Chapter Eight
The carriage waited that night. After Ian’s kiss on their first encounter, Grace considered not going, but sending a note reneging on their bargain. In the end, she went—not because her father had once again stayed out late gambling, but because she had given her word and she prided herself on never breaking a promise. And she needed what Ian had offered.
Don’t think about his kiss.
The coachman nodded in greeting and lowered the step as she approached. Grace took a breath and stepped inside. Her muscles tightened in anticipation of encountering Ian sitting in the carriage.
The seat was empty.
He hadn’t bothered to escort her tonight. An unexpected stab of disappointment pierced her, but she pushed it aside. It was for the best. The less time she spent alone with Ian the better. She clutched the sheets of foolscap on her lap. She had come prepared tonight, having drafted a list of tasks that she wanted to accomplish.
She’d keep to the business arrangement between them. Never mention their shared kiss, no matter how many times she thought of it. He had no need to know how it had affected her, and she was determined not to allow him liberties again.
The coach came to a stop. The driver opened the door and helped her alight. She pulled her hood forward to cover her hair, then made her way to the servant’s entrance and climbed the steps. Before she reached the top step, the door opened to reveal Ian waiting for her. He leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his broad chest. He was dressed in shirt and trousers. He desperately needed the services of a valet. His dark hair gleamed beneath the moonlight, and his full lips curled in a wicked smile.
Goodness. He was all lean muscle and coiled tension, and she had never seen such a masculine specimen.
“You’re late.”
She wrinkled her nose at his tone. “I had to wait for the household to sleep.”
He took her arm and guided her inside. “And your father?”
Her senses heightened at his touch and nearness. “Is out.”
“I assure you, he’s not at the Raven Club. His table remains closed.”
“Thank you.” She looked away and bit her lower lip.
“Don’t fret. I sent Soot to find him.”
She turned back to him. “Soot?”
“A street waif I took under my wing. One of my most trusted employees. He has a knack for finding people and following them. Your father is at the Dolly Club.”
She’d heard the name before when the baron had returned home intoxicated and had passed out on the parlor settee. He’d mumbled the name, and Grace has learned it was one of the worst gambling hells in Pall Mall.
“The owner of the Dolly knows me. I sent a note to the man to turn the baron away before he begins to lose.”
She blinked in surprise. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I know how it bothers you. And because I don’t want you indebted to another club owner. You need to focus on my lessons.”
Oh my. The way he said to focus on him made her heart race.
“Come.” He took her elbow and shut the door. She followed him upstairs to the library.
She seated herself in the same leather chair by the fireplace that she’d chosen on her first night here. Ian selected a chair across from her and stretched his long legs.
Straightening her spine, she clutched her reticule in her lap. She was determined that tonight would end differently from her first encounter with Ian in this room. Clearing her throat, she withdrew her notes from her reticule and handed them to him. “You’ll see I have made a list of tasks we must accomplish before you accept any invitations.”
Ian unfolded the foolscap. “Dressing. Servants. Dining. Proper address of peers. Dancing.” He looked up and arched a dark eyebrow. “Is that all?”
She shook her head. “No. Other topics are sure to arise. But we must start with these as they are crucial.”
“You’re much more organized tonight.”
“I didn’t know what to expect the first time. Now I know it’s best to avoid…to avoid distractions.” She was thinking of the kiss, and from the arrogant look on his face, she knew he was, too.
He stared at her. He didn’t intimidate her; rather, he looked almost humorous. “You mean our kiss?”
She frowned. “We shouldn’t speak of it. I’ve already forgotten it.”
“Forgotten it?”
“Yes.”
He touched a hand to his heart. “You wound me. The truth is, I’ve thought of little else.”
Really? The notion that the owner of the Raven Club, the new Earl of Castleton, had thought of their kiss made her stare at him in astonishment. It also made her stomach flutter.
“My lord—”
“Don’t call me that, remember?”
She did, but even if she thought of him as Ian, she should not call him by his Christian name. “Fine. But we discussed this last evening. There will be no kissing, no inappropriate behavior of any kind. We must focus on your lesson.”
“I haven’t forgotten my vow to behave as a gentleman. I consider it my first lesson.”
