Velvet Embrace

"I don't please. I told you to remain here and I mean to be obeyed. I've had about all I can stand of this slipshod household so early in the morning. First my right leader turns up lame because that half-wit in the stables leaves a pitchfork in his stall, and now Patrick—"

He never completed his sentence. Brie jerked her arm away and gave Dominic a look of such fury that he momentarily forgot his own anger.

Brie did have some rationale for losing her temper. She was worried about Mattie and the news of Patrick's injury had greatly alarmed her. Besides that, she had had very little sleep the night before, all because of Lord Stanton. His presence in the house made her own situation untenable. She couldn't stay, yet she couldn't leave now that Patrick was hurt. She also resented Stanton's arrogant assumption of authority. The way he stood there, issuing orders and demanding to be obeyed, galled her. But to cap his sins, he had spoken derisively about a boy who was unable to defend himself. At eleven, Seth Dawson was the youngest of Homer's grandsons, but he had the mental capacity of only a five-year-old. He had a sweet nature, though, and Brie had always been protective of him. She flew to his defense like a mother tigress.

"Seth is not a half-wit!" she spat furiously. "He can't help it if he's slow. He was born like that. Oh, how I detest it when people look down their noses at those who are less fortunate! Well, let me tell you, your lordship, Seth is as worthy in God's eyes as any of you well-born, titled, fashionable fribbles from London. And furthermore—" Brie's hands went to her hips as she drew herself up to her full, unpretentious height— "Furthermore, I don't need you to tell me what I can and can't do. If I want to go outside, if I want to dance stark naked in the snow, you have no right to order me otherwise. I intend to see Patrick and you had better not try to stop me. In fact," Brie added, her eyes flashing fire, "why don't you just take yourself back to the city? We don't want you here!"

Brie was too angry to notice the grim set of Dominic's jaw, but when she saw how his eyes had narrowed, she took an involuntary step backwards. The glittering chill in the gray depths frightened her. So did the silent pause which followed.

"Are you quite finished?" Dominic said finally, piercing her with his icy gaze.

The quiet menace in his tone was enough to make her shiver. "Yes," she replied, her own voice suddenly hoarse.

"Good. Now it's my turn. Sit down." Dominic took her arm in a firm grip and steered her toward the chair at the foot of the stairs. When Brie made a move as if to break away, Dominic put a forceful hand on her shoulder. "I said, sit."

Stealing a worried glance at him, Brie decided to obey. Those penetrating gray eyes were as cold as a winter's day and twice as savage.

When Dominic spoke, his tone was harsh and clipped. "In the first place, I wasn't speaking of Seth. As you said, the lad can't help being what he is. I was referring to the older boy, Sheldon. He was inexcusably careless. Since you're in charge of the place, you might like to know that I threatened to thrash him if he ever comes near one of my horses again. In the meantime, I've put him to work chopping firewood. That should keep him occupied until I can attend to him."

"Oh," Brie said lamely, staring up at Dominic and realizing that she had misunderstood. Sheldon was the last person she would want around her own horses. And she could hardly fault Lord Stanton for being angry if one of his team had been injured. She felt like a royal fool now for shouting.

Dominic wasn't finished with her yet, however. "Second," he continued caustically, "you aren't dressed to go outside. You would never make it all the way to the stables in those skirts. The snow is four feet deep in places. We had to string a rope from the house to the barns merely to get some leverage against the drifts. Besides that, you'll get wet. With the Dawsons upstairs in bed and Patrick injured, we don't need another invalid."

"I don't get sick," Brie protested, although not very strongly.

"I'm not willing to take the chance," he said crushingly. "And last, you aren't needed at the moment." Brie's chin came up at that, and Dominic viewed her with mocking eyes. He had wondered how long that show of meekness would last. "Do you sicken at the sight of blood?" he asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Can you sew up a wound? Are you any good at nursing? Could you be of any real help to Patrick at the moment? His knee isn't a pretty sight. He's trying to be brave, but his injury is painful. I doubt that having a woman view his tears is the kind of comfort he wants."

Flushing, Brie lowered her gaze. She suddenly felt ashamed that she had been more concerned about her own pride than Patrick's condition. "Yes, you're right," she said humbly.

Dominic's ha

rsh features softened a little. "Jacques is more than capable of handling the situation. He may not have studied medicine, but there is no one better at tending wounds. Patrick will be all right."

When Brie made no reply, Dominic put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. His eyes moved over her speculatively, lingering on her mouth. He was conscious of a fierce desire to taste her lips, to see if they were as sweet and luscious as they appeared. But this wasn't the time or the place.

"You and I have a number of things to discuss," he said instead, "but that can come later. At the moment I think it best that I get that laudanum for Patrick."

Brie nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from his. Her heart was beating too rapidly again, and there were hot little flashes running up her spine. She was conscious of an odd sense of disappointment when Stanton released her.

He had turned to mount the stairs by the time Brie came to her senses. "Lord Stanton," she called after him. He paused, one booted foot on the stair as he glanced down at her. As his gray eyes locked with hers, Brie felt a strange current pass through her body. It left her a little breathless.

"I . . . I beg your pardon for shouting at you," she managed to say.

A smile's shadow touched the corner of his mouth. "I must admit, no one has ever called me a 'fashionable fribble' before now, at least not to my face."

"I am sorry.

"Very well, apology accepted."

"Is there anything I can do?"

One of his black brows rose. "Can you cook?"

"Not much, I'm afraid."