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“There is more to him than he allows the world to see,” Ariana concurred instantly. Her expression unclouded, her small chin set. “I just know it.”
“Then follow your instincts, pet. And leave any foolish not
ions behind.”
Ariana pondered the advice, and slowly her anxiety began to wane. “You’re right.” Impulsively, she hugged Theresa. “Thank you, my dear, dear friend.”
“Go,” Theresa ordered, her voice choked. She kissed Ariana’s brow and shooed her off. “The duke is on his way.”
With a determined expression, Ariana stood tall and marched through the connecting door.
She had unpacked her things earlier that night, so it was not the first time she’d been in her new bedroom. Nevertheless, its enormous size and austere presence still unnerved her. Aside from a low wooden table and two straight-backed chairs clustered around the far wall housing the marble fireplace, the room was barren, almost completely devoid of furniture. The polished wooden floors stretched endlessly beneath a towering domed ceiling, with nothing below save a china basin and pitcher, a tiny nightstand …
And, in the dead center of the room, a massive four-poster bed.
Tentatively, Ariana walked over, brushing her fingers across the soft coverlet and cool linen. She noted that the bed had been turned down in preparation for sleep … or whatever preceded sleep.
Ariana tried to imagine lying here with Trenton Kingsley. Her stomach lurched, and turning away, she wrapped her arms about herself for reassurance. It was probably best to keep her mind occupied with other things. She strolled about the room, noting its magnificent elegance and symmetry. The great sash windows were wide and multipaned to allow the maximum amount of daylight in; the walls were intricately tiled … yet oddly and utterly bare of paintings or personal touches of any kind.
Contemplating that unusual fact, Ariana’s eyes drifted to the great gilded lighting fixture suspended from the ceiling, illuminating … the bed.
She gulped and looked away. Was it just her nerves creating an illusion or had the bed really been designed as the focal point of the room?
The click of the door latch shattered her thoughts, and she whirled about, her heart thudding in her chest.
Trenton lounged formidably against the closed door, watching her with predatory intensity. In his black dressing robe he loomed, an ominous shadow in the dimly lit room, his shoulders massive, his features set in harsh, unfathomable lines.
Ariana felt a chill go up her spine as his cobalt stare bore through her, then raked her slowly from head to toe. He spoke not a word but began moving purposefully toward her.
“Would you care for a drink, Your Grace?” Totally unprepared for the impact of having a man … especially this man … in her bedchamber, Ariana blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Immediately, she wanted to kick herself for sounding such a ninny.
Trenton came to an abrupt halt, his brows drawing together in a scowl that displayed neither mockery nor amusement but annoyance. “I’m not thirsty. And my name is not ‘Your Grace.’”
Ariana curled her fingers tightly into her palms to stop their trembling. “I’m sorry,” she faltered. “I thought ‘Your Grace’ was the proper form of address for a duke.”
“It is.” His enigmatic gaze flickered briefly to her clenched fists. Then, wordlessly, he closed the distance to where she stood, lifting her chin with a strangely gentle forefinger. His scowl had vanished, in its place a look of tender understanding. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“Broddington is well heated. Seldom in August do we need a fire for additional warmth.” He glanced toward the unkindled marble fireplace. “Would you like me to light one?”
“No,” she whispered, willing her knees to stop knocking. “I just …”
“Frightened, misty angel?” It was no taunt, but a question, uttered with the same sensitive insight he’d shown in the maze.
And suddenly her answer was the same one she had given him then.
“No.” Ariana shook her head slowly from side to side.
“Good. Because there is nothing here for you to fear. Nothing.” Trenton stroked her cheek, slid his warm, strong hand beneath her heavy auburn mane to caress her nape.
Ariana’s breath came a bit faster, and she stared up at him, wide-eyed.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, running the knuckles of his other hand along the slender column of her neck, down to the lacy yoke of her gown. His eyes followed the path his hand had taken, lingering on the spot where the curve of her breasts disappeared beneath the thin cotton material. “God, I can hardly wait to see how beautiful.”
Ariana knew what was going to happen the instant she felt his hand tighten around her nape, drawing her forward. She was astonished to find herself leaning toward him, raising up on her toes and lifting her face to meet his descending mouth.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he muttered thickly. “Let the fire that burns between us take over.”
