Page 30 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 19

With her new striped dress protected by a pinned apron, and fully armed with her sharpest sewing scissors, Tia arrived at Hal’s suite some ten minutes later.

The baron had replaced his outer clothing with a thin silk dressing gown, beneath which his shirt flopped open at the neck. A white towel hung about his shoulders, a second one within reach beside the porcelain basin.

She sucked in a breath and took a tighter hold on her scissors. The valet was absent.

Hal’s blue eyes met hers. “I sincerely hope I can trust you, Tia.”

“That remains to be seen,” she teased. “Now wet your hair for me, please.”

He sat forward and obligingly dunked his head in the basin, then reached blindly for a jug so he could pour more water over his head.

When he came up again, his hair clung to his face and neck in a way that reminded her vividly of how he’d looked the previous night, naked and dripping in the moonlight. A shiver of desire sang through her body. Hurriedly she thrust a towel onto his head and began kneading to take some of the dampness out, making sure he couldn’t see her expression.

When she’d regained control of her errant imagination, she draped the towel across his shoulders and took a fortifying breath.

What had she been thinking of when she offered to cut his hair? It meant she’d have to touch him, bend her head close to his, hear the sound of his breathing and smell the compelling musky scent of his body. How was she to keep her own reactions under control and wield a pair of scissors at the same time? If she couldn’t calm her response to him, he was going to end up an absolute fright.

She sensed him observing her and steeled her features to a businesslike demeanor. “First I must take out the tangles.” She jabbed a tortoiseshell comb into his hair. It caught in the knotted ends, and he winced.

“Bother. I’ll have to do it with my fingers.”

“I shall endeavor to be brave,” he promised.

She worked her way around him, striving to keep her distance, teasing out the knots between her fingers until she was able to apply the comb without resistance. Such thick, heavy hair. It sprang up from a widow’s peak and a central parting to frame his superbly sculpted face. But his locks were definitely too long.

As she reached for the scissors and began to cut, she sensed his gaze on her face in the mirror, like a physical caress.

“Why are you staring at my reflection?”

“Sorry. Am I putting you off?”

He most certainly was. “Yes.” She tutted in annoyance. Struggling to retain her composure, she circled to the front of him to tease some of his hair forward. It flopped into his eyes, causing him to close them, but this did nothing for her equanimity, as she was forced to brace her legs against his knees as she leaned toward him.

Damnation. Now she couldn’t get the vision of his moon-silvered, naked body out of her mind. It was as if someone had etched it onto the inside of her eyelids and it was all she saw, whenever she closed them. Or blinked.

Concentrate, Tia. Concentrate. She had a lethal weapon in her hands and, if she failed to wield it correctly, it would leave the eighth Baron Ansford looking worse than before she started.

Carefully, she thinned out the hair at the front, bringing it forward to brush his forehead, just enough to soften the hairline and partially conceal the worry lines that gave character to his brow.

Curse it. Now she had to fight the urge to run her fingers along the creases, smooth them out, rub away the furrow between the brows and stroke the soft skin at his temples.

She bit sharply on her lower lip to bring herself back to her senses. Best get the front part dealt with quickly, before attending to the back and sides. It was too easy to be distracted by the play of light and shadow on the man’s face, the strong cheekbones, the mobile mouth with its full, eminently kissable, lower lip.

What if she were to reach out a finger and trace the tantalizing crease between his lips? Or lean forward and brush her own against them? Would he once again become an elemental creature of the night, taking charge of her body, binding her soul?

For now, he was under her control, tamed, obliging. But she sensed the veneer of respectability was thin. He’d need little invitation to reach for her again, caress her breasts with his warm, knowing hands, and drag her hard against his body.

“Ouch!” The blue eyes flashed open.

“I’m so sorry. Let me see. No, I haven’t drawn blood—it’s only a scratch. I need to change my position.” Tongue clamped between her teeth, Tia shifted around, cutting and snipping as speedily as she dared, more aware than ever this haircutting was an extremely bad idea.

Soon the towel was covered with damp curls, and part of the back of Hal’s neck was revealed, as were his ears. Although the hair was wet and not yet properly arranged into the ‘Windswept’ style she was hoping for, she could see the transformation already. If only he would do away with that lowering expression of his, he could be quite the buck and would have the ladies falling at his feet.

Ha, what ladies?

If he wouldn’t go out or invite anyone to visit, he would continue to rot away here in his loneliness, hiding in his folly.