Page 31 of Beguiling the Baron

Only he was no longer alone. He had her. She was his friend, and she’d never abandon him, certainly not before she’d returned him to the world. Mama was right. She was making a project of the baron, exactly as she had with Mr. Roach. But her reasons were so very different.

Facing Hal again to ensure the hair at the sides was even, Tia was subjected once more to his penetrating scrutiny. He couldn’t take his eyes off her today, it seemed. She mustn’t give him any reason to berate her.

Avoiding the lure of his gaze, she lowered her eyes—and spotted the key hung around his neck.

Her heart sank. How could she be a true friend to him when this secret lay like a chasm between them? She had every hope now of being able to change his mind about Polly—all she needed to do was to teach the girl how to deal with taunts and bullies. That could be done without turning Polly into a heartless, wooden puppet.

But the issue of the folly, and the mysterious circumstances of the late Lady Ansford’s fall continued to goad her.

Shaking away the thought, she dug her hands into the hair on either side of his face and pushed it back, searching for any unevenness. His breath hitched at her touch, but she forced herself to do it again and peered closely at her handiwork. Now the hair was drying and had been relieved of so much weight, it had developed a pleasing wave.

Hal raised his head slightly to look at her, and she retreated a pace to admire the overall effect.

Her knees trembled.

God, he was beautiful. And he gazed at her as if she might be the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. But with her stupid apron, stray locks of her hair hanging down, and a good quantity of his own shorn hair adhering to her, he couldn’t possibly be admiring her. She must be reading it wrong.

“Tia.”

She backed away quickly, unpinned her apron, and shook it out before brushing at her dress. “Stand up, please.”

He had to stop looking at her like that. It made her want to throw herself into his arms. Grabbing a clothes brush from his dressing table, she cleared the stray hairs from his shoulders.

His broad, powerful shoulders.

The floor was now covered in hair. A servant could clean it up later. She needed to get out of this room.

“Tia.”

She avoided his eyes. “I must be getting back. They’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.”

“Wait. Don’t you want to know what I think of your handiwork?”

He peeled off his dressing gown and shook it off, then threw it over a screen before bending to admire himself in the mirror. She hovered behind him, staring at his reflection, and met his eyes in the glass. He straightened and turned to face her. His pupils were huge, almost eclipsing the blue.

“Capital job, capital. Do you think I pass muster now?”

Staring up at him, her gaze snagged on his firm, masculine mouth. He smiled at her, a rare, devastating glory, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

She forgot to breathe. Oh Lord.

Slowly, daringly, she stretched out her palm to caress his cheek. Immediately he pressed his hand atop hers and closed his eyes.

There was no denying the message that passed between their bodies. When Hal opened his eyes again, the heat she saw in them was like an open fire on a winter’s day, hot, inviting.

Ravenous.

It came as no surprise to Tia that a kiss should follow such a feral, triumphant grin. And what a kiss. Hard, possessive, hungry.

The pulse of desire she’d felt that night by the river flooded back, her body taut with a hunger of its own. But how to assuage it?

His lips pressed against hers, massaging and manipulating them, and she felt her own blossom beneath the pressure, increasing the delectable sensation.

What would happen if she kissed him back?

He pulled away for a moment, and she gazed at his sumptuous mouth, aching to feel it again. Instinct took over, and she tugged his head down, tracing the intriguing contours of his mouth with her tongue. This elicited a low growl from him, and instantly she was held fast as his tongue invaded her mouth, penetrating her with masculine potency.

As their kiss deepened, her mind reeled. Would he notice, would he mind, if she touched him?

She lowered one hand, sliding it tentatively down his side, relishing the firm flesh beneath the crisp linen of his shirt. Her throat went dry at the thought of what it might be like to palm his skin beneath the shirt, to examine all the places a woman’s hands were not supposed to go, except in the arms of her lover.

A lover? Tia broke the kiss abruptly, pushing out of Hal’s embrace. Her lips burned for him, her body ached for him, but was she prepared to take him as a lover? For surely this was what, by welcoming his kiss, she was inviting him to become.

She’d no idea where such a situation might end, but there was too high a risk of it not working out in her favor. So many young women had fallen foul of the wiles of men. In the poorhouse such women, and their bastard children, were legion.

Did she genuinely believe Hal the kind of man to take a woman’s virginity without the benefit of marriage?

Afraid to ask herself, Tia seized her scissors, muttered, “I’m sorry,” and stumbled out of the room, cheeks burning.