Velvet Embrace

"Yes!" Brie latched onto that excuse with fervent haste.

"Then you can leave him."

"No! I mean, I don't want to leave him. I am happy with my current situation. He is kind to me, and . . . and I've been with him a long time, you see, and I don't want to—" Brie was aware that she was babbling, but she couldn't help herself. When Dominic pressed a finger to her lips to silence her, she was grateful.

He smiled at her then, the kind of smile that could lure a woman's soul from her body. "I can be quite generous," he said softly, persuasively. Brie swallowed hard. Her eyes were wide and shadowed when she finally shook her head.

Dominic deliberated a moment before releasing her. Then he stepped back. "Very well," he said lightly, his voice at odds with what he was feeling. "Tell Homer I will be up in a moment."

Brie felt relief flood through her. She fled, before he could change his mind.

Dominic stared thoughtfully at the closed portal. She was indeed a mystery—one he hadn't yet figured out. She was as skittish as a virgin, yet from the way she had responded to him, he would swear she was no stranger to a man's touch. But that flicker in her eyes had been fear. She was afraid of him for some reason. Perhaps he had been too harsh with her earlier. Or perhaps she was afraid of what her current protector would do to her if she were to accept the advances of another man. If she even had a protector. Brie's stammered excuses had given him reason to doubt that she was telling him the complete truth about that.

But why then had she not accepted his offer? He dismissed the possibility that she was merely being loyal to whomever had her in keeping. Women were never loyal where money was concerned. So who was she? She wasn't trained to be a servant, although he had already seen she didn't mind hard work. Jacques had liked her, which was surprising, considering the way she had ripped up at him at first. Normally Jacques didn't care for women, unless they were in his bed. In fact, the coachman was even more cynical about women than Dominic himself. Brie was lovely enough to attract a rich protector, so why was she dressed so poorly? She looked to be in her early twenties, meaning she was old enough to have had half a dozen protectors. . . .

Why that thought disturbed him, Dominic wasn't sure. But no matter, he reflected. He would just have to go slowly. Brie Carringdon couldn't be so far different from other women that she would continue to refuse the generous terms he would offer her. Nor so different that she could withstand a full-scale assault of her defenses.

Brie tried to avoid Dominic after that, but she found it impossible. In the first place, he wasn't the kind of man one could ignore. In the second, they were forced by necessity to spend several hours a day together.

Little of it was leisure time. Had they been guests at a houseparty, they would have occupied themselves with cards, chess, or billiards, or perhaps read poetry aloud, or entertained anyone who would listen to their musical talents. But there were no such activities. The only time Brie had a moment

to rest was in the evening, after Mattie and Homer had gone to sleep.

Even then, she couldn't really relax. For when she retired to her room at the end of the day, Stanton followed her, just as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to drink his after-dinner brandy in a lady's bedroom. But then it probably was natural for him, Brie decided. More than likely he had spent a great deal of time in ladies' bedrooms. And she could hardly object to his presence without sounding oddly prudish. She couldn't be comfortable around him, though.

For one thing, he wouldn't give up his interest in her availability. Brie found her fabrication about having a protector becoming more and more complicated. During their first idle evening together when Dominic had probed her for information, she had felt a need to substantiate her story and had ended up describing an elderly gentleman who was very much like her head trainer, John Simms. John would have been horrified to learn he had been cast in such a role, but she had to tell Stanton something. As it was, Dominic looked at her with a mocking gleam in his eye and remarked that the man sounded old enough to be her father. The implication was, of course, that she would be better off with someone younger, more able to fill her nights with passion.

She did learn a bit more about him during those evening conversations, however, even though he was almost as reticent about his past as she was about her own. He had inherited his title from his maternal grandfather, she discovered, for his father had been French, his mother English. Her question about his parents obviously touched a sensitive nerve, though. Stanton's face darkened when he told her his father had been killed during the Revolution, and his lip curled in a sneer when he said his mother had remarried and was living in Hampshire.

