"The rest of the servants have left for the day," Brie answered with reluctance. "I gave them permission to go home when the storm grew worse."
One of his black brows lifted appreciably. "You gave them permission?"
She flushed at his tone. "Julian left me in charge," she prevaricated.
"And he neglected to tell you I was expected."
Realizing that Lord Stanton must have been invited to the Lodge, Brie stared at him in dismay. "Surely you don't mean to stay here?"
The corner of Dominic's mouth quirked. "I sure as hell am not going back out in the storm. Even if I were willing, my grays have had enough punishment for one evening. Besides, my coachman wouldn't stand for it. Jacques can be the very devil when he is denied his comforts."
Brie bit her lip, wondering what she should do. Stanton didn't look quite s
o . . . dangerous when he wasn't frowning. His harsh features softened a little, while his gray eyes appeared less chilling. And the snow on his greatcoat was melting, sending little curls of steam wisping about his dark head, somehow making him appear younger, even a little vulnerable. Brie felt oddly drawn to him. A damp lock of ebony hair had fallen forward onto his brow, and absurdly she wanted to smooth it back into place.
Realizing what she was thinking, Brie mentally shook herself. "There is a comfortable inn in the village," she suggested hopefully.
When an amused smile spread slowly across his lips, showing white, even teeth, Brie felt her breath catch. His smile was that of a fallen angel, devastatingly sweet with just a hint of devilry. It affected her all the way to her toes, creating a fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach that was completely foreign to her. Staring at him, Brie hardly registered his next words, let alone the tolerant, condescending tone he adopted.
"My dear . . . Brie, if that is what you wish to be called, I intend to stay right where I am. My arrival is a few days early, but Denviile did ask me here, I assure you. I wasn't proposing to stay here in your bedroom, if that is what concerns you. Although I wouldn't turn down an invitation . . ." Dominic's voice trailed off suggestively, but when Brie merely continued to gape at him, he sighed in resignation. "Just direct me to a room and I will manage for myself."
Making an attempt to regain her equilibrium, Brie swallowed hard. "At th-the end of the hall," she stammered. "The one on the right. There should be kindling in the box," she added as an afterthought, "but if you want water to wash with, I'm afraid you will have to get it from the kitchen."
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I've survived worse conditions. Although Jacques is probably receiving better treatment in the stables. At least he was offered a hot cider to take away the chill."
Hearing the pointed inflection in his voice, Brie glanced suspiciously at Lord Stanton. His expression was enigmatic, but there was a glimmer in his gray eyes that made her wonder if she were being teased. She felt vaguely ashamed, though, that he should have to remind her of her duties as hostess. Certainly no guest at Greenwood was ever treated in such a shabby manner. "I could make you something warm to drink," she offered belatedly.
His mocking glance slid down her body to encompass her bare feet. "You aren't exactly dressed to go traipsing about the house. Just tell me where Julian keeps his brandy and I'll be grateful."
"In . . . in the library, the cabinet next to the desk."
"I can find it," Dominic said, flashing her another melting smile. When Brie shivered in response, he lifted a dark brow and gave her a look of reproach. "You should be in bed," he remarked provokingly. "You must be chilled." Before she could even think of a reply, he had picked up his hat and gloves and walked from the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.
Brie let out her breath in a rush as she sat down heavily on the chaise longue. Whatever was she to do? For that matter, what could she do? She could order him to leave the house, but she very much doubted he would go. Perhaps Patrick and his brothers could throw him out? Brie shook her head. Lord Stanton was obviously not a man to cross, and he was probably accustomed to violence. He might actually harm the Dawson boys if it came to a confrontation. Besides, he was Julian's invited guest. She had no right to turn him away.
Brie sighed as she realized she had no choice, at least for tonight. She would have to let him stay at the Lodge. But it was rapidly becoming obvious she would have to leave. Very well, she would go home first thing in the morning. She didn't want to leave Mattie and Homer to fend for themselves when they were sick, but Patrick was capable of taking care of his grandparents for a few days. She would see to it that the doctor came daily to check on the Dawsons, though. And perhaps Lord Stanton would grow bored without any of his friends to keep him company. Perhaps he would even return to London, or wherever he had come from.
Indeed, she hoped so. She had little regard for London lords, for the ones she knew rarely took their responsibilities seriously, caring only for drinking and gaming and wenching. It was doubtful that Lord Stanton was any more admirable, Brie thought, recalling the way he had looked at her. With his title and striking good looks, he had at least two of the prerequisites for a first-class rakehell. He probably moved in circles where debauchery was a way of life.
Brie frowned, remembering her strange reaction to him. Yet she didn't trust his melting smile, no matter how attractive it was. Six years before, when she was seventeen, she had fallen in love with a man whose engaging smile had hidden his true designs. She had even agreed to elope with him, since her father had not approved of the match. Only by sheer chance had she discovered her suitor's intent before it was too late. It had been humiliating to learn he wanted her only for her fortune—and frightening. He had physically attacked her, attempting to force her submission. She would never forget that horrible night. Since then she had been extremely wary of men and their motives, if not actually afraid of them. Physical contact with a man still sometimes disturbed her.
But Stanton seemed to be a gentleman. Except for those first few moments, he had been polite enough. Nor had he given her any reason to fear him. Still, she was nervous about sleeping in the same house with him. Not that she could sleep now. She had never been more wide awake in her life.
Determinedly, Brie lit the reading lamp and bent to pick up her novel. She had to have something to keep her thoughts occupied. Otherwise, she would spend the entire night wondering where Stanton was and what he was doing.
When a short while later a brief knock sounded on her door, Brie regarded the portal uncertainly. It had to be Stanton, but he would never believe she was asleep. "Yes?" she called out hesitantly. Somehow she wasn't surprised when he opened the door and strolled into the room, carrying a glass of brandy and a half-full decanter.
He had a hard, graceful body, Brie could see now that he no longer wore his greatcoat. His shoulders were broad and well- developed, while his waist and hips were rather slim. He was dressed expensively. An elegant coat of dark green superfine molded snugly to his lithe frame, while buff leather breeches hugged his long legs like a second skin, accentuating his muscular thighs before disappearing into knee-high top boots. He had loosened his neckcloth a little, Brie noticed, and the snowy linen looked startlingly white against his dark complexion.
He deposited the decanter on the table beside her. "Your room is warmer," he said offhandedly. "I trust you don't mind if I stay here until mine loses the chill."
Brie rather suspected it wouldn't matter if she did mind, but she wasn't even given an opportunity to reply. She watched incredulously as Stanton claimed the armchair near the hearth. He settled himself comfortably, stretching one long leg out before him as he brought his glass to his lips.
Brie's eyes narrowed as he sat there leisurely sipping his brandy. The audacity of the man was beginning to wear on her nerves. "Why don't you make yourself at home, my lord?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm. "Are you sure there isn't anything else you require?"
Meeting her flashing gaze, Dominic raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, I could use some help removing my boots. Would you like to volunteer?"
Brie's glance automatically moved down his buckskin- covered legs to his boots. The supple black leather was still wet and mud spattered. "No," Brie answered firmly. "Most definitely I would not."