“Good.”
“But I never agreed not to discuss it.”
She glared at him. Talking about the kiss was turning out to be dangerous to her racing heart. She tried not to look at his mouth, and failed. The kiss had started out hard but had softened to a near caress that had captured her breath. His lower lip was fuller than the top, and she had touched it with the tip of her tongue. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, either.”
Leaning forward in his chair, his leg brushed her skirts. The simple contact made her tingle. “Then you must tell me the truth,” he said. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”
Is that what the stubborn man was after? Her admission? Did he require her to blurt out the truth that she’d dreamed of the brush of his lips, the feel of him pressed against her? Would he leave the topic alone if she confessed the truth?
“Fine,” she said a bit too tersely. “I’ve thought of it, too.”
An arrogant gleam lit his dark eyes, and he leaned back in his chair. “Good.”
Her voice was hoarse with frustration. “Now shall we proceed with our lessons? I needn’t remind you that the ball is in less than a fortnight.”
His lips twitched and he stood. “Come.” He extended his hand. “I have something to show you.”
She glared at him warily. “Something other than our current topic of conversation?”
“Yes. You’ll be pleased that I am a quick study.”
What could he have learned from last evening? She rose and placed the tips of her gloved fingers on his arm. She trailed behind him, curious as to what he had in mind.
He opened the library door and led her into the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“I sought the services of a tailor. I’ve paid him triple for his sole attention.”
He guided her down the hall, and his steps slowed as they approached the door to his bedchamber. A warning voice whispered in her head, and she immediately pulled back. “We discussed this. I will not be alone with you in your bedchamber.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
He opened the door, and Grace spotted a man standing inside. He was huge, with brown hair and eyes, and chest the size of a small armoire.
“You told me I needed a valet, and I’ve acquired one,” Ian said. “This is Brooks.”
She recognized the tall, large man as the guard at the door of the Raven Club.
“Good evening, Miss.” Brooks smiled at her, and she noticed a faint bruise under his right eye. She couldn’t help but wonder if the bruise was a result of prizefighting in the back of the club. Either way, Brooks looked like a militiaman or a guard, not a gentleman’s valet.
Her heart stuttered. “A proper chaperone is another lady, not a…a valet.”
“There are no other ladies present,” Ian said.
“What about your housekeeper? A proper gentleman should have one.”
“The house didn’t come with one. I’m searching to fill the position.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he interrupted her. “Now will you please step inside?” Ian motioned her into his chamber.
“This is madness.”
“Perhaps. But how else are you to examine my new evening attire?”
“How is it even possible that in two days’ time you have been measured and ordered new clothes, and they have been made and delivered?” she asked.
“As I said, I paid the tailor handsomely to ensure it would be done. Once I set my mind to a task, I accomplish it straightaway.”
Clearly the man had the means to command favors. But his wardrobe was the least of her immediate concerns. Her feet were frozen on the threshold to his bedchamber. If she entered, she would see his personal space, see where he slept. It would be one step closer to an intimacy she did not want.
“Come now, Grace. Do not tell me you’ve come all this way to lose your nerve. I promise to act the perfect gentleman. Brooks will hold me to my vow, won’t you?” Ian glanced at Brooks.
Brooks placed a meaty palm across his heart. “I have permission to bloody his nose should he attempt to take advantage, my lady.”
Grace’s lips twitched with the urge to smile at his outrageous remark. For all she knew, the two had rehearsed the part before her arrival. Nonetheless, she took comfort from Brooks’s presence.
And if she were truthful with herself, she didn’t fear physical harm from Ian. If he had meant grave harm, there had been sufficient opportunity when she’d arrived at his home the first night.
No, she didn’t fear physical injury.
She feared other things…her own weakness toward him after his kiss, her racing pulse when he touched her arm.
“Grace?” Ian held open the door.
She strode into the room before her courage faltered. “I’m quite curious to know how many garments a tailor could complete in such a short time.”
“If you will be kind enough to wait, I’ll show you.” Ian and Brooks disappeared in an adjoining dressing room.
