everything.”

She let go of the gown.

The air slid from his lungs as easily as the satin slipped through her fingers and down over her hips to puddle on the floor around her feet. She stood before him in her underclothes, their whiteness making her seem even more ethereal.

“They burned down our home and killed my mother.” She stepped out of her slippers and took a single step forward in her stocking feet, leaving the gown behind. “They almost killed me—wouldhave killed me if not for Jabir. He was a career soldier, a mercenary working for the Portuguese. He felt sorry for me and took me away with him.”

Merritt stared at her as she gave her soft explanation. He was afraid to say anything for fear she would vanish back into the night, like an apparition.

“I was still a child, not yet ten. But the country had been invaded, the cities destroyed, the countryside was unsafe… Redondo had fled for Italy, and I had no one to turn to for help. No one but Jabir. He raised me as if I were his own daughter, right along with his son.”

“Filipe,” Merritt guessed quietly. She’d said the man was like a brother to her, but that confirmation didn’t stop the jealousy from burning in his gut.

She nodded and reached behind her to tangle her fingers in her short corset’s lace. “Jabir taught me about weapons and how to fight. He needed someone Filipe could spar against for practice, but I was the better fighter.” A proud smile teased faintly at her lips. “I still am.”