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Deana went to sit at the vanity. Bhadra uncoiled her hair and removed it from its braid. As the maid brushed her hair, she considered which question she wanted to ask next and how to phrase it to solicit the best answer possible.
“You may return later, Bhadra.”
Lord Rockwell stood at the door. Dressed in a dark blue double-breasted tailcoat and spotless white trousers, he presented as smart a vision as any pink of the ton. In one arm he held his hat and riding crop. The other arm was at his back.
Bhadra curtsied. “Yes, m’lord.”
He watched her leave—with some tenderness, Deana thought but could not determine with certainty. She remained seated at the vanity, not knowing quite what to do. She was not in her element here at Chateau Follet.
“I trust you slept well?” he inquired as he strode over to her.
“Yes, thank you. Are you often in the habit of entering a woman’s boudoir unannounced?”
He smiled, a little, but did not answer her question. Instead he produced a large velvet box.
“To complete the ensemble,” he explained and opened the box.
Deana gasped at the jewelry she beheld. The little diamonds and rubies were laced together with gold in the most intricate and elaborate designs. He removed the necklace, set the box upon the vanity, and went to stand behind her.
“I could not,” she objected immediately.
“You shall.”
“I should be afraid something terrible would happen to it.”
“You will not wear it for long, but I desire to see how it looks upon you.”
He pushed her hair to one side and fastened the necklace about her. It served almost like a collar, covering most of her neck. Little red beads dangled like raindrops from the bottom row of the necklace. Methodically, he attached the other pieces: earrings that dangled like miniature chandeliers from her ears; a bracelet that fit first like a ring about her middle finger and ran down the back of her hand before encircling the wrist; and a headdress laid down the center of her head and onto her forehead. Every time his fingers grazed her skin, she felt a rush. The weight of the jewelry, like an extension of his hand, continued to caress her. That familiar tension down below began to simmer.
Rockwell stepped back and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Deana stared at the same in awe.
“The jewelers of India cannot be bested,” he said.
He traced the bottom of the necklace with his forefinger. She shivered as his finger glided along her collar, and suddenly the unquenched desire of the prior night flared through her. She had no wish to be denied once more.
“What is your desire today, my lord?” she asked.
A muscle tensed along his jaw. “I thought to show you the extensive grounds. Our horses are being saddled, and I will have Bhadra prepare a picnic.”
His answer disappointed her, though at any other time she would have delighted in his proposal.
“Ah,” she said flatly. Recalling how she had once seduced him, she taunted, “Is there no debauchery at the Chateau Debauchery?”
He raised his brows, though he seemed pleased. “Patience is a required virtue here.”
She refrained from pouting for she had no wish to be like Miss Walpole, but her desire would not be quelled. She squirmed in her seat.
“Your intentions are quite the mystery to me, Lord Rockwell.”
He cupped her chin and turned her gaze to his. “You have much to learn, Miss Herwood.”
“Then begin your lessons—”
“I have.”
“—and, pray, do not prolong them more than necessary. I am an avid pupil.”
She fixed her most smoldering stare upon him. “Have you no appetency or are you lacking