Discomfited by the sudden charge of tension in the air, Brie had thought it best to change the subject. But Dominic's response, when she admitted that she was part French herself, disturbed her even more. His eyes swept leisurely down her body, and he asked, "Which part?" in a half-mocking, half- teasing tone of voice that made her well aware he was still interested in having her become his mistress.

He much preferred brandy over port, Brie discovered when he related a humorous tale about some smugglers of his acquaintance. She also learned that he had been involved in the war for several years, although in what capacity, she could only guess. She thought he might have been some kind of diplomat, since he mentioned the Foreign Office once, and also that he had met Julian in Vienna at the Congress.

That was really the extent of her discoveries about Dominic Serrault, Lord Stanton. Everything else was merely observation.

He had two very distinct kinds of smiles, she quickly realized. One was mocking and cynical, the other so sweetly devastating that it made her heart melt. In addition to his hard mouth, his mobile black brows were mainly responsible for giving his expression a sardonic cast. The left one had a habit of lifting nearly an inch higher than the right.

As for his character, he was arrogant and insufferable much of the time, but he could be delightfully, devilishly charming when he wanted to be. Occasionally he even showed traces of real warmth. Sarcasm had absolutely no effect on him, probably because he was such an expert at it himself. He tended to mock everything, unless he was genuinely amused, and his assumption of masculine superiority often angered Brie. His sheer male virility, on the other hand, made her nervous.

In fact, being confined in the same house with him was beginning to wear on her nerves. He did no more than touch her cheek as he left her each night, but that alone was enough to set her quivering. An urgent, inner voice warned her that she was starting to feel a permanent attraction for him. Yet she didn't see how she could change her situation until the snow melted. The regular household servants would return then, and she could go home to Greenwood and never see him again.

Her situation did change, however, the fourth night of their enforced intimacy. Brie had already gone to bed, but she wasn 't asleep. She was too busy pounding her pillow and trying to forget her annoyance with Stanton. She had waited two hours for him to join her, but when he hadn't come, she had finally prepared for bed.

It was nearly midnight when she heard Dominic rap softly on her door. Defiantly Brie turned away and pulled the covers up to her chin, determined to let him think her asleep. He would try the handle, but he would find it locked.

It was with a sense of amazement, therefore, that she heard the bolt being drawn back. Feeling a chill breeze touch the back of her neck, Brie gave a gasp and sat up. Her eyes widened in astonishment when she saw Dominic standing in the doorway. He looked like a pirate, with his loose-sleeved shirt and skintight breeches. A dangerous pirate. His black hair and bronzed skin seemed even darker against the startling white of his shirt.

He shut the door behind him, giving her a casual grin. "I suppose I should have warned you. I'm an expert with locks."

When Brie remained speechless, Dominic found his own gaze sliding over her appreciatively. Her russet curls spilled over her shoulders in wanton disarray, while the firelight leant a delicate golden hue to her skin. She was naked beneath the blue robe, he guessed, for he could just see the tops of milky white breasts where her dressing gown gaped open. Looking at her, Dominic was conscious of some unmistakably erotic stirrings in his body. He wondered if Brie knew how very close she was to being ravished. He had bided his time, waiting patiently for her to lose her qualms about him, but he didn't intend to wait much longer. Aware that he needed something to distact his thoughts, Dominic turned his attention to the brandy decanter he had left on the table the previous evening.

Brie found her tongue while he was pouring himself a drink. "Do you always barge into ladies' bedrooms uninvited?" she demanded.

"Rarely," he replied, unruffled by her angry tone. "I generally have an invitation. You, chérie, are the exception."

"Get out! Get out of my room before I—" She broke off as Dominic slanted a mocking glance at her. His look clearly told her she had no choice in the matter. She was powerless, and any threats she might make would be empty.

He surprised her completely by apologizing. "Forgive me for being late. Jacques had a matter that required my attention."