He chuckled, and Brie was amazed at how his gray eyes softened with laughter. His features, too, lost that hard, cynical expression when he relaxed. "What kind of name is Brie?" he asked, surprising her. "I don't believe I have heard it before."
The question caught her unprepared. "I don't care for my real name, Gabrielle," she explained. "Brie is a shortened version."
Dominic nodded thoughtfully. "Somehow it fits."
It did fit, he thought, regarding her over the rim of his glass. There was a natural freshness about her that spoke of spring breezes. Yet her coloring belonged to fall—rich, warm, vibrant
. Her hair was long and thick, with a few tousled curls framing her face, and the russet shade contrasted enchantingly with her apricot complexion. He was reminded of the red maples he had seen in America during an Indian summer. . . . Where the hell had Denviile found her?
"I find it odd that Julian never mentioned you before," Dominic said casually. "Where is Julian, by the way? I expected him to be here."
"He is still in London, I imagine." That was all the information Brie intended to divulge. There was no reason to tell the arrogant Lord Stanton just why Julian was still in the city. It was none of his business, after all.
"Perhaps he decided to wait out the storm," Dominic commented, taking another sip of brandy.
Brie met his gaze deliberately. "That is indeed possible. Some people are sensible enough not to travel in a blizzard."
Dominic's eyes glimmered with something other than amusement. "You have a very sharp tongue, chérie. I wonder that Denviile tolerates it."
Brie flushed and lowered her gaze. She frequently spoke her mind too freely, but she had no call to be rude. Yet, Lord Stanton's remark had been just as cutting. It was clear that he thought she was here at Julian's invitation—and she could hardly set him straight without revealing who she really was. It was irritating, though, having to bite her tongue when she would have liked to tell Stanton to go to the devil. Lord, but this situation was becoming more complicated by the minute.
Dominic's reflections were running along different lines. He had a much more pleasurable occupation in mind than exchanging sharp words with Brie. She looked utterly enticing, he thought, sitting there curled on the chaise longue. That absurdly large dressing gown had fallen open at the neck, revealing a smooth, creamy throat and hinting at womanly curves. How very much he wanted to explore the hidden delights of her slender body. His gaze went to the bearskin rug before the hearth. He could easily imagine her lying there naked, her glorious hair spread beneath them like a carpet of liquid fire. And he would have her there soon, Dominic promised himself. Unless Julian had a prior claim. . . .
"Actually, I pressed on for a reason," Dominic remarked. "I thought Denville's hunting lodge, however remote, would provide superior entertainment than a wayside inn if I should happen to be stranded by the snow. I admit I expected to find better accommodations, or at least a few servants about the place. But I could forgive Julian if I thought he truly was thinking of my comfort. Did he arrange for you to be here for a purpose, by any chance?"
Brie didn't answer. She couldn't seem to think straight when Stanton was looking at her with those penetrating gray eyes of his. His assessing gaze was doing strange things to her pulse again, while his voice was sending shivers up her spine. In an unconsciously defensive gesture, Brie pulled the edges of her robe together. When Dominic rose from his chair with a lazy grace, she tensed, watching him warily.
He trapped her gaze as he slowly walked toward her. When he stood before her, Brie stared up at him, hypnotized. She was keenly aware of his proximity, of what his nearness was doing to her, yet it wasn't the raw hunger she could feel in him that shocked her. It was the primitive, entirely feminine response of her own body. A tingling, treacherous heat was snaking along her skin and gathering in places that, until now, she had hardly known existed.
He was regarding her intently, his gray eyes holding a strange glow as one of his dark brows rose slightly in question. He reached down to touch her cheek, then languidly trailed an index finger down her throat.
Brie jumped as if she had been scalded, suddenly realizing what his quizzical look meant. He was asking permission to seduce her! Obviously he considered her merely an object of pleasure, a diversion for his boredom.
