Cold-Hearted Rake

“My… my… you mean the telegram?” It was difficult to pull a coherent thought from the wreckage of her brain. “That wasn’t a summons.”

“It read like one.”

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Certainly not so much of you!” She went crimson as she heard his low laugh.

Desperate to escape, she seized the door handle, a bit of hardware that had just been installed by the contractor, and tugged. It remained stubbornly closed.

“Madam,” she heard Devon behind her, “I suggest that you —”

She ignored him in her panic, yanking violently at the hand grasp. Abruptly the piece pulled free of its rivets, and she staggered back. Bewildered, she looked down at the broken metal part in her hand.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Devon cleared his throat roughly. His voice was thick with suppressed laughter. “It’s a Norfolk latch. You have to push down on the thumb piece before pulling the handle.”

Kathleen attacked the thumb piece that dangled on the faceplate, jabbing repeatedly until the entire door rattled.

“Sweetheart…” Now Devon was laughing almost too hard to speak. “That… that’s not going to help.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, keeping her back to him. “How am I going to get out of here?”

“My valet went to fetch some towels. When he returns, he’ll open the door from the outside.”

With a moan of dismay, Kathleen leaned her forehead against the wood panel. “He mustn’t know that I was in here with you. I’ll be ruined.”

She heard the lazy sluice of water over skin.

“He’ll say nothing. He’s discreet.”

“No, he’s not.”

The splashing stopped. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s provided the servants with no end of gossip fodder about your past exploits. According to my maid, there was a particularly riveting story involving a music hall girl.” She paused before adding darkly, “Dressed in feathers.”

“Bloody hell,” Devon muttered. The splashing resumed.

Kathleen stayed against the door, tense in every limb. Devon’s naked body was only a few yards away, in the same bathtub she had used last night. She was helpless to stop herself from imagining the sights that accompanied the sounds, water darkening his hair, soap foam coursing over his skin.

Taking care to keep her gaze averted, she set the latch handle on the floor. “Why are you bathing so early in the day?”

“I came by train, and hired a coach in Alton. A wheel came loose along the way to Eversby. I had to help the driver bolt it back on. Cold, muddy work.”

“Couldn’t you have asked your valet to do it instead?”

A scoffing sound. “Sutton can’t lift a carriage wheel. His arms are no thicker than jackstraws.”

Frowning, she drew her finger through a film of moisture that had collected on the door. “You needn’t have come to Hampshire in such a hurry.”

“The threat of lawyers and Chancery Court impressed me with the need for haste,” he said darkly.

Perhaps her telegram had been a bit dramatic. “I wasn’t really going to bring lawyers into it. I only wanted to gain your attention.”

His reply was soft. “You always have my attention.”

Kathleen wasn’t certain how to take his meaning. Before she could ask, however, the latch of the bathroom door clicked. The wood panels trembled as someone began to push his way in. Kathleen’s eyes flew open. She wedged her hands against the door, her nerves stinging in horror. A violent splash erupted behind her as Devon leaped from the bathtub and flattened a hand on the door to keep it from opening farther. His other hand slid around her to cover her mouth. That was unnecessary – Kathleen couldn’t have made a sound to save her life.

She quivered in every limb at the feel of the large, steaming male at her back.

“Sir?” came the valet’s puzzled voice.

“Confound it, have you forgotten how to knock?” Devon demanded. “Don’t burst into a room unless it’s to tell me that the house is on fire.”

Distantly Kathleen wondered if she might swoon. She was fairly certain that Lady Berwick would have expected it of her in such circumstances. Unfortunately her mind remained intractably awake. She swayed, her balance uncertain, and his body automatically compensated, hard muscles flexing to support her. He was pressed all along her, hot water seeping through the back of her riding habit. With every breath, she drew in the scents of soap and heat. Her heart faltered between every beat, too weak, too fast.

Dizzily she focused on the large hand braced against the door. His skin was faintly tawny, the kind that would brown easily in the sun. One of his knuckles was scraped and raw – from lifting the carriage wheel, she guessed. The nails were short and scrupulously clean, but ink stains lingered in faint shadows on the sides of two fingers.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” the valet said. With an overdone respect that hinted at sarcasm, he added, “I’ve never known you to be modest before.”

“I’m an aristocrat now,” Devon said. “We prefer not to flaunt our assets.”

He was wedged against her so tightly that Kathleen could feel his voice resonate through her. The vital, potent maleness of him surrounded her. The sensation was foreign and frightening… and bewilderingly pleasant. The motion of his breathing and the heat of him along her back sent little flames dancing through her tummy.

“… there is some confusion as to the location of your luggage,” Sutton was explaining. “One of the footmen carried it inside the house, as I directed, but Mrs. Church told him not to bring it to the master bedroom, as Lady Trenear has taken up temporary residence.”