Once alone, she scanned the room. It was masculine but sparsely furnished with a mahogany chest of drawers and a desk in the corner. It was the enormous four-poster that drew her attention. She’d only glimpsed it before, but now that she was close, she couldn’t help but stare. It was exceptionally large, likely custom-made for his tall frame. A blue silk coverlet was spread over the bed, and plush cushions were piled high at its head.
A sudden disturbing question cut through her thoughts. Did he entertain his lovers here? Her face grew warm. Why should she care? She turned away just as Ian and Brooks emerged from the dressing room.
Her breath caught. Ian was garbed in full evening attire. She’d thought he would select black and white for the ball, but he’d surprised her with a navy coat of kerseymere and a striped navy and yellow waistcoat. A crisp, white cravat decorated with a diamond pin gleamed in the lamplight.
“Well? How do I look?” Ian asked.
She blinked. He looked magnificent. Breathtaking. He would draw all the ladies’ eyes. She could imagine a majordomo announcing him at the top of the ballroom stairs. Ladies would glance at him behind fluttering fans and whisper about his handsomeness. Men would glare at him with ill-disguised envy.
From Ian’s arrogant stance, he knew all of this.
A wicked instinct took over, and she wanted to knock his arrogance down a notch. “Somewhat acceptable.”
One dark eyebrow shot upward. “Somewhat?”
She raised her chin, and her gaze roved to the dark locks that brushed his collar. “You need a haircut.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “You’re hard to please.”
“You didn’t hire me to please you.”
Dark eyes lowered to her lips. “Oh, I know that all too well.”
Oh, he was a devil.
Brooks cleared his throat from behind them. “She’s right. Your hair is too long.”
Without breaking eye contact with Grace, Ian issued an order. “Fetch the shears, Brooks.”
Brooks hesitated. “You sure?”
“Very.”
Brooks nodded and departed.
“You want Brooks to cut your hair? Or don’t tell me that you mean to cut it yourself?” Grace asked.
“No. I mean for you to cut it,” he said.
Her defiance slipped. Her gaze returned to the dark hair that had reminded her of a raiding pirate the first moment she’d seen him on the gaming floor of the Raven Club. “Me? But I’ve never performed such a task. Not even for my young brother.”
“So? How difficult can it be?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I could accidently shear you like a sheep.”
“I’ll take my chances. You aren’t scared, are you?”
He was challenging her. She knew it and should refuse to be goaded, but she found herself capitulating. “Fine, but you are not permitted to complain afterward.”
Brooks returned with the shears.
“Give them to the lady. She will do the deed.”
A flicker of amusement crossed the large man’s face as he looked from Grace to Ian. “You sure about this, Castleton?” Brooks asked.
“Don’t call me that.”
“My lord.”
Ian gritted his teeth. “That, either.”
Brooks was clearly enjoying himself at Ian’s expense. “Pardon, Mr. Swift.”
Ian scowled.
“The first two forms of address were correct,” Grace said.
“I told you to ‘my lord’ me only when we are out and about. Only then.”
She already thought of him as Ian when she shouldn’t. She should take her own advice and think of him as Castleton. But how?
Brooks winked at Grace. “Good luck, Miss Ashton.” He bowed, then promptly departed and closed the door behind him.
She turned to Ian. “Wait! Why is he leaving?”
“You have the shears. I wouldn’t dare attempt to seduce you,” Ian drawled.
She gripped them, feeling their weight. Narrowing her eyes, she faced him. “Fine. Remove your coat.”
Ian shed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat and placed the items on the bed. As he moved a chair into the middle of the room, she tried not to stare at the muscles that bunched beneath the linen shirt.
“Not on the Oriental carpet. On the hardwood.” She motioned to where she wanted him to place the chair. “Since you have no housekeeper or a full staff of maids, it will be easier to sweep.”
He placed the chair away from the edge of the carpet and onto the polished, hardwood floor. Then he sat with his back to her.
Grace swallowed hard, and her heart fluttered. This wasn’t what she’d expected tonight. She had her notes prepared; she knew exactly what she was going to teach. Cutting the Earl of Castleton’s hair was certainly not on the list.
Ian glanced over his shoulder, his gaze dark and mysteriously compelling. “Are you ready?”