His boldness infuriated her as much as the traitorous sensations he was arousing in her. Drawing back abruptly, she glared up at him. "I am not part of the accommodations, my lord!" she ground out through her teeth.
He stared down at her for such a long moment that Brie's heart began to thud. Not daring to move, she held her breath, waiting. Just as she began to worry if she would have to defend herself from a physical assault, Dominic stepped back, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. "Pity," he remarked. "By the looks of it we'll be here together for some time."
Casually, he turned and picked up the decanter, then crossed to the door. He opened it before glancing back over his shoulder at her. "You really should lock this, chérie," he said, his voice once more holding a note of mockery. "You never know who might intrude." He left then, closing the door before Brie could manage to find her tongue.
She stared after him speechlessly, wanting to throw something. Why Stanton affected her so strongly, though, she couldn't imagine. There had been no reason to feel such fury at his suggestion. She had had propositions before, both honorable and not so honorable, and normally she was amused, sometimes even flattered. So why had she felt that intense anger toward Stanton? He had only acted as most red- blooded men would in such circumstances. He was the kind of man who used women only for pleasure.
Of course she didn't want to be used in such a manner. But why had she been unable to crush that odd tremor of excitement that had originated in the pit of her stomach? She had felt her body responding to him, to the blatant desire in his eyes, and for an instant, she had been conscious of an odd yearning deep inside her. She had wanted him to take her in his arms . . . and yet she had also been aware of a niggling sense of panic. She had been afraid of what would befall her if he did. Quite afraid.
Suddenly coming to her senses, Brie got up and locked the door, then let out her breath as she leaned back against the panel. It was becoming obvious that strange things happened to her equilibrium when that arrogant, cynical man was near her. She didn't know if she could handle any more such confrontations with him. One thing was certain, though. She wouldn't get much sleep tonight. Most certainly she wouldn't.
Chapter Two
Brie woke at dawn the next morning, feeling listless and bleary eyed. She stumbled out of bed and shivered as her bare feet hit the icy floor. The room was freezing. Her breath turned to little clouds of steam in the frigid air, while the goose bumps on her arms resembled small mountains. In the water pitcher there was even a layer of ice that had to be chipped away before she could wash.
Hurriedly, she poured water into the basin and splashed her face. Gritting her teeth against the shock, she decided that she actually envied the Dawson boys. They wouldn't have to wash with ice water, for the male servants' dormitory had an enormous stove that kept the place cozy and warm.
She made use of the few toilet articles she had, then ran a brush through her tangled russet curls. When she had tied the heavy mass back with a ribbon, she donned the same plain dress she had worn the day before. The empire-waisted gown was one of her oldest and wasn't at all stylish, but it was made of serviceable brown kerseymere and kept her warm. And the gown did mold nicely to her slender figure and complement the apricot color of her complexion, Brie thought, surveying her appearance in the cheval glass.
After pulling on her stockings and worn leather half-boots, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. Unable to see anything for the frost, she rubbed a circle on the pane, then stared out with dismay at the wintry landscape. The entire world was blanketed in a thick layer of white. It was no longer snowing, but the sky looked bleak and she could see great mounds of snow piled haphazardly against the house. Directly below the window, resembling moldy lumps of flour, were some odd clumps that she knew were rhododendron bushes. The line of oaks in the distance looked like a troop of decrepit old men with long gray beards, while the drive to the Lodge was unrecognizable.
Brie groaned as she viewed the frozen scene. The roads would be impassable and none of the staff would report to work. It also meant that the plans she had made the previous day would have to be altered drastically. She would have to find Patrick at once and decide what to do—but first she had to check on his grandparents.
Brie made her way upstairs, expecting Mattie and Homer's room to be as cold as hers had been. She was quite surprised, therefore, to find a fire burning cheerily in the grate. Mattie was still asleep but Homer was awake, buried beneath the blankets of the truckle bed. It seemed Mattie hadn't passed an easy night.